Following our good fortune of creating a Spanish "check" account filled with $78,000, our band returned to the gruff man at the impound lot to retrieve our Cherokee built Jeep.
With his feet up upon the countertop, the gruff gentleman ignored our entrance, despite the small bell which rang to announce our arrival. Instead, he stared at a box with illuminated and moving images. Indeed, a Spanish innovation of art.
Ever impatient, Clark pushed the man's feet from the counter and demanded his undivided attention. Well, this act in no way brought us closer to the man's graces. Observing the mounting antagonism, Sacagawea, holding Little Pomp in her arms, intervened as she had many a time on our journey to the Pacific Northwest. She informed the man we had the payment for our fee and were ready to take possession of Jeep. The man grumbled (equally so did Clark) and informed us the amount required was 260 Spanish banknotes. I imagine by now you can envision Clark's reaction. As I held Clark's fury in remission, Jean Baptise stepped forward and retrieved our new Spanish check account. The gruff man's eyes squinted in a scowl rivaling a wolf on the hunt. He informed us that he did not accept Spanish checks. Here we were in the Spanish territory and he will not accept Spanish checks?
Thankfully Warren at the Bank of America had also given us several Spanish banknotes on top of the Spanish checks. Jean Baptise counted out the equivalent currency which seemed to finally put the gruff man at ease. If I might digress for a moment, I did find the Spanish banknotes peculiar in their design. Certainly we have already seen our President Washington on the single dollar notes. But Benjamin Franklin on the banknotes worth one hundred dollars? How is it that the Spanish feature our important figures on their currency?
Regardless, the payment was settled and the man told us another individual would "bring the car around." Nearly immediately the gruff man returned to his Spanish art box. I took notice that Little Pomp was also interested in the images which gave me a small chuckle. Perhaps his awaiting career is in the arts?
Finally a large metal gate rolled open on some kind of chain and we were reunited with Jeep. Clark investigated Jeep's condition and appeared satisfied. We thanked the young man and our band mounted the horseless wagon. Jean Baptise suggested we continue on our way through the Spanish Territory so as to not encounter any further altercations with the people of this land. Clark agreed. The kind man who sold us Jeep had also included a "state farm" map. I could not imagine a state run farm would have such a volume, but there it was, a book with maps of great detail. Honestly, making the maps I crafted seem elementary! As a strong map interpreter, I located our current position and we headed out on the "10" passageway, now heading East.
Until Later, My Friends!
Friday, July 22, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
18 July - The Half Disme
Our band had been waiting to hear back from the assayer regarding our half disme at the Bank of America. Indeed, it was a lengthy stay, even after the assayer had arrived. Quite a bit of individuals entering and leaving the office in which they examined our half disme. Personally, I did not imagine so many people would take so long just to convert our American currency into banknotes of the Spanish Territory.
Finally the bank manager, Warren, and the assayer brought us into the office. Sacagawea stayed in the waiting area so Little Pomp could continue occupying himself with the puzzles there.
The manager inquired where we might have acquired the half disme which they repeatedly referred to as a "dime." I just assumed the term was the Spanish tongue for half disme. Jean Baptise told the gentlemen we had obtained the coin before we departed Missouri. The assayer was amazed at the pristine nature of the coin. Warren asked us if we were willing to exchange the coin, and any others we possessed, for a bank account. Clark immediately objected. We needed banknotes to finish our travel through the Spanish Territory. An account would do us no good. Warren insisted our band would earn a considerable amount of banknotes for the coin. The bank branch currently did not possess all the currency the coin would warrant, which also alarmed Clark. What was explained to us was the account would contain the total we had earned, and would be accessible at our leisure by "checks." We understood this was a form of a promissory note. Warren insisted there were many Banks of America across the region, so we should expect no problem obtaining funds from our account. Clark inquired how many banknotes our currency was worth. The assayer told us the half disme was worth four thousand dollars due to its condition. Any other coins of similar type would be worth a similar total. Jean Baptise offered our other half disme and seven cents. Warren then told us we could have a bank account of 78,500 dollars. The three of us were left speechless. This was far more money than we could ever have imagined. Clark shook on it and Warren lead us through the process of establishing our "check" account.
Sacagawea was amazed when we told her the news. How could this be possible? But, indeed, it was true.
Our band then headed back to the impound place to retrieve Jeep.
Until Later, My Friends.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
12 July - Bank of America
I apologize once again, Friends. Our traveling keeps me from writing every day. But I will continue to keep you abreast of the events as they unfold.
Last I wrote, we were heading to a bank to exchange our United States currency for Spanish Territory banknotes. (which, surprisingly, had George Washington on them!)
Thankfully we found, amidst the Spanish settlers, a Bank of America! Although the bank back in the America states, of which we were familiar, was the "Bank of North America." The bank had gone obsolete when, under Alexander Hamilton, it was altered to become the First Bank of the United States only a decade past. However, we felt lucky that at least the previous incarnation of the American banking system was intact here. Our band attempted to enter the establishment, only to be halted by an officer. He indicated only one individual in succession would be allowed between the outer doors and the bank. A small glass enclosure between us and the bank. Clearly a Spanish style as we had nothing of this sort in America.
