Fort Collins

The Chool Bus (ch28)

CHAPTER 28: All agreed, the backtracking detour to Lake Tahoe was worth the trouble, but it was time to get back to business. Eleven punishing hours to Flagstaff Arizona for the next round of focus-group interviews… then, a trip to the deepest crack in the USA, the Grand Canyon.

Passing through Vegas on the way to Flagstaff, Billie agreed to turn the wheel over to Buck as eleven hours was about, “three more than i can stand.” Billie knows her limits and Buck was more than happy to help. So rolling into the Las Vegas area after seven plus hours with Billie behind the wheel, the Forks pulled over to get some fresh air, stretch their legs, and catch a meal before pushing the rest of the way to Flagstaff with a new pilot. Just a little more than three hours and they’d climb above the punishing heat of the desert to the cooler climate at seven-thousand feet. The smell of pine, the lush green lawns… Flagstaff Arizona. Focus-group interviews at Northern Arizona University were scheduled for the next couple days, so they couldn’t afford to dawdle.

Professor T spent a considerable chunk of road time working with the data so far gathered and catching up on administrative tasks. Occasionally he would confer with Jack over themes emerging in the data. These conversations were often quite spirited. It’s not that they were at odds over their perspectives, but they did have sometimes diverging ways to interpret what the participants were saying. Which is fine, these interviews can’t be used to draw objective conclusions, but they do provide an interesting “why” behind the numbers revealed in survey data. The surveys show what people do or think on a large scale, and the focus groups allow Professor T and Jack to hear how people explain these choices in their own words.

Merging onto Interstate 40 in Kingman Arizona, Billie got a jump-scare when Jack slammed his fist on the table making a particularly passionate point in one of those “spirited” conversations with Professor T. But Mork just laughed and brushed it off with a shrug. They’d have to agree to disagree. And Billie was awake now and rather impressed with Buck’s cool demeanor as the Bus encountered road construction and slowdowns. So much so that she began to quiz him over this uncanny ability to bring tempers down in situations that look like certain escalations to violence. This was refreshing for Billie as she is famous in her home town for a short temper and a withering vocabulary. Her method of de-escalation has always been to wear her opponents down with withering truth-telling generously seasoned with caustic, paint peeling accuracy.

“How do you do it?” Billie piped up out of nowhere.

“Do what?” said Buck with a sly grin.

“How did you turn that raging drunk in Fort Collins into an agreeable bystander?” Billie had marveled at the swift turn of events that day when Professor T appeared to have triggered a drunk and paranoid bar patron into a brawl, one that looked like it was going to land several bystanders into the urgent care clinic, at best.

“Well, it’s really simple when you look closely. I picked it up from a friend. He was a civilian contractor working in Afghanistan in the late stages of US involvement. Apparently he had spent some time with a detachment of special forces soldiers. And one of them taught him a way to defuse potential deadly confrontations with the locals. He boiled it down to an acronym, D-E-F-U-S-E. First, you have to short circuit your own “fight or flight” impulse, by remaining completely calm, and avoiding a defensive or argumentative stance. So ‘D’ is for de-escalate. After all, we are at bottom, animals. And this version of the mammalian animal is all et up with the hubris to consider themselves “civilized.” We’ve really only had a few thousand years to evolve from slithering in the grass to finding sanctuary in the trees, to walking upright, to developing food production for communities, to splitting the atom and other methods of habitat destruction. Not even a blip in geologic time. So, anyway, gotta tame the instinct. Most freeze in the face of an in-your-face threat. They don’t know whether to fight, or run. But the right thing to do is to remain calm no matter what.”

“Is that hard to do?” Billie was tumbling… catching her breath.

“Well, it may look that way, but considering the alternative, especially when others are involved. Others you care about and don’t want to see hurt, it really is a no-brainer. So… what’s the next letter in the DEFUSE acronym?” Buck was bringing Billie along.

“Well, we did ‘D’ so now we need ‘E,’” said Billie.

“Right.” said Buck. “‘E’ stands for empathize. You have to acknowledge and validate your opponent’s feelings or frustration. You gotta show ‘em that you recognize their emotional state. Anger, humiliation, wrath, whatever. Empathize with the prevailing emotional winds coming from your would-be attacker.”

“Ok…what’s the ‘F’ stand for?” Billie was eating this up. And they had plenty of time as Flagstaff was still hours down the road.    

“”F’ is for focus. This is where we direct our attention completely on our would-be attacker and the specific problem that seems to be driving them. This requires us to overlook our opponent’s attempts at provoking us with insults or threatening postures, personal attacks, or simple incoherent noise.” 

