B.O. WRITES... HOW-TO: Window Replacement In 5 Or 6 Steps! (What To Do If Crack-heads Break Your Window)

Since Crack-heads stole Joe's camera bag that had his batteries in it, photography is taken via cell phone, compliments of Chastaine Tallon- Thanks Chass!

HEY GUYS, B.O. HERE!

Well, I knew it was bound to happen. That's the only thing I hate about cars- shit happens to them. Driving, is really like gambling at a casino- sometimes you run good, and sometimes you run bad.

So this particular night, I was still banged up from my Olympic hurdle-of-doom that, though attempted, I still failed miserably at. So here I was, barely able to move cause of a busted wrist and a strained knee; not to mention that I was a vegetable- half because Ryan got me some crazy pain pill from a stripper at the club he works at (some pill for the terminally ill)- that thing tent locked me! I was drifting in and out of consciousness all day. So while I lay, drooling on myself in the tent, Joe and Chassy wanted to take the car to downtown Portland to see a show with a friend we met, who apparently, knew some excellent local talent. I didn't care, so they took off for the show.

Come late night, Joe rolls in saying, "Ohh, good, your up. I might as well tell you now..." Joe continued on saying, "...somebody smashed the window and stole the camera bag."

So at this point, I really didn't care. 20 mg of an opiate, and you don't care about too much in life. Plus, I had been waiting for this to happen. Some old karma do's to pay perhaps, or maybe, just that we were giving it a chance to happen, by even driving in the first place. These are the risks you take for a such a valuable commodity.

I could have been a lot worse off though. I ended up finding a window at "budz recycle," for 35 bucks. The sucker even tried getting an extra 10 out of me!

I went in trying to get it for 25, so I can't feel too bad seeing as we met in the middle, and defended our fairness for market value of the glass in question. We hemmmed and hawwed about the car business for a minute, and I was on my way back to zip this thing back together.

Joe and and Chassy were the ones losing sleep over their CD collection that skipped like hell, and I just wanted the window fixed so we didn't look like a car full of junkies looting around in a car from Wisconsin, looking for crystal or something. My insurance papers are from a previous car I had owned, so if I got the right wise-guy cop, he might try to hassle me; my presentation needs to be top-notch. You've got to be squared up legally this day and age, although I do wish I could have lived in the days when you could say it was your grandpas, and the cop would tell you to mosey on down the trail.

The window was pretty easy actually. Just pop the interior panel, then snap out the lock-latch and the window switch, and in no time, I was at the window mount.

First thing though, you have to vacuum up all the glass in the door shell, or it will sound like maracas whenever you go over speed bumps. NOT a good sound come re-sale. The chunks of glass in the window seal needs to be scraped out, or the window will never seal, and it will sound like a tornado in Nebraska everytime you role the window up. Once all the broken glass is removed, it is time to detach the broken glass mounts. Watch the fingers though folks, you could get a boo boo if your not careful! Save the two 10 mil nuts, as you will be re-using them unless you are a chump, and you bought a brand new piece of glass, and it came with instructions, and a new nut sack. Simply slide the window through the space it sits, and then align the brackets. Once lined up snugly, tighten the two nuts we talked about saving, until secure.

The real trick to the re-assembly, is connecting the lock-switch firmly enough to stay in place, while the switch functions from locked to unlocked without detachment. I struggled with this part the longest, as its all about proper alignment between the lock rod, and the lock switch.

Even I had to call in back up, as I needed Chassy to hold the switch in place while I mounted the lock switch. First try- done!!

I wish I would of done that right away, but of course, who likes asking for help? So after the switch is tightened in place, you can attach the window switch, to the panel switch allot easier considering the room you have to work with. Push it into the designated area, and the panel is ready to be attached to the door shell. The only thing to keep in mind here, is putting enough plastic clips in place, and spaced equally on the inside of the panel. Inadequate clip numbers, and/or placement, can result in the panel falling off in the girl you just picked up's hand, and you looking like a hack- especially when you were 15 minutes late picking her up, because you were fixing your damn car.

Take the time guys, its well worth it in the end. All that's left at this point, is 1 more screw on the outer panel, and its done. One reminder: test each step as you continue assembling, so you know each variable is functioning properly before you proceed.

"Awwww Good 'ol cars, Ya gotta love 'em!"