Clark entered first. He was told to wait for the "green light" and then he would be permitted to cross the threshold of the second door into the bank. Before he could enter, the officer stripped us of our weaponry. Another Spanish tradition, but this one leaving us vulnerable. After our band were all allowed to enter (thankfully the officer saw fit for Sacagawea to enter with Little Pomp) we approached a lady behind a desk. Clark, never with tact, took Jean Baptise's coin pouch and dropped it on the woman's desk. She looked up first in anger, then bewilderment. Being more of a diplomat, I politely requested an exchange of our United States currency to the local Spanish Territory banknotes. Now an expression of confusion crossed her face. She told us it was usually customary for "production companies" to go to "prop houses" for such an exchange. Sacagawea (feeling the bubbling of Clark's anger rising) told the woman that we did not have any Spanish banknotes in which to travel any further until we could pay our debt to the impound man. Sacagawea picked up the coin pouch and took out a half disme, offering it to the woman. Indeed, the woman's attitude changed upon observance of our coin. She asked for us to wait as she hurried to a well dressed gentleman.
Watching the woman and gentleman speak, Clark became more and more suspicious. He and Jean Baptise both showed concern about leaving our weapons with the officer. Finally, the woman and man came to us, terribly excited. The man introduced himself as Warren Platt, the manager of the bank. He asked where we had acquired the coin. I told him straightforward that we had brought it with us when we began our journey from Missouri. Warren indicated he would have to check the authenticity of the coin, then would happily trade it. He wished to send the coin to an assayer. Clark (and truly the rest of us) were uneasy giving up the coin for nothing in return, whether to verify it or no. We had only seven cents remaining, and two (including this one) half dismes in our possession. Warren told us we could rest in the establishment as an assayer came to us. Our band sat in a couched area. Little Pomp even had a puzzle to play with.
Our wait was long. I shall describe what the assayer's reaction in another entry.
Until Later, My Friends
Last I wrote, we were heading to a bank to exchange our United States currency for Spanish Territory banknotes. (which, surprisingly, had George Washington on them!)
Thankfully we found, amidst the Spanish settlers, a Bank of America! Although the bank back in the America states, of which we were familiar, was the "Bank of North America." The bank had gone obsolete when, under Alexander Hamilton, it was altered to become the First Bank of the United States only a decade past. However, we felt lucky that at least the previous incarnation of the American banking system was intact here. Our band attempted to enter the establishment, only to be halted by an officer. He indicated only one individual in succession would be allowed between the outer doors and the bank. A small glass enclosure between us and the bank. Clearly a Spanish style as we had nothing of this sort in America.
Clark entered first. He was told to wait for the "green light" and then he would be permitted to cross the threshold of the second door into the bank. Before he could enter, the officer stripped us of our weaponry. Another Spanish tradition, but this one leaving us vulnerable. After our band were all allowed to enter (thankfully the officer saw fit for Sacagawea to enter with Little Pomp) we approached a lady behind a desk. Clark, never with tact, took Jean Baptise's coin pouch and dropped it on the woman's desk. She looked up first in anger, then bewilderment. Being more of a diplomat, I politely requested an exchange of our United States currency to the local Spanish Territory banknotes. Now an expression of confusion crossed her face. She told us it was usually customary for "production companies" to go to "prop houses" for such an exchange. Sacagawea (feeling the bubbling of Clark's anger rising) told the woman that we did not have any Spanish banknotes in which to travel any further until we could pay our debt to the impound man. Sacagawea picked up the coin pouch and took out a half disme, offering it to the woman. Indeed, the woman's attitude changed upon observance of our coin. She asked for us to wait as she hurried to a well dressed gentleman.
Watching the woman and gentleman speak, Clark became more and more suspicious. He and Jean Baptise both showed concern about leaving our weapons with the officer. Finally, the woman and man came to us, terribly excited. The man introduced himself as Warren Platt, the manager of the bank. He asked where we had acquired the coin. I told him straightforward that we had brought it with us when we began our journey from Missouri. Warren indicated he would have to check the authenticity of the coin, then would happily trade it. He wished to send the coin to an assayer. Clark (and truly the rest of us) were uneasy giving up the coin for nothing in return, whether to verify it or no. We had only seven cents remaining, and two (including this one) half dismes in our possession. Warren told us we could rest in the establishment as an assayer came to us. Our band sat in a couched area. Little Pomp even had a puzzle to play with.
Our wait was long. I shall describe what the assayer's reaction in another entry.
Until Later, My Friends
Sunday, July 10, 2011
10 July - Sunday Holiday
My deepest apologies, Friends. Through the demand of the gruff impound man we were heading to the bank to exchange our United States currency for the Spanish banknote so as to retrieve Jeep. As it were late in the day, our band decided to establish camp and begin early the next day. We were unfamiliar as to the closing of banks in the Spanish Territory on Sundays. So I promise to journal what happens Monday.