Billie was silent pondering the implications of the discipline it would take for her to ignore those personal attacks. She nodded solemnly.

“After that,” Buck went on. “You have to genuinely understand where this person is coming from… the ‘U.’ Again, this takes mental discipline for those of us used to throwing hands, or in your case, withering truth-bombs. So… the ‘U’ is a difficult state to arrive at when all you want to do is turn this person’s face into a pudding.” Buck winked and Billie laughed out loud.

“So now,” Buck was warming up to a conclusion. “Now it’s time to ‘S,’ solve the problem that brought the threat up to your face.”

“Solve?” Billie was incredulous. This all seemed somewhat fanciful. “After all,” she went on. “Some people just want to hurt others. They aren’t always interested in accepting reasons to keep their hands to themselves.”

“True story,” said Buck. But, there’s going to be a bottom-line reason for this irrational wish. And depending on your luck in the previous phases of the DEFUSE model, you may be able to tap into that wellspring.”

“C’mon…” Billie was struggling with these ideas.

“Bear with me,” said Buck. “Remember the reason for the dust-up in Fort Collins?”

“Yes. I believe he was angry with the world over a perceived, or literal loss of privacy… modern digital life.” Billie remembered actually identifying with the drunk’s complaint. “He saw Professor T’s audio recording rig, and that triggered a vengeful response. He was going to take this general feeling of violation and loss of control out on good ol’ Mork T.”

“Right,” said Buck. “But i was able to get him to face the absurdity of punishing a well-meaning, but absent-minded civilian for his general feelings of helplessness with the DEFUSE method.”

Billie nodded.

“So, to review,” Buck was sounding more like Professor T with every sentence. “We started with the ‘D.’

 “De-escalate!” said Billie.

“Right,” said Buck. “We refuse to allow the heat of the moment raise our emotional temperature.”

“Then you empathized with the guy.” Billie was playing along.

“The whole time, i remained focused on the fella’s problem,” said Buck. “That, right there, was almost enough to end the trouble.”

“But WAIT… there’s more!” Billie was starting to let some sarcasm show.

“Right, we’re not done yet,” said Buck, totally unmoved. “And keep in mind, these things don’t necessarily happen in sequence. You have to stay focused through the whole process, you have to remain empathetic start to finish, and understanding may take a little while to set in, but you have to keep digging for it.”

“So…what’s the ‘S’ for?” Billie was impressed with Buck’s ability to parry her jabs.

“Well, ‘S’ and ‘E’ sorta come together. ‘S’ is for solving the problem. Once the Fort Collins fella understood Professor T’s recordings had a purpose other than spying on hapless bystanders, he calmed down. Now, ‘E’ is for end the encounter. But it isn’t as simple as it sounds, there has to be clearly articulated next steps, and these next steps, when done right, are always voiced by our would-be attackers. In other wards, the confrontation is defused and the other person walks away feeling vindicated, the stable, positive outcome conceived by them.”

“So, BOOM! Resolution appears to have been conceived by the person that was threatening you in the first place?” Billie purred in amazement.

“Of course,” said Buck. “It doesn’t always end so cleanly, but fortunately for you and Jack and Mork T, the DEFUSE method worked like a charm in Fort Collins.”

Rolling southeast on historic “Route 66,” they passed lots of interesting potential pullovers. But duty calls. The Forks and DEFUSE-Master Buck Wellstone, needed to be on campus in the morning. With the sun at their backs and receding fast, the gang was fading. Parks Arizona, the Bellmont, then the interchange at the Navel Observatory… they had arrived. 

“Don’t miss the Route 66 interchange, Dummy,” said Roseanne’s gravley voice.

Buck acknowledged Siri’s Drunk Sister instructions, pulled into the RV park, and all made their way to bunks in their own time for a good night’s sleep before getting back to business on the NAU campus.   

NEXT WEEK:
Cruel Shoes and the glory of Mother Nature’s geological wonders.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

Image Credit: Meta AI

The Chool Bus (ch05)

Chapter 5: The Forks recruit another member. Buck Wellstone applies for graduate assistantship and joins the project as Professor T’s aid de camp. 

The crisp morning air in Fort Collins was a refreshing difference for the Forks as each performed their morning necessaries preparing for the next stop. Laramie, Wyoming was but a short jaunt away, but no one was feeling rushed as events from the previous night were still ringing in their collective gizzards. Billie couldn’t remember the name of the good natured southern gentleman that intervened in the misunderstanding triggered by Professor T’s silly looking recording rig. But Jack did and he also recalled inviting Buck Wellstone to join the forks at a popular Laramie brew-pub once the focus group interviews were conducted and the Forks were ready to relax for the evening. 