CHAPTER UPDATE: HW 1 Up the Coast, Reflections From the Edge, and a New Home Beneath The Red Woods

...As we left Frisco, we had one thing on our mind: finding somewhere to sleep where we could finally stretch our legs. After a week in the car, in the middle of the big city, the term "roughing it," was laughable. Camping seemed as good as the ritz to us at this point, and absolutely nothing sounded better then living off of hot dogs and beans, so long as they were hot off our own fire. I was ready to wrestle grizzly bears if thats what it would take to earn us a patch on the earth, for us to set up our tent.

So we traveled onward up the coast, taking HW 101 to get a little distance North under our belt, and then onwards through San Rafael, where we decided it was time to cut Westward, and make our way up the coast taking the famed HW 1 the rest of the way.

I began to recall hitchhiking through the swampy depths of Florida with B.O., in what was nearly only one year ago, and yet in many ways, felt like a lifetime ago; I recall us looking at our brand new atlas- that was now tattered and worn with sweat that had drenched through our backpacks- and I remembered dreaming of taking HW 1 all the way up the coast, just hitching right alone with relative ease and carelessness. Although we weren't hitching, I felt like we were still living our dreams, hell, I felt like we were even living americas dreams. It never felt like america had time to do it, america was far too busy with this or that- so here we were.

I sat there with the laptop as we drove, uploading pictures, writing bits and pieces, and otherwise behaving like a complete square; until finally, with a sweet rush of fleeting childish glee, we barreled down one of the curvy hillsides and on our way back up, the road suddenly became a playful wavering road that opened us up to the infinite ocean view, and we were all struck with such sudden awe that we immediately pulled over to confirm that we were seeing what we thought we were.

The warm ocean breeze, and the saline tainted air, blew through our hair and up our nostrils, and we all staggered with enamor, toward the infinite ocean view before us...

...We eventually drove onward through the playful twists and turns of HW 1, enjoying it as a child does a roller coaster- mildly aware of potential danger, but overwhelmingly satisfied by the ride. We did something that night out of pure exhaustion, and an intense desire to sleep fully, and without disturbance from bears, cops, or rangers- we paid 15 bucks to get a camp site on the bluff overlooking the ocean.

It was entirely worth it, and we used the night to cozy our souls in reflective solitude. We drank wine merrily, and excessively, and then like great greek philosophers under the gleaming moonlit discus of zeus, we consumed new perceptions for the night, and sat at the edge of the bluff and watched the waves from miles around, come crashing in at what seemed like the base of our bare feet that, tickled by the grass, wiggled with delight. For hours upon hours, we sat with our feet aligned with the edge of the earth, and we watched with great delight, as the tide rose and fell to its own accord. The foolhardy notion of us being in control of such a mass, was laughable amidst the smallness we had felt, but comparably to the greatness we had summoned between us- there was yet a harmonious union between the never ending tide, and the motions of our lives. I shed slow tears of joy, and while exposing my humaneness among the uncaring mass of water, I began to laugh simultaneously. We all laughed, and the taste of my leaking tears made me wonder if the ocean itself wasn't running through me at that very moment...

Although it appears dark, we could actually see everything brilliantly lit by the deep purple reflection of the moon off of the water. This is The Great B.O., as he sits along the great cliff that we perched upon most of the night. My little Cannon "Rebel" was entirely unable to capture any of the beauty that we were seeing that night, as the view was far too vast for the sensors to pick anything up.

Chassy giggles uncontrollably after struggling to roll a cigarette. Normally, she just curses uncontrollably, so giggling is definitely the preferred alternative...

Brian looks so completely ridiculous, that I couldn't help myself from putting this awful picture onto the world wide web... Take that B.O.!

The next day, amazingly, we suffered nothing more of a hangover than a craving for hotdogs, and the desire to get back on the road! Not bad!

Chef B.O. at work!

B.O. cut this wine box up to use as a hot dog container, freakin' brilliant!

The "Hobo Hot Dog," as we have created, consists of hotdog, bun, beans, a line of catchup, and of course, a line of hot sauce. If your feeling really suburban, you can even heat the hot dog.

When nobody's lookin', B.O. drinks beans. Needless to say, he is a blast to travel with...

Look how small B.O. is down there!

If I was rich, I'd live in a camper on the edge of a cliff- these cats know whats up! I'd also wear brand new socks every day...

