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| I love that shirt. |
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| It still fits. |
You got stories, I've got stories -- why not share some stories? Let me take you all the way back to 1995. I was living in a small ski town with my parents and two brothers. Back then I thought myself a regular socially awkward fifteen year old. There is nothing regular about my social awkwardness, it's a honed skill. But I'll get to that later.
The town I lived in did not have public transit. Correction, there was one bus that ran twice a day to a neighboring ski resort. This pretty well sucked for anyone who liked to do things. Especially without the use of a car and I had no interest in getting a car.
I memorized school bus routes, resort shuttles, Greyhound and Amtrak schedules. Travel wasn't easy and I often ended up walking or hitchhiking. I would like to ask my 13yr old self what gave me the courage to put my thumb out that first time. It was probably my brother, Chris. Thanks Chris.
I got it into my head I wanted to get my tongue pierced. Like it would somehow help define the person I was. I also wore pants and hated hats, all of these things have changed.
The nearest place to get this piercing was in the city 45 miles away. Also in another state. But hey, I heard they didn't ask for ID. This was much further and trickier than my usual adventures. I made a plan, Go multi-modal. I'd hitchhike with my BMX. That way I'd have transportation while in the city. Bringing the bike along was going to be an extra challenge.
I rode eight miles to the nearest Interstate on-ramp and stuck out my thumb. After a good three minutes a red pickup pulled over and gave me my first ride to the big city, Reno Nevada!
I arrived much earlier than expected and a bit lost. No cellphone, No GPS, I found a payphone with fresh phonebook to vandalize. I tore out two pages, one with the address of the shady tattoo shop and a city map from the back. This kid is going places they said, he's got so much potential they said.
I remember the smell of pine trees was replaced by motor oil and hot exhaust. Cars were plentiful and if Reno had bike lanes in the 90s I don't remember them. In the City the rules are different and I didn't know them. Through side streets and sidewalks I somehow made it to the shop.
I refused to lie in order to get this "procedure". Accepting if blocked, if I heard a "No" it just wasn't meant to be. Surely they would deny me. I was 15, had no ID, had no appointment and arrived on a BMX.
$50 to jam a needle through my tongue, the piece of jewelry was complimentary.
Boom, done. My first Cafe Stop completed I could turn around and head home. With a bloody swollen mouth, I made my way to a freeway on-ramp at the edge of the city.
Getting back seemed impossible. Maybe it was the bike or the the crazed teenage runaway vibe I was giving off. I was on that ramp for hours. Some places hold on to ya, Reno does that. After three or four hours with my thumb out I finally get recognized by a passing car. One of my dad's coworkers returning from Costco. Car packed full they kindly gave me and my bike a ride all the way back home. Success.
Naive but not fearless, I traveled further than I had gone before. My world got a little bigger that day.
