V. The Summer

(Content warning: Self harm, Depression, Suicide)

(Author’s note: This chapter, despite being at the beginning, Is the hardest to write. Some of the feelings I had here, I still have, but not to the extent I did when these events took place. Writing about these things are hard, and telling you about them is important to the story. However, It’s important to remember that You can accept help from other people, It doesn’t make you a poser.)

I was awoken by the sounds of laughter and inquiries about my well being from outside of my tent. My friend and his mother, welcomed me to the property. I quickly, took apart my tent and strapped it to my bike while I chatted with my friend. He was headed to work, so it was short but sweet. We had been friends a long time but rarely ever saw each other in person. After telling him about the bugs in Kansas. I spent the morning smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee with his mom. We talked about family troubles, and the locals, our health and hopes for the future. The normal things you talk about when seeing your childhood best friends parent.

I always hated these moments. Always fearing that I was letting everyone down with my little to no ambition. I felt like I never had a good enough reason in anyone’s eyes to be persistently living on a roadtrip. You’d catch some lip about how I should go back to school and be an IT professional or how I need to become a Welder or something. I understood, I needed a job that paid well, or course we all want that right? But I never felt comfortable giving people my really hopes and dreams because those things do not make money. However, after all the juicy details had dried up, I retreated to a shower and a bed.

In the moments I’m left alone in someones house, I find something to play a computer game on. If I have watched your house or dogs for you, I have set up a Sega on your television and proceeded to eat everything I could out of your fridge and cupboards. I am barred from houses across the country not because of rudeness, or theft, Mischief, or raunchiness, but, because I am a slob. Sometimes I think about stealing stuff more often because I think I burn bridges at the same rate as someone who was taking all the diamond jewelry out of the family safe. So as a self restraint, I move around often so I don’t acquire filth and piles of of belongings in the places I am welcomed as a guest. The thing I was most paranoid about was that the previous time I had visited, I had left scraps of rolling tobacco on all the furniture In the basement. I think His mom was mad about it. So While My friend was at work, I was very self-conscious about the mess I was generating just by existing.

I had other friends in town, from way back, the kinda friends that remember what kinda things you cried about. I’d make the rounds, and try to visit. At this point in all my journeys I had rolled through and been accused of being a mooch by nearly all of the people i still knew in my hometown. It was really nice to see all of them. They mostly thought the scooter was hilarious. I had a few Days to kill before I had to report for work, I’d attempt to find a place to stay, but mostly sleep in a few plots of farmland outside of town. Some people welcomed me very strongly, with celebration. Others, passively accepted that I was just on a trip and just passing through, almost assuming I had done it before.

It was only a day or two to kill that spring before I had to be at work. It was a Summer Camp. I rolled up on the first day before everyone else. My paperwork said 10 a.m. So I was there at 10 a.m. I think the next set of folk showed up a few hours later. I had walked around the property, found my department, saw a mammal of some kind, and began to inspect the campsites. When I had returned to the original meeting location, The rest of the staff had shown. The number was small. The age gap between a lot of us was vast. I found myself dreading the idea of hanging out with the college aged staff and younger. Realizing That I may be spending a lot of time by myself this summer.

On the First Day of work, after we had said all our names and told each other where we were from, I had an emotion I had never felt before, one that I still do not know if I have the word for it. I felt as though I had been put on a ship sent out to sea with nothing left to do but man the oars. I could split hairs on all the things I didn’t like, and build an incredible excuse as to why I should leave. I didn’t. I stayed, And not only did I stay, I worked my fuckin’ ass off at that summer camp. I was up late working on my lessons, I was washing dishes, Mowing grass, hornet nests, and all kinds of responsibilities That I wouldn’t have given two shits about at any other job. I tell myself That it was just the first time I liked my job. I had an upbeat attitude, I was happy to just be there, never mind the awful pay and accommodations. I was working out side, being paid to be silly. Being paid to go on hikes and talk about wildlife with kids and their family’s who perhaps do not often get the opportunity. We were attempting to teach skills that some of the campers would take with them the rest of their lives.

I felt like my job meant more than all the stupid jobs I had in the past. While working with kids was not my first choice, it ended up being just plain fun, I had never doubted that I had made the right decision to work there. The change of the property over the course of the season, along with the growth of the personalities, became difficult to leave unattended. I think that first year, those people I worked with probably say me at my best, I was trying to do everything I could to keep a summer camp going. We were understaffed, under paid, and overworked. We were all looking forward to the mid season break that took place around the fourth of July.

Initially I made no plans, I didn’t want to see anything. The camp I had been working at non-stop for two months was suddenly stopping for a week. I honestly Did not know what to do with myself. I called my friends around, They all had plans. I looked at the internet to try and find something interesting to do. I kind of walked around thinking about trying to score some weed or something. After a few hours of being at the camp alone, I decided to leave. I was pacing the camp, I might as well keep driving while I can, enjoy the road while its there.

It was a long break, but me hitting the road felt a bit impulsive. I had found my way to the largest map of Wisconsin on the property. I stated at it for a while. So many places I would have wanted to go. But with the time i was allowed, Only one true destination would fit the bill. Its easy to see why I decided to see Sturgeon Bay, WI, I didn’t really need a map to get there.

I used no map, made no real plans, and just packed a few things and hit the road. I said nothing to the few remaining staff, and mostly guessed my route for the first few hours. I was in a great mood from the long weeks of work. I was happy to hit the road.