...So we got back on the road, and traveled up HW 1 until we made it to Mendocino county, where we found a super secret free camping spot. This place was hardcore, and you had to go from the top of the hills, and drive a very slender pathway on a dirt road, for about 4 miles to get to this hidden gem. Since we made this our new home under the redwoods, we blew the tire several times on our way up and down the paths during our daily trips to and from town...

A "how-to" on patching tires is in the works, among other things of course...

After a great deal of research, and a whole day of driving up and down dangerous and hidden mountain paths, we found our new home, a free camping site next to a stream in the valley of the mountains, under the red wood forrest! It was well worth the work, and we spent the next week here.

One of the main daily activities we kept busy with under the red-woods, was following our small patch of sun across the gravel throughout the day. It is almost all shade where we were staying obviously, so we would read, and tan, and write in the sun whenever we could.

NEXT: A WEEK IN MYSTERIOUS MENDOCINO COUNTY! AND, a CURRENT UPDATE, about life in Portland right now! Stay Tuned, I've got a job, so I'm trying really hard to budget my time between 40 hours a week, and writing.

until we meet again…

Regards,

Joseph R. Reves

CHAPTER UPDATE: A Rude Awakening, and Our Departure From The Great City of San Francisco

Remaining in chronological order, is, at this point, nearly impossible! Current updates are in the works, but it is hard to put time into them, considering how much we still have yet to cover from previous weeks. So to guarantee consistant flow of content- current, recent, or even old as hell- I am creating a "Chapter Update" section. So here's some reflections of our last hours in San Fran. For the illiterate, you can just scroll down to the "Final Photo's from San Fran," a few posts back, as this post, is focused on a written account. ENJOY!

As our beloved friend Ben Meyers departed from our crew on Tuesday, we found ourselves with a little bit of extra elbow room in the "Le Sabre," and although a little bit goes a long way with us, it still wasn't quite what you would call comfortable. Along with the discomfort of sleeping in a car that was starting to test our wits, was the taunting presence of the "No Inhabiting Your Vehicle" signs lining the street like an urban picket fence, and the resulting discomfort and paranoia beginning to inhibit our explorations of the city, and the zest of our nightly wine induced pow-wow's. Along with these substantial annoyances, was the first of our "vehicular hardships" that had been suffered thus forth on the trip- a flat front left tire.

I could see that B.O. was starting to lose his patience with our situation in San Francisco, and since we had gotten our fill of the city in the same way that children get their fill of candy from the "please take one" baskets on halloween, it became apparent through the teams now thin list of priorities, that it was time to get our shit together and prepare for our great escape. And a great escape it nearly was, because there on Fulton Street that very next morning, we awoke to a flashing frenzy of red and blue lights, and a stout female police officer tapping at B.O.'s window. The Great B.O. roused forward instantly, rolling his window up while gearing his reclined seat upwards, and staring forward soberly into the unending sphere of light being beamed into his face with a crude decree of pomp. B.O., entirely opposite from myself, was the most stand-up guy I knew at dealing with the cops, and before they could even request anything from him, he had his I.D. and registration presented to them with a proud, slightly unrested smile, and a warm mid-west accentuation in his explanation for "pulling over for the night, cause he had been traveling, and was dangerously drowsy."

The cops ran his name and so forth, came up with nothing, and told him to put the 40's of highlife in the trunk before we drove off. Apparently, someone reported that there were some people in the car that appeared to be dead, so they called the cops. This seemed silly to me, but I didn't have much time to reflect upon the said scenario. I was mostly just happy that they missed the wine box that me and Chassy's legs had been miraculously concealing while sleeping.

So we went to our second home, the safe way, and we carelessly dozed off a few more hours while listening to "it's no secret," from Jefferson Airplane's album, 2400 Fulton Street. The dreary figures of the early morning grocery scene, faintly woke at us, and soon after, the light blue aura that had been slowly soaking its way up the sky as we slumbered, finally took over with newly protruding warmth, and a bright declaration that strained red behind even the tightest eyelids. We awoke to the subtle clamor of neighboring cars that cautiously peered into our voyeuristic sleeping situation, and no Jefferson Airplane playing on the CD player, which meant, we had a dead battery. Surprisingly, this was the first time we killed the battery, that B.O. had assured us, "was the best battery on the market," which is why we listen to music, and run our appliances whenever we want, and still do- so apparently, it's a pretty damn good battery; as far as batteries are concerned at least.