Until Tomorrow, My Friends
Until Tomorrow, My Friends
Saturday, July 9, 2011
9 July - Damn the Spanish Currency!
Having ridden the "bus," our band, with the assistance of the very kind Roselyn, finally departed the method of transport and began traveling on foot.
Sacagawea, always our best pathfinder, lead the way. The man who had spoken on his "phone" device to retrieve information on where to reclaim Jeep, gave Sacagawea the postal code. Although she found this navigation to be like none she had ever encountered. Indeed, the buildings had numbers on them in sequential order. They appeared to be postal codes of some kind. Perhaps the Spanish were ahead of us in this advancement? The United States had, only twelve years prior, passed a law into effect which dedicated one location in each township for mail to be both delivered to and sent. Through this brilliant Spanish postal coordination, we quickly saw the pattern. We followed the postal numbers which progressed higher, soon to meet the written postal code we possessed. Little Pomp made a game of it, rushing ahead to tell us the next code. Finally we arrived at our location.
We entered the establishment. Clark took the lead and proceeded to the proprietor behind the front desk. Clark, with lack of diplomacy, demanded the return of Jeep. The gruff man, several days past his shaving, gazed up to us with a most displeasing expression. He told Clark we would get our "car" back when we paid him his money. Of course, this infuriated Clark. I could tell Jean Baptise was steaming as well, however, his manner did not display it. Clark insisted that it were preposterous for us to pay for the return of our own wagon when it was taken without our permission, legal or otherwise.
The gruff man, with a stone cold stare only a Northern Pacific Rattlesnake could call upon - my apologies for using this reference, as it is I who named this breed of Crotalus and it, indeed, can only be found on our journey. So for the purpose of this retelling, know it is venomous with angry, hateful eyes. To continue my story forward, the man said to us, and this is for verbatim, "You actors are all the same. You come in with a song and dance about not being able to afford the fee." Certainly this comment left us perplexed. Never once had any of us engaged in the folly of the theatre. Jean Baptise once again pulled out his purse and asked the very rude man how much of a payment was required. The man said bluntly "50 bucks." Clark lashed out again. We only had coyote pelts and had not see any deer since we had arrived here. Jean Baptise pulled out the same coin we had traded to originally take possession of Jeep, but the man merely squinted his eyes further. He said his company would not accept foreign coins for payment. Damn the Spanish Territory! I asked politely, trying to return the situation to a semblance of a gentlemanly like discussion, where might we trade for local currency? Once again, in the most vile of manners, the man said we should "try a bank" and quickly left us to respond to a bell ringing repeatedly.
Our band regrouped outside the business to decide our next course of action. We must find a bank to trade with to acquire the banknotes featuring our first President.
Until Tomorrow, My Friends
Sacagawea, always our best pathfinder, lead the way. The man who had spoken on his "phone" device to retrieve information on where to reclaim Jeep, gave Sacagawea the postal code. Although she found this navigation to be like none she had ever encountered. Indeed, the buildings had numbers on them in sequential order. They appeared to be postal codes of some kind. Perhaps the Spanish were ahead of us in this advancement? The United States had, only twelve years prior, passed a law into effect which dedicated one location in each township for mail to be both delivered to and sent. Through this brilliant Spanish postal coordination, we quickly saw the pattern. We followed the postal numbers which progressed higher, soon to meet the written postal code we possessed. Little Pomp made a game of it, rushing ahead to tell us the next code. Finally we arrived at our location.
We entered the establishment. Clark took the lead and proceeded to the proprietor behind the front desk. Clark, with lack of diplomacy, demanded the return of Jeep. The gruff man, several days past his shaving, gazed up to us with a most displeasing expression. He told Clark we would get our "car" back when we paid him his money. Of course, this infuriated Clark. I could tell Jean Baptise was steaming as well, however, his manner did not display it. Clark insisted that it were preposterous for us to pay for the return of our own wagon when it was taken without our permission, legal or otherwise.
The gruff man, with a stone cold stare only a Northern Pacific Rattlesnake could call upon - my apologies for using this reference, as it is I who named this breed of Crotalus and it, indeed, can only be found on our journey. So for the purpose of this retelling, know it is venomous with angry, hateful eyes. To continue my story forward, the man said to us, and this is for verbatim, "You actors are all the same. You come in with a song and dance about not being able to afford the fee." Certainly this comment left us perplexed. Never once had any of us engaged in the folly of the theatre. Jean Baptise once again pulled out his purse and asked the very rude man how much of a payment was required. The man said bluntly "50 bucks." Clark lashed out again. We only had coyote pelts and had not see any deer since we had arrived here. Jean Baptise pulled out the same coin we had traded to originally take possession of Jeep, but the man merely squinted his eyes further. He said his company would not accept foreign coins for payment. Damn the Spanish Territory! I asked politely, trying to return the situation to a semblance of a gentlemanly like discussion, where might we trade for local currency? Once again, in the most vile of manners, the man said we should "try a bank" and quickly left us to respond to a bell ringing repeatedly.