“Buck Wellstone is his name and he’s interested in applying for a graduate assistantship in our department. He wants to join us on the tour,” said Jack.

“I don’t know if we can get through the application process quick enough for next semester, but we do have an opening,” said Professor T. “Did you say he was meeting us in Laramie?”

“Indeed he is,” Jack responded.

“Good. I can check on his eligibility on the road, and i’ll give him the standard interview while in Laramie. If his references check out, maybe…” Professor T was secretly hoping this would work out as Mr Wellstone had a refreshing positive vibe. Smart, funny, physically imposing, and genuinely interested in the research the Forks were conducting and the tight-knit camaraderie displayed by this motley collection of humanity.

The Chool Bus rolled into Laramie in time for the gang to grab lunch and get freshened up before gathering participants for the focus group interviews. And, as expected, the room was divided as the nation’s fibrillating heart seemed to be in this culturally-fraught era. But the session was conducted professionally and participants behaved respectfully. As soon as they got started, it was over. Participants went their separate ways and the Forks pointed the Chool Bus toward the designated brew-pub for the rendezvous with Mr Wellstone.

***

Now, the Forks had plenty of experience in Wyoming and after everyone was settled into a pleather-cushioned booth, each with their chosen libations working their social-lubrication magic, Professor T mused about a two-week engagement the band played in Riverton Wyoming in the early 1990s. In Professor T’s recounting, the gig felt like a lifetime trapped in a malfunctioning deep freeze. December in that desolate outpost was a symphony of howling wind and sub-zero temperatures, a perfect recipe for laryngitis. Professor T, at the time, known as Mork T,  fueled by a steady diet of codeine cough syrup and still clinging to his delusional dream of rock stardom, chased those nonexistent high notes across a well lit stage in a room full of barely interested strangers. Needless to say, it went about as well as a fleshy juke box in a dank, howling sauna.

As is often the case, one anecdote leads to another with this group so Jack, musing about post-Forks times, recalled a highly-unlikely story where he, partnered with a gonzo ski-resort co-worker, someone that went by the alias, Fozzy (for the sake of anonymity).

Now, this Fozzy character, a Laramie-educated electrical engineering savant with a graduate school acceptance letter burning a hole in his pocket, held a peculiar belief: That Laramie Wyoming, was a magical land where cops were blind to the transgressions of the gloriously intoxicated. This, of course, was a theory ripe for testing by these two nihilistic souls clinging desperately to the wreckage of their semi-feral animal-house-esque existence.

Imagine, if you will, a borrowed car (ownership and registration a fiction at best), fueled by cold beer (courtesy of the nearest liquor store), hurtling towards Laramie like a pair of wobbly missiles. The speedometer, a mere suggestion, registered a healthy too-damn-fast, a testament to their utter disregard for both the law and their own mortality.

Several beers and a vanished sunset later, they rolled into Laramie like banshees on Adderall. To their utter disappointment, the flashing blue lights so richly deserved remained stubbornly absent. Finally, in a moment of glorious absurdity, Fozzy managed to run a red light, narrowly missing a cop car pulling out of a parking lot.

“Well, this is it,” Jack chuckled, fresh with i told you so energy dancing in his eyes. “Busted… hauled off to the drunk tank, a glorious, self-inflicted martyrdom!”

The officer, a woman with a withering gaze that could curdle milk, approached Fozzy’s window. The story Fozzy concocted to explain their lack of documentation was a masterpiece of nonsensical bravado, worthy of a Bugs Bunny episode. Miraculously, it worked. The officer, perhaps amused by the sheer audacity of it all, subjected Fozzy to a sobriety dance (how he passed remains a mystery). Deemed sufficiently non-threatening, they were banished from her sight with a stern warning and a $25 fine, payable through a conveniently located after hours slot at the courthouse. And so Fozzy’s theory was field-tested and determined factually sound. Or perhaps, the officer had simply taken pity on these two hapless fools.

As Jack recounted this delicious slice of youthful debauchery, Mr Wellstone’s countenance danced between mild astonishment to dubiousness as he wasn’t sure how much of this was exaggeration or outright fabrication. As Jack was winding down, Mr Wellstone’s expression softened as he seemed to recall his academic advisor complaining about drunk drivers skating by with impunity in their wild-west college town. Jack swore the story was mostly true to a detail and since the rest of the Forks had already heard the story (several times), they vouched for Jack because they knew Fozzy, and the story tracked.