We solicited a jump after 30 minutes of trying, and figured that our poor luck in the past few hours was a good foundation in some solid reasoning to split town right then and there. As much as I'd like to make a turbulent proclamation out of our departure from San Francisco, we all felt a certain weight in hesitation before, and during our leaving the wonderful city. Like moving out, the feeling that we had left something behind, sat strangely among our fluid sense of the term "home."

We all drove over the great gated red bridge, solemnly watching the grand columns whir by. I snapped some photographs, that when I look back at, mock my fleeting visions of that grand moment. The somber sound of camera snaps, reflecting nothingness in a twisted portrayal of what was really happening. A futile human effort to capture some kind of indescribable feeling, in a reel of stock footage. Sometimes you get lucky, but for the most part, its a rarity.

B.O. REPORTING LIVE! 1st Annual Medical Cannabis Cup: Too Medicated To Remember...

Whats up everybody?! I just wanted to share my experience at the MCC in San Fran, that took place this last June.

Good 'ol Ben Meyers of mil town, accompanied me to the event, and I have to tell you guys, it was unbelievable! Smoking hash off of hot stones, vape-bags 12 ft tall, and ALL were filled with tasty medicine to be consumed! Tinctures, cheesecakes, brownies (of course), joints with over a quarter lb in them! It was hit by over 500 people, at least! Hot tattooed women of the counterculture were running around looking absolutely amazing.

I did originally go there, intending to find a career in the field, but after sampling all those tasty goodies there, I felt, well... um... how do you put this? How about, a little too over medicated to sell myself to a marijuana dispensary- at least while being in that particular state of mind. I definitely had one of- if not the most- influential experience of my life. Although the outcome I imagined was not accomplished, I believe in my heart of hearts, that it was a successful endeavor fo-sho! It almost didn't turn out that way however, because there were a few different parts to the cup: an expo of crap where you could buy basically anything related to marijuana, seminars for activisim, the judgement of the best strain out of nearly 40 different local dispensaries, and then my favorite part, the outside section where all the sampling was going on. The only thing was you needed was your prop 215 wristband, and the only way to get one, was to have a med card, and a state I.D.; and between myself and Ben- we had none of those prerequisites for particapating in the sampling.

After walking around the expo for a couple hours, it was time for Ben and I to take our own medicine. First, we tried sneaking through the only door that was outside, complete with a rent a cop standing there. We were close to making it, but not close enough, and you all know how fast a line of pot-heads would move. So that failed, and we were forced to go back to the lobby like a couple of dogs who just got caught eating out of the trash by their master. We sat there bitching up a storm, we threatened to leave, and we even kicked imaginary dust with our feet, while pacing around with our fists jammed deep in our pockets, and wishing only for a med card to be in our possesion.

We decided that for all our efforts, we couldn't give up that easy. So I checked into the seminars that were going to be demonstrated throughout the day, and Ben decided to investigate the amazing benefits of using the vaporizer as a method of exposing the wonderful phsycoactive compounds found in MM (medical marijuana), as compared to smoking this great medicine. So we split up to do our own thing.

It was really funny because Ben was looking at an 80 dollar personal unit, and after i zoned off for a half hr, and I returned to the area where all the retail merchandizers were, I discovered Ben sitting behind the booth of a high end vaporizor company, filling out the warranty papers of one of these grand medical devices. My eyes went from a slit that could easily be covered by a piece of dental floss, to basically- and very literally- eyeballs on the floor! I was very exicted for him, as I'm a strong believer in the benefits to this method of smoking. I knew it would be a few minutes completing all the info on the forms, and I left to go watch the big screen with the catogories, and strain types, that were up for judgement this year. By the way, my favorite one was a sativa called "cheese." Actually, it might have been an indica- my memory of such detail lacks confidence.

Ben came and found me, and when I turned to see him, I could tell he had something really good up his sleeve. Since he bought a $400 piece of smoking equipment, the salesman hooked him up with the prop 215 bracelet, and said i could buy one off of him for 20 bucks. I immediately reached for my cake (money), to get that on my wrist as soon as possible. This is where everything gets a little fuzzy on my memory. I have flashbacks of all that hash, and those vape bags, and tinctures- and that quarter pound joint, was definitely one of my favorite memories.