Our band regrouped outside the business to decide our next course of action. We must find a bank to trade with to acquire the banknotes featuring our first President.
Until Tomorrow, My Friends
Friday, July 8, 2011
8 July - The Ship Sized Wagon
As we had explored around Hollywood, legal officials had removed our Jeep. Our band was told it was "impounded" and now we needed to travel many miles from where we stood with no means to transport ourselves.
A lovely plump, dark skinned woman, who introduced herself as Roselyn, came upon us and offered her assistance. She had a disposition warmer than a campfire, and could not dote on Little Pomp more. Roselyn told us we could accompany her on the "bus." She asked if we had exact change, as it was needed to reimburse the driver. Jean Baptise pulled out our collective coins and inquired what the cost would be. When Roselyn said one dollar and fifty cents, I believe all of us felt our hopes dashed. The kindly woman examined our money. She asked of which country was its origin. Immediately we knew. We were carrying United States currency, and here we stood in the Spanish Territory. Still a flower of a woman, Roselyn told us she would happily pay our fare. Clark insisted we could not accept her kindness as it were impolite to impose on a lady. Roselyn laughed and sat us down on a bench.
As we waited, Roselyn kept a lively conversation with Sacagawea and Little Pomp. All at once, Little Pomp ran to his father to show him a banknote Roselyn was carrying. For Spanish tender, we were astonished. The banknote had a drawing of our first president, George Washington! Were the Spanish being financed by our government? Why would the First Bank of the United States have its currency so far from home?
Before my inquisitive nature could retrieve an answer, the "bus," of which Roselyn spoke, stood before us. It appeared to rival the size of our frigates! We six filtered in the doorway and were immediately met by dozens of eyes. As soon as we found seats, the eyes went back to engaging in their own business.
The bus rode bumpier than Jeep, but still in no way could compare to the struggles of our wagon passing through the Rocky Mountains. Many times the bus would stop. Some would enter, some would depart. Sacagawea spent her time getting directions from Roselyn to the location in which our Jeep was now sequestered.
Even though the bus was traveling very quickly, the time seemed to linger, making all of us weary. Clark already had slumped back his head in an attempt to sleep. I found myself in a stupor, reading every bit of signage we passed. The Irish had settled here with their "McDonald's" establishments. There were trading posts named after the proprietor, Joe. But what amazed me most was the English had partnered with the Spanish! I knew instantly the two countries intended to disguise their imminent attack on our fledgling country. On virtually every corner were disguised meeting places, no doubt housing an army commissioned by the King of Burgers! This discovery forced me to shake Clark awake, to which he muddled in a voice still in slumber, "Have we arrived yet?" Obviously sleep was not going to relinquish him anytime in the near future. Roselyn leaned to me and said "Burger King" was merely an eatery. But her words could not alleviate my suspicions.
We bid farewell to our companion, Roselyn, and a short time later, finally had reached our destination. However, once we departed the bus, Sacagawea showed us the map she had drawn from Roseyln's directions. As it stood, our band was facing another lengthy journey, now on foot.
Until Tomorrow, My Friends
A lovely plump, dark skinned woman, who introduced herself as Roselyn, came upon us and offered her assistance. She had a disposition warmer than a campfire, and could not dote on Little Pomp more. Roselyn told us we could accompany her on the "bus." She asked if we had exact change, as it was needed to reimburse the driver. Jean Baptise pulled out our collective coins and inquired what the cost would be. When Roselyn said one dollar and fifty cents, I believe all of us felt our hopes dashed. The kindly woman examined our money. She asked of which country was its origin. Immediately we knew. We were carrying United States currency, and here we stood in the Spanish Territory. Still a flower of a woman, Roselyn told us she would happily pay our fare. Clark insisted we could not accept her kindness as it were impolite to impose on a lady. Roselyn laughed and sat us down on a bench.
As we waited, Roselyn kept a lively conversation with Sacagawea and Little Pomp. All at once, Little Pomp ran to his father to show him a banknote Roselyn was carrying. For Spanish tender, we were astonished. The banknote had a drawing of our first president, George Washington! Were the Spanish being financed by our government? Why would the First Bank of the United States have its currency so far from home?
Before my inquisitive nature could retrieve an answer, the "bus," of which Roselyn spoke, stood before us. It appeared to rival the size of our frigates! We six filtered in the doorway and were immediately met by dozens of eyes. As soon as we found seats, the eyes went back to engaging in their own business.
The bus rode bumpier than Jeep, but still in no way could compare to the struggles of our wagon passing through the Rocky Mountains. Many times the bus would stop. Some would enter, some would depart. Sacagawea spent her time getting directions from Roselyn to the location in which our Jeep was now sequestered.
