The Chool Bus (ch18)

CHAPTER 18: The Forks crash through dense Oregon forests dodging Sasquatch and Mother Nature.

As the research tour meandered through Pacific Northwest territory, the Forks made their way to scheduled stops from Seattle to Tacoma, from Portland to Eugene, and Oregon’s Lane Community College…a last stop before taking some time to visit Jack’s cousin in Coquille. The pace was frenetic as Portland’s traffic congestion affected the itinerary in ways not accurately factored by Jack and Billie. And though she was able to stay calm, Billie was hard pressed to hit all planned destinations on time. The stretch from Corvallis to Eugene was a welcomed respite…the gang was ready to let their hair down and enjoy some down-time in Coquille. 

From Eugene, they made their way to Florence and though running late, they decided to push on down the 101 Coastal Highway to Coos Bay where they could settle at the local 24-hour fitness club. Again, the gang was running late. The sun slowly disappeared, a soupy fog/biblical downpour rolled in, visibility inched ever closer to nil, and Billie was obliged to nudge the Chool Bus through this leg of the trip slowly, hazard flashers blazing. It was a white knuckle stretch for Billie but Jack was snoozing in his sleeping berth, Buck was in the passenger seat providing moral support, and Professor T was anxiously staring out the window hypnotized by the downpour, the claustrophobia-inducing tree walls persisting for miles and miles.

In this somewhat nightmarish crawl through the sodden darkness, Professor T’s thoughts ran wild with replays of conversations involving Abigail’s attorneys and the court-appointed mediator. On one hand, Professor T understood the #metoo movement was a necessary seismic correction in gender relations. It wasn’t just about high-profile takedowns… it was a fundamental demand for dignity and the right to exist in professional and private spaces without the threat of predatory behavior. It forced long-overdue conversations about consent, power dynamics, and the invisible labor women have historically carried. 

On the other hand, the rise of the “Manosphere”…the world of Alpha-grindset podcasts and “bro” influencers…seemed a bit more than a random backlash to Mork Thompson. More like a symptom of deep-seated identity metamorphosis. Professor T recognized traditional roles (provider, protector) were becoming less tied to economic reality. Where many were feeling disempowered at best, their very existence increasingly viewed as inherently problematic at worse. He felt his fellows were looking for a script that could provide purpose, strength, or at least, a sense of belonging.

He considered himself savvy to this dynamic and viewed himself sympathetic to the plight of women. He recalled John Lennon’s song, Woman is the Ni***r of the World. Professor T’s take was that, due to their willingness to sign up for nature’s demands in the process of proliferating the species, they should be more accurately be considered heroes of the world. Not to mention the monthly pain of simply existing. In short, Professor T considered himself in league with the ladies. 

Abigail surely knew this about him, so all things considered, Professor T concluded Abigail’s campaign was a setup. He suspected she was caught up in a nefarious plan hatched by the ethically challenged duo, Scheizer and Bok. In the beginning he experienced self-doubt, he truly wondered if his outlook had been so out of whack that her case was legit, but then he recalled an encounter with the shysters where they appeared to be provoking him. Scheizer, with his fragile and bony constitution always ended up standing behind Bok, pasty, bloated, and shabbily dressed.

It seemed they were trying to provoke Professor T to assault one of them. He even thought he heard Scheizer say something to the effect of, “Does this inquiry anger you? Perhaps you would like to give my partner a shove, or maybe a poke in the jaw?” 

Of course, Professor T could only look on with astonishment. In his thinking, members of the professional class, doctors, teachers, lawyers, etc. were always well intended and professional in their day to day interactions. When it appeared someone with the privilege of representing clients in a court of law was exhibiting grasping and corrupt behavior, he experienced a shock of cognitive dissonance. Always wary of falling into a trap of fundamental attribution error, Professor T’s response, when encountering corruption, was quick to explain it away by acknowledging everyone has their share of battles, telling himself he must be misinterpreting motives of those who appear to be behaving in less than ethical ways. 

***

Breaking Professor T’s reverie, a thunder crash rattled the cabinets. Billie confessed later it gave her a good jump scare. But just before the crash, in that instant of bright illumination, Professor T could have sworn he saw a lumbering, hairy figure in the trees. And for the rest of the stretch to Coos Bay, he scanned the fog and rain obscured dense tree belt for more evidence of forest dwelling wookies. Of course nothing more would appear in the good professor’s visual field. He decided to keep this sighting to himself as it would never do to have a respected academic confessing belief in the Sasquatch mythology. It was difficult to hold his tongue, but he was traveling with friends so he resolved to make a joke about the sighting over dinner once the Chool Bus was parked for the night…a trial balloon to check his traveling companions’ reaction.

