A Taste of Real America (A Late Post)

I am currently spending two nights at a Motel 6 in Tumwater, Washington.

The reason really isn’t too important. What is important is what my initial reaction was when I drove the bus into the motel parking lot this afternoon.

Let me share a story with you.

One of my goals for this life change

I have said for months now, when asked why I wanted to sell our home and travel around the country by bus, that I want to meet America, one handshake at a time.  It is my unscientific theory that this country isn’t nearly as bad as what is portrayed on the nightly news, and that Americans, when contacted one-on-one, are really, collectively, good people.  Set politics and religion and economic status aside; it is my belief that Americans are pretty damned good at their core.

I want to meet those Americans. I am tired of living safely in middle class Americana. I want to get out there, meet small town people, meet the forgotten America, the flyovers and those dying on the vine with last year’s lost crops. I want to meet the farmers, the ranchers, those just getting by on a wing and a prayer, and those who are every bit as America as the Wall Street jockeys and the Rodeo Drive botox crowd.

And so, as I drove into the Motel 6 parking lot . . .

I admit it to the gods, I hesitated. I took one look at the neighborhood, at the people walking by on the sidewalks, and hovering on the perimeter of the motel, and I thought there was no way I was spending two nights in that environment.  I had the money to stay at a “nicer” place. Why save twenty bucks and put myself at risk, I asked.

Evidently, my unscientific theory was only as strong as the air to speak it.

These were the people I said I wanted to meet. This was the environment I crave to explore.  And at the first sighting of it, I considered turning around.

Nope, not Dale Holland’s son.  Make the commitment, follow through on that commitment, no excuses, Billy Boy!

Got out of the bus, two dogs in tow, walked into the registration office, and the manager, first words out of his mouth, were “you have two beautiful dogs.”  Got the key, paid for two nights, walked to my room, passing a frail woman, wearing an apron, missing a few teeth, smiled at me, shrieked a little, “oh my God, can I pet your two darlings?” she asked, and another bridge was crossed.

Unloaded necessities into the room, headed out for a dog walk, two blocks to Subway, ordered a hot sub, all meat and cheese, thank you very much, the clerk, young guy with a feint promise of a goatee, just as polite as you could hope for, thanked me profusely for the business, walked out with my food, stopped by a Mexican gentleman, tough time with English, pointed to the skies, said “Amigo, cold, cold, what you think, snow?” and I couldn’t help but smile, the Amigo reminding me of tough times for yours truly, times when I didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, a favorite line from a colorful uncle.

And now it’s seven, dark, and time for a final dog walk

I’ve already been warned three times on Facebook, be careful, Bill, tough neighborhood, that place is crackers, and you know, it may well be, but off we go, an old man and his two dogs, armed with smiles and licking tongues and a ready hello for anyone who wants to meet me halfway, meet a real American, one handshake at a time.

Listen, folks, I’m not ignorant, and I’m not bulletproof or immune from the bad in society. It’s just a different way of looking at life, I guess.  I can be robbed anywhere, anytime. I can be accosted, assaulted, and abused in any segment of society.  Watch the news. Crime happens in all neighborhoods. People are killed in Beverly Hills, Pontiac Hills, and the Hill Country of Kentucky.  I do not take unnecessary risks, I do not look for trouble, but I also don’t live my life worried about it all.

I want to meet America, one handshake at a time, and I will do it on my terms, in my way, and deal with whatever consequences come along.

Damn, I wish it would warm up.

Tomorrow is the day we begin.

I am pumped!

Bill