Even though the bus was traveling very quickly, the time seemed to linger, making all of us weary. Clark already had slumped back his head in an attempt to sleep. I found myself in a stupor, reading every bit of signage we passed. The Irish had settled here with their "McDonald's" establishments. There were trading posts named after the proprietor, Joe. But what amazed me most was the English had partnered with the Spanish! I knew instantly the two countries intended to disguise their imminent attack on our fledgling country. On virtually every corner were disguised meeting places, no doubt housing an army commissioned by the King of Burgers! This discovery forced me to shake Clark awake, to which he muddled in a voice still in slumber, "Have we arrived yet?" Obviously sleep was not going to relinquish him anytime in the near future. Roselyn leaned to me and said "Burger King" was merely an eatery. But her words could not alleviate my suspicions.
We bid farewell to our companion, Roselyn, and a short time later, finally had reached our destination. However, once we departed the bus, Sacagawea showed us the map she had drawn from Roseyln's directions. As it stood, our band was facing another lengthy journey, now on foot.
Until Tomorrow, My Friends
Thursday, July 7, 2011
7 July - The Chinese Theater
Upon the road named Hollywood Boulevard, our band remained in the shop outside the pathway of many grave markers. Due to the Shoshone beliefs, Sacagawea refused to step upon the path. However, we needed a solution so we could continue our journey.
We took notice that the walkway did not have a grave marker every place along the path. So Sacagawea agreed to carefully navigate herself around the markers.
It was shortly after this we discovered an oriental structure. I had no idea the Chinese had settled amidst the Spanish. Indeed the structure was fascinating. As I scoured the details of this great edifice, (which included hand and foot prints in the clay) a middle-aged woman asked if she could take a "picture" of me. Behind her stood her family, a man of the same age and two prepubescent children. I agreed, not entirely certain of their intentions, but knowing this was a way to study their behavior. The children stood along either side of me and I knew instantly they wished to paint our portrait. Happily I obliged and the three of us faced the father. However, he was bereft of paintbrush and canvas. Instead, he held a tiny metal box to his face and commanded us to "say cheese." The children did as told, so I went along with them, saying the word "cheese" for no particular reason, but the food was obviously part of their culture. They felt satisfied, thanked me, and departed.
As I bid the family adieu, my fellow travelers joined me. With many people around, we posed for several portraits. One young child asked if I were a "cowboy." I assured him my occupation was to explore and record nature. I introduced myself as Meriwether Lewis and my partner, William Clark. Before I could introduce the rest of our band, the people about us laughed and took more portraits. One teenaged girl asked if Sacagawea were "Pocahontas," the Indian woman of lore. A girl with her informed her friend of Sacagawea's real name. We all found it amazing that people knew who we were. Although, Jean Baptise and Little Pomp were of no particular interest to anyone.
We returned to Jeep, only to discover it was no longer there. Clark raged that someone had pilfered our new mode of transportation! He confronted a passerby and inquired if the young man had seen the one who robbed us of Jeep. The man pointed to the red paint alongside the road and the unusual yellow metallic cross upon the pathway. We were told that there was "no parking" in such a place, and that Jeep was most likely impounded. He pointed to a sign above us upon which displayed several numbers. The man told us to call these numbers. Through our bewildered looks he surmised we were unclear with the command. So he pulled a small metal device from his belt and began tapping it with his fingers. He promised there would be a way to have Jeep returned to us.
So continued our journey.
Until Tomorrow, My Friends
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
6 July - Hollywood
Having acquired a horseless wagon made by the Cherokee nation called "Jeep," our band traveled over another mountain at the suggestion of the trading post proprietor. My word! The way Jeep accelerated was like nothing any of us had ever known. 290 horses powering Jeep made all the difference. With Clark manning Jeep's wheel, we found our way into Hollywood, accompanied by the music of many trumpets.
We followed signs taking us into Hollywood. I felt the township was wrongfully named. Indeed there were no wooded forests, nor a single holly bush. Instead, we were met with another busy township. But as avid explorers, Clark hitched Jeep alongside other wagons and we followed the flow of people.
Soon we reached a pedestrian heavy walkway. The road was lined with small shops which all appeared to sell the same items. While Little Pomp was drawn to the colors and excitement, Sacagawea stopped suddenly in her steps. She pointed to the ground beneath our feet. Grave markers! Up and down the walkway were grave markers! Sacagawea panicked as she hurried into a nearby shop, pulling Little Pomp behind her. Sacagawea said her people believe if you walk upon the grave of a man, you will be cursed, followed for eternity by the ghost your feet had wronged. The anguish in her voice prompted Jean Baptise to join her. Although Clark and I did not believe in such things, Sacagawea was so distraught, we felt we needed to join her.
While Jean Baptise comforted his wife, Little Pomp raced about the shop, interested in everything he laid his eyes upon. I followed the boy as he stopped in front of a shirt from which he could not turn away. A bright hue of blue, it had lettering engraved upon it in a brilliant silver which read, "I'm Famous." He begged me to have it. Myself unsure, Clark jumped in and said if his darling Little Pomp wanted the garment, it would be so.