So in the end, we did it, we penatrated the MCC! Goddamn did me and Ben laugh at the fact that we almost left, out of pure frustration, and we wouldn't have had even a tenth of the good time that we actually did. Most likely, our opinions would have been along the lines of, "it was just o.k."

PHOTO'S FROM the last days of SAN FRANCISCO

Okay, so I have been pretty behind in my updates, I'm currently working on picking up where I left off though, so don't worry! We are on our way to Portland today, and are currently in beautiful Eugene OR. Since Frisco, we've been all over on our way North up the coast, and I have some amazing stories and photos to share with you all. I just haven't been able to write at the pace of our lives lately, and sometimes, it's just worth it to see that as a blessing, and not stress.

So, here. Heres a bunch of photos from our last days in San Francisco. Chew on it for the time being, I have some good writing on the way, and some AMAZING photos from our journey up the winding roads off the coast of HW. 1, the redwoods, and our transition from urban camping, to real camping, to... well, where we are now.

I'm short on time, so if I'm short on quips, forgive me- We've gotta get to Portland!

Until we meet again...

Regards,

Joseph R. Reeves

Some final photo's of Ben, who departed from our company nearly 3 weeks ago. Thats how behind I've been... Yikes. Hard to believe its been a month on the road already!

Peace out Ben! We all miss your company, but appreciate the space you left us with in the car...

I had quite a J.U.I.C.E. list for my last day or so of San Francisco. I got most of it done, except I almost didn't have time for the groceries. I found God, and he helped me with those though (thank God)...

The developing relationship between Chassy and B.O., gets closer and closer to a Big brother/little sister relationship every day. Sometimes, its hilarious, other times I need my ear plugs.

B.O. Stepping too close to the BART train. ANOTHER spactacular and affordable mode of transportation San Fran has to offer! Bay Area Rail Transit is what it stands for, and its a great way to travel across the bridge to Oakland, or Berkely, for only a few bucks. It's hella fast too! NOTE: People on the West Coast say HELLA, allot.

Looks pretty comfy to me. Berkely is a good place for a nap it seems.

The nice little Berkeley area is friendly, and much smaller than San Francisco. I don't feel it compared at all though- thats just me.

Central Downtown area

Spreading love is one thing, but this is a whole 'nother thing...

These hills get ridiculous!

NOTE: People in Oregon, don't like my 49'ers jersey.

I TOLD YOU THESE HILLS ARE NUTS!!

Everybody in San Francisco probably has a really tight butt from walking up hills all day. I guess thats a good thing, right?

The streets go on forever it seems...

In Chinatown, the stores are packed to the brim with crazy crap!

Made in China

Chinatown was so fun to hang around in, the produce was hella cheap!

Wanna know how you can tell its Chinatown? 'Cause the signs are written in Chinese, Duh! See, like that one there...

Heres me standing in front of a crazy little shop in Chinatown. I did my hair differently that day. And my eyes.

Plenty of white folk in China town too, and Buddha!

Heres a strange old asian couple we met at the fish market.

CITY LIGHTS BOOKSTORE!!!! I'm such a nerd for this place! Ginsberg did his first reading of "HOWL" here, and all those other 'beat' legends, well, they did stuff here too... "Are you guys hiring broke writers who take to the road in search of america by chance?" I can sweep also...

Ginsberg! Beats! Yay!

Heres me at JACK KEROUAC drive! I'm the one with the pink bag, running from the camera...

This is an old snapshot, of Karouac's famed hero of the road, NEIL CASSIDEY! Look suspiciously familliar B.O.? God, I feel so unoriginal... (sigh)...

Here's a sweet mural of other nerds like me, doing that thing that school makes us do... read. I think I like this city.

Heres a little asian supermarket, filled to the brim with super cheap produce and other things that I can't identify, and look potentially poisonous. BING CHERRIES go 79 cents per TWO POUNDS. Strange numbers to go by...

hella food!

Hella cherries, and B.O. being hella silly...

The trolley is nice to save you a walk up the crazy hills, but its a freakin' rip off! The ONE form of public transportation that isn't very affordable...

Look at this hill! God, I still can barely believe it...

The somber ride out of SAN FRANCISCO...

I am working on more writing to bring everyone up to speed, and I've got some photo's to flex, that aren't my typical clumsy documentation on the fly... Keep checkin in, I think I'll have a new post up within the next 2 days.