As I drove though, An overwhelming mood came and took me. I the truth I had to face that I had avoided since the beginning. I began to feel very guilty, Starting to hold myself accountable in the worst possible way. As there is something very unfortunate and very important about this story, this whole story, that impacts the ride away from the summer camp.

When I packed my bag and left on that scooter. I truly, had no intention of coming back. If not hit by a semi truck, I would purposefully find the spot to park my bike one last time. I left my home on the bike with the full intent to end my life. Specifically Vancouver, British Columbia would be my final stop. I would make my way into Canada then disappear into the vast wilderness of North America trying my best to become just another part of it.

I was not well when I had left on the scooter. At one of the lowest points you could be. I felt Like I had no one, had lost everyone. I was letting everyone down, and taking it out on myself. I had become this unlovable monster that must stay away from everyone. Some of these Means of self destruction are felt far beyond the life of a scooter. However, The scooter was still the key to it. It was still fun, and albeit the best distraction from self-loathing you could ask for.

The scooter delayed it all. In those opening moments of the fourth of July break, for the first time in years… I wasn’t sad, I was over joyed and ready for more of what Life had to throw at me. I carefully put all those terrible thoughts aside, willfully ignored my despair in favor of seeing something else at 38 mph.

I stopped and ate trail mix in Wisconsin Rapids. Finally stopped to look at a map, I realized That I had made incredible time. The traffic-less road of highway 54 across Wisconsin was so beautiful, that I had driven without stopping for almost 6 hours. There really wasn”t too much left to go, Id’ easily get to see sturgeon bay in the daylight by tomorrow. It was getting dark though, It seemed like the right time to take it easy and find a nice place to sleep.

Somewhere Southwest of green bay was a small town with a gas station. Since It was so Late, and it was the only place open, I figured it wouldn’t kill me to get a Pepsi and ask if there was a campground nearby. After talking to the woman at the counter for a bit, I put together that My best spot for camping is probably some land just south of town. I walked out of the store with a donut and pack of cigarettes on top of the aforementioned Pepsi. You gotta respect the clerk for up selling me. I’d stand near my bike and take my jacket off so that I could enjoy the smoke.

As the humid night continued, the cicadas shut the fuck up when this Ford Taurus parked at one of the pumps. A bearded man, rather tall, with a leather duster and fedora got out to put gas in his car. I thought almost nothing of it, In fact My observation was: “I cant believe people are still going for this look.” The man walked away from his car and continued into the store. He came out a few minutes later and approached me. I gave him a smile, and he shot one back. We talked about how gorgeous the night was, and the warm weather. He cracked his Mountain dew as I drank my Pepsi. Two true night owls crossing paths. He asked me were I was headed, and I told him. I was looking for some place to setup a tent, I was open with any hot tips. He pointed me to the same land the cashier did, towards the South East. I thanked him. He seemed rather nice, if not more investigative than intrusive. However, he began to talk about something odd. He was mentioning about stuff in the woods. I assured him that I think, “Black bears arn’t that bad,” and that of course I had some bear mace with me.(Black bears are dangerous I actually didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about). He was leading on that there was something in the woods that you couldn’t explain. Claiming that you would need silver bullets to kill the things that live outside of town. As I laughed, He offered to show me the Silver bullets He had made. Of course I was excited to see them. He brought me over to his car, and showed me a black powder revolver. He pulled out some goop I’d assume is for the function of the gun, and assured me the bullets were handmade, and silver. I told him that I hope he never has to use them. I should have never walked with a stranger to look at a hypothetical gun and bullets, but he also offered a beer from his car. At any other moment I may have laughed it off as a little silly, but after 2 a.m. I think I just let every conversation unroll as it comes out. For all I knew, There were monsters in the woods.

I hit the road just as the werewolf hunter did. When I found a spot, it was just as described. It was empty, and there was a wall of trees blocking me from the road and really anything. It was quite the campsite. Setting up a tent, I hadn’t a second worry about it, I could see the stars so clearly with not a peep from the road nearby. As I was finally in my sleeping bag ready to pass out. Something started happening, fluttering by my face. wings flapping, tiny wings. Then the sound, the Buzzing. The Hum from hell that no one could sleep through. Then the bites. The needles going into every part of your face and down in the sleeping bag to and part of your skin that dare shows itself. Mosquitos. The worst I had ever seen. As the flashlight shined into a swarm of absolute shitheads, I noticed a hole in the tent, maybe the size of a quarter that a never ending parade of flying fucks was coming through. While miserable, I was astonished at what was happening to me. It was every mosquito in the county coming to my tent that night. My refuge was to put the rain fly on the tent to cover the hole. As the bugs that remained in the tent still bugged me for several hours, the only solution I could muster was Burning an American Spirit as an incense to make them go away. I propped the cigarette inside the tab of a beer can angled up. I was glad the werewolf hunter gave me a tallboy. Along with a thick amount of bug spray, I slept only a few hours. It was unbearable, a I lost nearly a pint of blood that night. I packed my tent very quickly.

In exhaustion and delusion I make the worst, and best, camp site decisions. I had found a Large sculpture of a sturgeon along the road. There was a streetlight that seemed to draw most of the bugs away. In fact no mosquito seemed to grave the presence of Stanley the Sturgeon. I made myself at Home underneath the fiberglass fish, I didn’t hesitate to pass out.