Clark took the shirt to the proprietor and demanded to know what the shirt was worth in coyote pelts. The heavy-set woman observed Clark through suspicious eyes and told him the garment was $25. She said she would take cash or "credit cards" for payment, no pelts. Clark was infuriated by her unreasonable demands. I grabbed ahold of Clark's shoulders to attempt to alleviate his mounting anger when an elderly woman stepped in. Beneath her head of silver were soft eyes which subdued Clark. She thought Little Pomp's current garb was delightful, perfect for her grandson back in Charlottesville, Virginia. Near my childhood home! The lovely woman offered a trade of the shirt Little Pomp was wearing for the $25 shirt. I insisted to Clark it would be a perfect arrangement. Little Pomp anxiously agreed, and removed his garment. The woman gave $25 to the shop proprietor and handed the boy his new shirt. Not since he had shot his first rabbit had Little Pomp smiled so widely. We thanked the Virginian and returned to Sacagawea and Jean Baptise.
Sacagawea had calmed down considerably. She then took notice of Little Pomp's new shirt. She was concerned, as it was not representative of the Shoshone. But while in the Spanish Territory, she agreed he had the right to wear the garments of the Spanish.
Now what lay before us was how to find a pathway in which not to walk upon the grave markers.
Until tomorrow, my friends.
We followed signs taking us into Hollywood. I felt the township was wrongfully named. Indeed there were no wooded forests, nor a single holly bush. Instead, we were met with another busy township. But as avid explorers, Clark hitched Jeep alongside other wagons and we followed the flow of people.
Soon we reached a pedestrian heavy walkway. The road was lined with small shops which all appeared to sell the same items. While Little Pomp was drawn to the colors and excitement, Sacagawea stopped suddenly in her steps. She pointed to the ground beneath our feet. Grave markers! Up and down the walkway were grave markers! Sacagawea panicked as she hurried into a nearby shop, pulling Little Pomp behind her. Sacagawea said her people believe if you walk upon the grave of a man, you will be cursed, followed for eternity by the ghost your feet had wronged. The anguish in her voice prompted Jean Baptise to join her. Although Clark and I did not believe in such things, Sacagawea was so distraught, we felt we needed to join her.
While Jean Baptise comforted his wife, Little Pomp raced about the shop, interested in everything he laid his eyes upon. I followed the boy as he stopped in front of a shirt from which he could not turn away. A bright hue of blue, it had lettering engraved upon it in a brilliant silver which read, "I'm Famous." He begged me to have it. Myself unsure, Clark jumped in and said if his darling Little Pomp wanted the garment, it would be so.
Clark took the shirt to the proprietor and demanded to know what the shirt was worth in coyote pelts. The heavy-set woman observed Clark through suspicious eyes and told him the garment was $25. She said she would take cash or "credit cards" for payment, no pelts. Clark was infuriated by her unreasonable demands. I grabbed ahold of Clark's shoulders to attempt to alleviate his mounting anger when an elderly woman stepped in. Beneath her head of silver were soft eyes which subdued Clark. She thought Little Pomp's current garb was delightful, perfect for her grandson back in Charlottesville, Virginia. Near my childhood home! The lovely woman offered a trade of the shirt Little Pomp was wearing for the $25 shirt. I insisted to Clark it would be a perfect arrangement. Little Pomp anxiously agreed, and removed his garment. The woman gave $25 to the shop proprietor and handed the boy his new shirt. Not since he had shot his first rabbit had Little Pomp smiled so widely. We thanked the Virginian and returned to Sacagawea and Jean Baptise.
Sacagawea had calmed down considerably. She then took notice of Little Pomp's new shirt. She was concerned, as it was not representative of the Shoshone. But while in the Spanish Territory, she agreed he had the right to wear the garments of the Spanish.
Now what lay before us was how to find a pathway in which not to walk upon the grave markers.
Until tomorrow, my friends.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
5 July - The New Wagon
Finding it difficult to maintain the horses with so few watering holes, Clark agreed to trade for a horseless wagon. While no one at the nearby wagon hitch (the large plot of land with horseless wagons) would trade with us, one wagon owner directed us to a trading post not far away. So our band headed out.
When we arrived at another hitching post, we were quickly greeted by a finely dressed gentleman. Clark informed him we were eager to make a trade. The man, introducing himself as "Bob," was delighted. Sacagawea presented the man with several coyote pelts we had recently acquired. Bob found our attempt to trade amusing. However, he could not agree to trade for the pelts and our two horses. Jean Baptise offered a Disme. We had never paid more that this $0.10 for any wagon. Bob looked carefully at the coin, examining every part of it. He excused himself.