NEXT WEEK:
The White-Knuckle Storm Crawl Continues… Tales of Ghosts, Toxic Waste Contamination, and GOLD in Coquille.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

This Land: Florida

Ok, Loopers, next stop, Florida, that dangling chad of a state, where the sun shines so bright you half expect to see Jesus himself waterskiing across Tampa Bay! Now Ronnie has some personal experience with the sunshine state. There was that six week high-tech bootcamp in Daytona. There was that corporate convention/retreat in Orlando, and Ronnie also has friends living in various Florida locations, Ft. Myers, Miami, and some little town in the panhandle. That’s right, Ronnie is uniquely situated for van life. He doesn’t have to hunker down for the winter or desperately scrounge for shade in the summer because he has friends and family from Washington State to Florida… and speaking of…

THE GOOD: Florida, where the manatees are loose, and so are the tourists. And beaches? Oh, they got beaches, miles and miles of ’em, the kind of white sand beaches that make you wanna ditch your shoes and do the Macarena, even if you don’t know how. Springs bubbling up from the earth like some kind of primordial jacuzzi, clear as gin and twice as refreshing. Everglades? Yep, got those too, a swampy wonderland where alligators lounge like they own the place (and they probably do). Wildlife galore, from pink flamingos strutting like they’re on a catwalk to manatees cruising along like underwater blimps.

And the weather? Forget about it. It’s like Mother Nature cranked the thermostat to “eternal summer” and then lost the remote. No state income tax either, which means more clams for your pocket and more margaritas in your belly. Theme parks? They practically invented the things. Disney World, Universal Studios, places where dreams come true (or at least your credit card takes a serious hit). Toss in some cultural diversity, a dash of history, and a sprinkle of those warm mineral springs in North Port, and you got yourself a cocktail of a state. Oh, and don’t forget the colleges, little intellectual oases scattered across the landscape like so many palm trees.

THE BAD: But hey, even paradise has its downsides. Like hurricanes, for instance. Those swirling cyclones of doom that can turn your beachfront condo into a pile of matchsticks faster than you can say “Margaritaville.” Then there’s the humidity. The kind of humidity that makes your hair frizz up like you stuck your finger in a light socket and your clothes cling to you like a lovesick octopus. And let’s not forget the environmental concerns, the creeping threat of rising sea levels, the pollution, the constant battle to preserve what’s left of this fragile ecosystem. It’s enough to make you wanna trade your flip-flops for a pair of waders and join the Sierra Club.

THE UGLY: Now, brace yourselves, folks, because it’s about to get real. Traffic. Congestion. Gridlock. Call it what you want, but it’s the kind of automotive apocalypse that makes you wish you’d invested in a helicopter. Cars piled up like a demolition derby, horns blaring, tempers flaring. It’s enough to make you want to abandon your vehicle and join a colony of hermits living in the Everglades. And then there’s the high cost of living. Rent, mortgages, groceries, it all adds up faster than a politician’s promise. Suddenly, that dream of owning a beachfront bungalow starts to look about as realistic as a unicorn riding a rollercoaster.

WHO’s WHO? Florida, land of sunshine and eccentrics. Hemingway, the literary lion, holding court in Key West with a daiquiri in one hand and a marlin tale in the other. Marjory Stoneman Douglas, the environmental crusader, fighting to protect the Everglades with the ferocity of a mama bear defending her cubs. Literary seminars in Key West, where wordsmiths gather to dissect prose and pontificate on the meaning of life. And the music scene, a veritable melting pot of sounds. Lynyrd Skynyrd, belting out Southern rock anthems that make you wanna raise your fist and chug a beer. Tom Petty, spinning tales of heartbreak and highway dreams. Creed, with their angst-ridden grunge, and Yellowcard, adding a punk rock twist. Jim Morrison, the Lizard King himself, leaving a trail of poetic chaos in his wake. Ariana Grande, the pop princess with a voice that could melt glaciers. And Zora Neale Hurston, weaving her literary magic with words that paint a vivid picture of Florida’s soul.

So there you have it, loopers. Florida, in all its glory and its grit. A state of contrasts, a land of extremes. Case in point, the apparent grip Christion Fundamentalists have on the state’s politics. At the same time, voters enthusiastically embrace morally ambiguous leaders such as Matt Gaetz and Donald Trump. Cognitive dissonance at its finest. Anyway, love it or hate it, you can’t deny Florida is one hell of a wild ride.

Onward through the fog… RH

From Saint Auggy……
To Tallahassee…
You’ll see the fire ants..
Prolificacy…
And like the bears in…
Yellowstone grassy…
Don’t look FL Man in the eye.