Officially halfway around North America a new set of challenges gradually unfold as my wanderings inch ever closer to the Atlantic.  The new atmosphere is affirming...You must adapt or be still. So quickly, I conform knowing that I must, if I want to move down the road with any efficiency.  The anatomy of catching a ride among other details must change drasticly, stepping out on the freeway setting up shop and expecting people to stop is now, unlike past days...silly.  My directional sign with a smile simply wont do on congested roadways ruled by absent minded motorists on missions.  The answer a logistical one in my mind...Every day thousands of over worked, hungry, and habitually tired truckers across the country depart from filthy fuel stations, and greasy spoons turned halfway house and head in every direction conceivable.  Most of these truckers distribute loads from one end of our continent to the other, and should be happy to have someone to talk to while they work, like myself! Sounds like a match made in heaven...right? Well not as perfect as you might think, but it works out.  An interesting role these men and woman of the road play and we should all know it, these champions of the road bring us all of our precious "things," wherever we may be.  But what they bring me today is something entirely different, an opportunity to move very long distances through the intimidating urban sprawl of the North East, in relatively short amounts of time.  So I quickly learn the etiquette of the friendly freeway truck stop, and capitalize!

So how exactly does a peaceful stray such as myself find himself the overly flavored main course on a buffet line of buffoonery?  Well, my first ride in the big rigs nets me a meager 1000 miles;  from Billings, Montana into the shiny metropolis of Minneapolis, Minnesooota.  It is here, in this converted kitchen of middle America that a spicy dish of Republican National Convention is being served up in substantial portions.  Ohhh Mike, what have you wandered into this time...?  Lets be clear, It was an absolute privilege and pleasure to shuffle myself and entourage, into a sea of 10,000 peaceful, planned protesters, marching to their cause of the day.  Ye ha!!! Right?  Well not really.  Not that I mind being in proximity to these faithful Americans as they exercised their freedom of speech, but I have always thought that this attention getting technique is, while understandable generally a fruitless affair in the end.  But today I foolishly resolve that this bit of dissent could be an exceptional bit of footage for my movie, so I join the countless journalists, amateur photographers, and newscasters standing street side to document the proceedings.

The emotion in the air is one of exclusion, I can feel the separation that lingers between the mob and their opposition.  The polarity of Ideas and belief now being whittled down to a confrontation, the energy lays patiently, waiting for its moment,  like a lightning bolt in a box it cannot be contained.  The mob believing that it is their right to be there in rejection of the show of force, the opposition amping up for that instant  the dissidents blow through the carefully contrived conceptions of what is O.K and what it means to go to far.  Standing in neutrality I decide that these two forces had been doing a pretty decent job of allowing each other to exist, regardless of the tension and angst pulsating from within, but surely this kind of energy wont stand up to the test of time, I can feel it.  And the moment comes, like gods voice over the radios of grenade clinching, club popping cops in limbo.  THE PROTEST ACROSS THE CITY IS OUT OF HAND, never mind where exactly.  IT JUST IS! In hundreds, the shield wielding  fleet of night draped shepherds move in unison to master their flocks, they begin manipulating the pulsing mass with shields as if to imply, DISPERSE! The mob acknowledges the prods with a myriad of responses, some sitting, some yelling, some running.  I simply maintain my spot to the side in quiet fortitude, running my camera and shaking my head at what I would call typical responses from both sides, all of them caught in the intensity of the moment.  As events unfold, escalation becomes the monument to which everyone bows and the day becomes dark as a superior force unleashes their tools of destruction.  The mob is now carved down to simple die hards and martyrs wishing to roar to the world what moves them and you know what happens next, heads are bashed, smoke envelops everything, and reduction of pepper flows freely in the eyes of all who find themselves within a half mile of the mayhem. What one could not have known is that the direction of violence was now rolling like heavy freight into the media section where I sit in supposed safety. Through my sub conscience I am made immediately aware of my appearance, my cargo pants, and looming backpack full of god knows what?   They essentially manifest a target on my back, I defuse my pending predicament by calmly placing my hands above my head and attempt to explain my position as they converge.  After unloading the contents of my bag I am asked to relinquish the contents of my camera under threat of sure handed violence, by a shield faced boy at least 5 years my junior. I, unlike many of my neighboring camera holders oblige and was sadly gratified by my decision, as camera fall to the ground and I watch frenzied cops haul kicking and screaming members of the media to their new confinements.  I walk off half blind and awestruck at the retardation I had just witnessed.  I quickly found the nearest hydration station and closed my day washing the remnants of spices gone awry from my enraged eyes.

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