To occupy our time, we examined the horseless wagons. Sacagawea found one she insisted we acquire. We all gazed upon the "Cherokee" wagon. Sacagawea was adamant the Cherokee were a strong, brave nation and would do us well to travel in any wagon they had built. Clark was a bit tentative about the Cherokee's wagon as he had fought the Cherokee under the commission of General Arthur St. Clair. But, with his meeting of many peaceful nations across the North, and his friendship with Sacagawea, Clark agreed. Therefore, when Bob returned, we informed him this was the wagon for which we would trade.
Bob could not be happier. He told us he had "looked up on the internet" (we all politely smiled as if we knew his local tongue) the value of our coin. Bob agreed the Disme was a good trade, along with our wagon and horses. Sacagawea informed Bob that the Cherokee wagon would be our choice. The gentleman told us it was actually called a "Jeep Cherokee" and was the best of the compact SUV's available (another unusual word in which even Sacagawea could not find meaning). Bob asked us if we wished to take a "test drive." Clark eagerly jumped at the opportunity.
Our band clamored into the Jeep Cherokee. Sacagawea's son, Little Pomp, was most eager. He found the new wagon quite mystical. I believe we all felt that way, though dared not express it. Clark sat behind a wheel, much resembling a ship's wheel. With Bob beside him, Clark turned the wheel to no avail. I asked Bob if we needed a sail, perhaps? Bob was a bit uncomfortable, concerned Clark did not know how to man a wagon. But once Bob gave Clark the initial breakdown of its operation, we were on our way.
While we drove about, Bob displayed the fear of a rabbit, frantically giving Clark more suggestions for how to operate the wagon. In between his squeaks of fright, Bob quoted the advantages of the Jeep Cherokee. We were amazed he claimed the wagon had the equivalent of 290 horses! For one wagon? It must be why the other horseless wagons had such great speed.
In the end, we thanked Bob for his kindness. I inquired from him if he could recommend any other places of interest we might explore in the township. Bob asked if we had been to Hollywood yet? The name expressed great beauty, therefore we were all eager to travel there. Clark even more so when he realized we would crest another mountain.
Until tomorrow, my friends.
When we arrived at another hitching post, we were quickly greeted by a finely dressed gentleman. Clark informed him we were eager to make a trade. The man, introducing himself as "Bob," was delighted. Sacagawea presented the man with several coyote pelts we had recently acquired. Bob found our attempt to trade amusing. However, he could not agree to trade for the pelts and our two horses. Jean Baptise offered a Disme. We had never paid more that this $0.10 for any wagon. Bob looked carefully at the coin, examining every part of it. He excused himself.
To occupy our time, we examined the horseless wagons. Sacagawea found one she insisted we acquire. We all gazed upon the "Cherokee" wagon. Sacagawea was adamant the Cherokee were a strong, brave nation and would do us well to travel in any wagon they had built. Clark was a bit tentative about the Cherokee's wagon as he had fought the Cherokee under the commission of General Arthur St. Clair. But, with his meeting of many peaceful nations across the North, and his friendship with Sacagawea, Clark agreed. Therefore, when Bob returned, we informed him this was the wagon for which we would trade.
Bob could not be happier. He told us he had "looked up on the internet" (we all politely smiled as if we knew his local tongue) the value of our coin. Bob agreed the Disme was a good trade, along with our wagon and horses. Sacagawea informed Bob that the Cherokee wagon would be our choice. The gentleman told us it was actually called a "Jeep Cherokee" and was the best of the compact SUV's available (another unusual word in which even Sacagawea could not find meaning). Bob asked us if we wished to take a "test drive." Clark eagerly jumped at the opportunity.
Our band clamored into the Jeep Cherokee. Sacagawea's son, Little Pomp, was most eager. He found the new wagon quite mystical. I believe we all felt that way, though dared not express it. Clark sat behind a wheel, much resembling a ship's wheel. With Bob beside him, Clark turned the wheel to no avail. I asked Bob if we needed a sail, perhaps? Bob was a bit uncomfortable, concerned Clark did not know how to man a wagon. But once Bob gave Clark the initial breakdown of its operation, we were on our way.
While we drove about, Bob displayed the fear of a rabbit, frantically giving Clark more suggestions for how to operate the wagon. In between his squeaks of fright, Bob quoted the advantages of the Jeep Cherokee. We were amazed he claimed the wagon had the equivalent of 290 horses! For one wagon? It must be why the other horseless wagons had such great speed.
In the end, we thanked Bob for his kindness. I inquired from him if he could recommend any other places of interest we might explore in the township. Bob asked if we had been to Hollywood yet? The name expressed great beauty, therefore we were all eager to travel there. Clark even more so when he realized we would crest another mountain.
Until tomorrow, my friends.
Monday, July 4, 2011
4 July Celebration of our Independence
A short passage today, friends. Our band has decided to picnic and enjoy this special day. I am pleased to see so many red, white and blue flags hanging about the township. Indeed patriotism is strong here. Although I am baffled by the flag's design. The stripes are accurate, as is the navy blue backdrop displaying the stars. However, where Mrs. Ross' flag had a circle of thirteen stars to represent our states, these flags have far more! We have been on our journey for over two years. Perhaps more territories have become states?