As the evening progressed, Mr. Wellstone made a strong impression on Professor T that he was serious about joining the Forks on their tour, applying for the open graduate assistantship, and eventually earning an informatics/new media master’s degree from their University. “I can’t promise anything at this time,” said Professor T, but we have room for one more on the Chool Bus, and your assistance was greatly appreciated in Fort Collins. If Jack And Billie agree we’d be honored to have you aboard.”

“I vote eye,” said Billie, with a sly grin.

“And i concur,” said Jack lifting his glass for a toast. With that, all raised their glasses and it was settled. The Forks had a new roadie and Professor T gained a loyal aid de camp.

NEXT WEEK:
Chapter 6: Where The Forks begin their time in Montana with a relaxing day in the steamy drink at Chico and Jack calls Bullshit on a wild Park Ranger’s story.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch03)

Chapter 3: Jack Dean makes paranoia a viable career path

By the wall clock it was 9:15pm. Jack Dean had no plan to still be on campus after celebrating accomplishments and attending end of semester ceremonies. But he had grades to turn in and that needed to be done Monday at noon. Normally he would have saved some of that work for Saturday but he was scheduled to hit the road with his former band mates, Mork Thompson and Billie Schmidt and he needed Saturday and Sunday for attending personal tasks preparing for the first of many road trips supporting Thompson’s research project searching for the fibrillating heart of our divided nation. Fortunately, he was able to click submit on the final class roster before 10:00pm. Now he could head home, get some sleep, and get his business done in time to check in with the gang Sunday afternoon.

Back in the day Jack played a crucial role in the Grunge band (The Forks) with Billie and Professor Thompson (stage name, Mork T.). Jack was not just a perfectly serviceable bass player, he was also the glue that kept Mork T, the group’s center of gravity and Billie Schmidt, their kinetic hot-headed drummer from flying apart. A bit of a paranoia case, Jack could sense when trouble was brewing. Not only between his mercurial companions but also with promoters, venue owners, and fans. Like… he had a 6th sense antenna for trouble. Fortunately, these proclivities served him well after the band broke up and each member sought their own post rock-n-roll life. 

Again, Jack was a bit of a paranoid, not pathological, but enough to make sleep a bit of a challenge. His nighttime MO consisted of a couple hits of primo weed and a beer or two on weekends. On this occasion he skipped the beer and hit the hay after packing his ganja back in it’s safe place. Tomorrow would be dedicated to making preparations for weeks on the road conducting focus group interviews and tending to logistics with the assistance of a US road atlas and a new GPS app sporting various celebrity personalities for voices. Jack called the app, Siri’s Drunk Sister (SDS) because it had led him astray a couple times and he felt he needed to cross-reference questionable back road routes with the official road atlas. No worries, the extra vigilance was worth the trouble because the newest build had Samuel L Jackson and Roseanne Barr among others giving voice instructions. Colorful remonstrations issued forth whenever a driver made turns not aligned with SDS instructions… often hilarious. 

And like Billie, Jack was excited to be part of Professor Thompson’s team as he was also on the university’s tenure track and so needed publication credits for his curriculum vitae. More importantly, he was excited to be traveling with his old band mates, older, wiser, no longer dealing with the youthful angst and drunken drama that marked many of the “good ol’ days”.

One reason the gang’s checkered past was even more colorful than most was Jack’s hapless talent for attracting trouble.

And though he was no longer soliciting extra-curricular rendezvous with young admirers, he was responsible for a rock-steady bootie-movin’ groove that made him nearly irresistible to the susceptible. And so this animal magnetism had to be judiciously regulated on campus. Jack was damn good at redirecting the amorous advances of impressionable young ladies. And fortunately, as a cyber-security specialist, not many of his direct charges were of the female persuasion. As well, for some reason, his male LGBT students weren’t susceptible to Jack’s particular brand of pheromone. 

And so, the gang was reunited, Billie had taken the Chool Bus on a maiden voyage over one of the more challenging mountain passes on a pilgrimage to visit Owl Farm in Woody Creek Colorado, the home and redoubt sanctuary of her favorite cultural critic Hunter S Thompson. So with the Chool Bus road-tested from the High Plains to the top of the world, the Forks were ready to take the nation’s temperature, coast to coast. 

