...written a few days ago, recaps the details of my failed trip to tattoo at 111 arts gallery ( @111artsgallery / @n8harmon ) in Muncie Indiana. Third vehicle to die in a years time. Zero regrets. Zero coincidences. Refuse to be victimized by life. Also included are a few photos from the trip.
07.21.18 Indiana travel log conclusion
I am writing on the tail end stretch of a long last few days. Only 65 miles now lays between Pennsylvania Station and my home compound. Matt ( instagram : @druid_dude ) and I began this trip Wednesday evening, loading up my Chevy Colorado with my tattoo equipment, cooler of drinks, a kettlebell, mace, skateboard and a few changes of clothing each. On the way to the expressway we stopped off to fuel up the truck and fill our stomachs with fish and chips from my most favorite old bikers watering hole, the red river in. With a full belly and tank we headed west to Greenpoint Brooklyn, a bar named Goldies, where we met up with my buddies Andy and Skald Heiter for another beer to celebrate the road ahead. We drank and more at Goldies freely and for free amongst the cross eyed kitschy velvet paintings among brothers, and then we dived down through staten island and into Jersey down the highway. A few hours later we would pull off at a trailer park campsite, wrll after hours. We parked my pick up and rolled out our sleeping bags in the trucks bed. The stars looked bright above our heads and the air felt pleasantly cool and comfortable. We would peel out of the campsite just as the sun rose, ready to tear up more highway and avoid having to pay for our stay once the offices had opened on the grounds. Further down the road as we passed through the remainder of New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland and onto West Virginia the truck began making strange noises and we pulled off in a one horse town hoping the truck was just in need of a cool off and some rest. An inspection of the fluids did nothing to illuminate the problem but after an hour of cooling we could still hear strange noises coming from the engine, as well as the brakes malfunctioning. The dash lit up with lights and codes as we pulled up to a small broken down garage where two haggard men covered in grace worked on a motley bunch of used cars and lawn mowers. The younger of the two attempted to troubleshoot our computer but it seemed the codes from the computer and resetting them did nothing to fix the problem. We attempted to push on, lost and frustrated, confused, lacking answers, though we did not get far, stopping off at the very next rest stop as the noises turned from vibratory thumps and squeals to grinding punches. We waited a few hours drinking beers and swinging my mace until a tow truck came and drove us 30 miles down the road and out of the West Virginia mountains to Morgantown WV, home of West Viginia University. While the tire and lube shop checked out the truck matt and I scored beers and some great sandwiches from a restaurant near by, apparently a chain that originated in Pittsburgh. Though not my usual taste, the tall Fried Egg, Slaw and Fries piled high really hit the spot. Back at the lube shop it became apparent that the guys at this shop were in over their head. The bearing and drivetrain moved about easily to the touch, an obvious source of our problems though we would need to have it again towed to a specialist transmission shop on the other side of town in the morning.
Being still early we took an uber to the downtown area. It being the off season for college the fountain area and its bars and clubs seemed oddly empty. We walked the strip a few times with our sleeping bags in tow and decided to buy a few beers at the liquor store and scope out a possible place to sleep for the night. Inspecting a map I spotted a park a few mins walk from where we were and we headed in that direction. Once we arrived we found a steep and dark gravel trail through the woods that eventually lead down to a shallow river and a paved bicycle path. Walking along the path we hoped to find a good place to lay our sleeping bags but instead we came upon a trailer park and mo where else that seemed inviting. We were tired and decided it might be best to catch another uber back to the truck.
Once back at the truck we opted to drive the thumping limping pick up to the back of the shopping complex where the lube shop was located, back the truck up by the dumpster and again sleep in our sleeping bags in the bed of the truck. Matt passed out quickly but I was restless and chose to throw on an audiobook and walk to a 24 hour grocery to buy bug spray and kefir.
I woke early, may still slept. Surprisingly we both slept pretty well and comfortably in the bed of the truck both nights. I walked and found a independent owned doughnut shop run by some hippie girls where I used to wifi for a few minutes and got us some to go coffees, mine with almond milk and his with half and half. Back at the truck I spent some time bathing behind a trailer with a water bottle and handmade bar of soap made by a fellow operation werewolf operative. The soap moisturized surprisingly well and I felt great after hosing off though a few women who pulled into the parking lot of the gynecology office in their cars and spotted me in my boxers bathing on the grass seemed confused and stared. Once I got redressed I turned on some Batuska, Death and Kali mantra chanting on a portable blue tooth speaker and spent 15 minutes doing a mace and kettlebell swinging workout.
Eventually we went and got more coffee and called for a tow truck to the tranny shop.
At the tranny shop it quickly became obvious that the damages would render the truck totaled.
Next we took all of my tattoo equipment, kettlebell, mace, clothes and headed for the greyhound station.
After waiting 6+ hours with some recently released prison felons, the greyhound was overbooked. The felons got the ride. My friend and I were stranded and unconfident we would be seeing a refund. Our only option would be an uber to Pittsburgh, 180 dollars, but at this point I was fed up and just wanted to get some miles down, some progress in the right direction.
Once in Pittsburgh we pushed about 100 pounds of tattoo equipment and other miscellaneous items wrapped in ratchet straps and bungee cords on my skateboard through the streets until we found a bar and restaurant on the ground floor of a hotel. We had drinks among a mixed crowd. One woman remarked that she was offended by the way me and my buddy were dressed, especially his Mayhem shirt which displayed a quote from Ragnar Redbeard's 'Might is Right' a personal favorite, on the back. Needless to say we could really care less what the old bag thought, as we laughed sipping our beers and ordering more.
We then rolled our cargo skateboard caravan back to the amtrak station to wait the 6 hours until our 15 hour train would arrive. Matt curled up in his sleeping bag on the floor of the desolate station. Employees of the train warned me I wouldn't be allowed on the train with some much gear in tow so sadly I found a dumpster on the street and had to dispose of 75% of my belongings, though my tattooing took boxes and all their contents were out of the question. I even attempted to call and uber to see what it would cost to take one to long island but was told it would certainly be in excess of a thousand dollars, easily.
Come morning we boarded the train. The ride was mostly arduous, tedious, boring, though there was coffee aboard. I listened to audiobooks and slept. We passed by a long curve along a mountain side and the conductor came on the intercom to tell of the history of its construction. It was apparently built largely by Irish immigrants... I thought about the hardships and accomplishments of my ancestors.
Once back in penn station, though still 70 miles from home, we both sighed in relief. A two hour train ride still laid ahead, but as far as we were concerned, we were home...
Matt Macabre the Druid, Andy the Funisher, Biker VVitch, Skald Heitar. Goldies Bar, Greenpoint Brooklyn.
me and Andy the Funisher. Goldies, Greenpoint Brooklyn.
Andy the Funisher has the sickest Bad Brains PMA belly piece. So gnarly. Goldies, Greenpoint Brooklyn.
Matt macabre the Druid and I at a reststop along the interstate.
Morgantown WV. Waiting on the news that the truck is tucked from the mechanics.
was it all in the cards?
at the transmission shop in Morgantown Va.
Matt macabre the Druid. Coffee stop while we wait for a second tow truck.
Matt macabre the Druid. Long island Rail road.
matt macabre the Druid. train platform.