First stop, Fort Collins Colorado. Professor T’s research included survey questionnaires, the type used by political pollsters, where participants are drawn from college towns, dense urban population centers, and rural working-class communities with strong religious identifications. This data would be juxtaposed with the face-to-face focus-group work conducted by the reunited Forks making their way from state to state in a rolling home converted for traveling rock and roll refugees, the Chool Bus. Appointments with off-the beaten path communities as well as inner-city diverse-demographic groups are made and the tentative itinerary was crafted to be flexible enough to provide alternate destinations in case any of the original appointments proved unworkable for whatever reason.

Jack Dean, the paranoid tenure-track cyber-security instructor with a history of attracting trouble and a terrific bass player with tons of soul. No way Billie and Professor T would trade Jack for a less troublesome model, the Forks loved their mildly paranoid groovelicious partner.

NEXT WEEK:
Chapter 4: The Forks embark, and Professor T learns the perceived value of privacy in a social media world.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

This Land: Colorado

So, we hit the dusty trail for the Centennial State, land of legendary proportions (according to the brochures at least). “Nil Sine Numine” their damn motto brags – that’s Latin for “Nothing without Providence” to the fancy, “Nothing without God or Jesus” to the Latin-challenged loopers, and “Nothing without a decent hot spring” to yours truly. Speaking of which, the pickings between Colorado Springs and Fort Collins are about as slim as a supermodel’s patience at a buffet. But hey, that’s a story for another sleep-deprived rant.

The High Life (and Cost): Denver’s got colleges galore, from fancy-pants Metropolitan State to the University of Colorado Denver. But who needs fancy degrees when you’ve got mountains to climb and brews to guzzle? Speaking of brews, Denver may not be a literary hotspot (no Hemingway haunts here), but the Tattered Cover bookstore keeps those bookworms in hard-cover contraband.

Now, let’s talk about the locals (they can be a smug lot): All Lululemon and kale smoothies, bragging about their 14ers (mountains, you squares) and epic hikes. Hitting those trail heads, however, can be like trying to score tickets to a Taylor Swift concert, only sweatier and with less glitter.

Famous Loopers and Fickle Weather: Colorado has produced its share of famous people. Buzz Aldrin moonwalked on the damn thing! Tim Allen makes us laugh (sometimes). Wes Anderson… well, he makes movies that look like paintings. But don’t forget Molly Brown, the “Unsinkable” one, who chilled at the Brown Palace Hotel after surviving the Titanic (spoiler alert: the hotel wasn’t named after her).

The weather here’s a crapshoot. Tourists love the sunshine, but locals know it can turn on a dime, throwing a May blizzard or a windstorm your way faster than you can say “Rocky Mountain High.”

The “Green Solution” (and Everything Else): Tourism’s a big deal here, along with Maryjane, aerospace, and energy (both the fossil fuel kind and the new-fangled renewable stuff). It’s a land of opportunity for upwardly mobile yuppies: beautiful scenery, killer jobs, and a chance to wear yoga pants every damn day. Just be prepared to shell out some serious bucks for that privilege. Living here costs more than a Kanye West rant.

The Beer Olympics (and Ronnie’s Redemption): Now, Ronnie Hays, bless his hop-soaked heart, could deal with all the downsides because of one glorious event: The Great American Beer Fest. One day a year, he’d adorn himself with a pretzel necklace the size of a Texas T-bone and sample the finest craft brews the nation had to offer. It was a communion of hops and happiness, a bacchanal of barley, a… well, you get the picture.

The Vox Populi That Fizzled: We tried, folks, we really did, to get the lowdown on Colorado’s state motto from the local loopers themselves. But alas, the Fort Collins library was more interested in actual library things than our “vanity project.” We did finally confab with some born-again loopers offering “free bible lessons” on a park bench. Maybe it’s a sign, huh? Maybe Colorado leans more “God-fearing” than Ronnie initially thought.

This whole experience, though, was a lesson. It turns out preconceived notions can be about as useful as a chocolate teapot in a sauna bath. We met some lovely loopers (bless you, Larry and Jan Johnson!), but mostly, well, let’s just say these Colorado transplants aren’t exactly into non-mission-critical chatter.

The Ballad of Ronnie Hays and the Silent Transplants: So, here’s the takeaway: this little odyssey, fueled by personal experience, questionable research, and a handful of, uh, colorful encounters, has brought forth a new verse for Woody Guthrie’s classic:

In Colorado…
You might come empty…
When seeking confab…
With the local gentry…
You have to dig in…
The nooks and crannies…
Transplants…
Are freakin’ everywhere.

Stay tuned, folks, for the next stop on the H.S.O.B. (Hot Springs or Busk) Tour! We’re heading out with a renewed sense of wonder and a thirst for… well, you can probably guess. Next stop: Nebraska!

Onward through the fog… R.H.