In any case, God bless you on this historic day when our dear president, Thomas Jefferson, did craft the Declaration of Independence and all members of the Continental Congress signed it into law.
Until tomorrow, my friends
In any case, God bless you on this historic day when our dear president, Thomas Jefferson, did craft the Declaration of Independence and all members of the Continental Congress signed it into law.
Until tomorrow, my friends
Sunday, July 3, 2011
3 July - Watering the Horses
The unhappy engagement at the game behind us, our horses were in desperate need of water. On the other side of this nature oasis, amidst the metal structures surrounding us, we discovered what our band was looking for. A beautiful pond of water, as clear as the flowing rivers we had encountered in the Rocky Mountains. Unfortunately, it was protected by tall fencing.
As Jean Baptise circled the fence to find an opening, Sacagawea and I attempted to locate the proprietor of the establishment. Clark remained behind with the wagon. His anger from the previous fight still ready to rupture once again.
Sacagawea was the first to notice the sign on the door for the building. "Closed for the season." It was the season of winter, although the region in no way displayed the cold weather of the North. It was then that we heard a loud strike of metal hitting metal. When Sacagawea and I hurried to the noise, we found Clark releasing his anger on the fence with his mallet. Upon closer inspection, I could see he was trying to destroy the lock on the fence.
In moments the gate swung open. Jean Baptise had already unhitched the horses and immediately brought the dehydrated animals to the water. They were clearly grateful.
I then pulled Clark aside and suggested, once again, we acquire one of the horseless wagons we had seen along the Freeway. He was grumpy about it, but did agree this region had very little water and feared the horses wouldn't complete the journey to Missouri.
As the horses were drinking, Sacagawea filled our canteens. She approached Clark and myself, handing me the canteen. She thought the water tasted unusual. I drank the water, quickly agreeing with her. Clark drank the water as well, and although he believed it did, indeed, have an odd flavor, he pointed out it were better than the water we'd obtained which flowed alongside the pathways into gated holes, often carrying rubbish with it.
Jean Baptise brought the horses back to the wagon, the beasts now being satisfactorily hydrated. I told him Clark had agreed we should acquire a horseless wagon. Already on my side, he was glad to hear the news. Unfortunately, most of the wagons were either traveling past us at great speed, or hitched on vast areas of land. We were unsure how to find those who owned any of these wagons, so we all decided to wait until one of the men returned to his wagon to propose a trade.
We delved into our rations and spread out to eat, not knowing how long our lingering might be.
Until tomorrow, my friends.
As Jean Baptise circled the fence to find an opening, Sacagawea and I attempted to locate the proprietor of the establishment. Clark remained behind with the wagon. His anger from the previous fight still ready to rupture once again.
Sacagawea was the first to notice the sign on the door for the building. "Closed for the season." It was the season of winter, although the region in no way displayed the cold weather of the North. It was then that we heard a loud strike of metal hitting metal. When Sacagawea and I hurried to the noise, we found Clark releasing his anger on the fence with his mallet. Upon closer inspection, I could see he was trying to destroy the lock on the fence.
In moments the gate swung open. Jean Baptise had already unhitched the horses and immediately brought the dehydrated animals to the water. They were clearly grateful.
I then pulled Clark aside and suggested, once again, we acquire one of the horseless wagons we had seen along the Freeway. He was grumpy about it, but did agree this region had very little water and feared the horses wouldn't complete the journey to Missouri.
As the horses were drinking, Sacagawea filled our canteens. She approached Clark and myself, handing me the canteen. She thought the water tasted unusual. I drank the water, quickly agreeing with her. Clark drank the water as well, and although he believed it did, indeed, have an odd flavor, he pointed out it were better than the water we'd obtained which flowed alongside the pathways into gated holes, often carrying rubbish with it.
Jean Baptise brought the horses back to the wagon, the beasts now being satisfactorily hydrated. I told him Clark had agreed we should acquire a horseless wagon. Already on my side, he was glad to hear the news. Unfortunately, most of the wagons were either traveling past us at great speed, or hitched on vast areas of land. We were unsure how to find those who owned any of these wagons, so we all decided to wait until one of the men returned to his wagon to propose a trade.
We delved into our rations and spread out to eat, not knowing how long our lingering might be.
Until tomorrow, my friends.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
2 July - Little Pomp's Game
Our decent into the valley was made most spectacular as the sun came to rest and the lights of the township burst through the night, appearing as stars shining from below.
We rested beneath a bridge where we found other weary travelers sleeping, their belongings packed in a cart beside them as ours were in our wagon.
The next morn, our exploration of the valley continued. The nature and beauty I had come to expect in the valleys of the Rocky Mountains, was certainly a challenge to discover here. It was only from time to time in which we would see a small oasis of trees and grass. Finally, Clark decided to stop to water the horses.
Although no rivers nor ponds could be found, what we did discover amidst the oasis was a group of children playing a game. It appeared that two teams (differentiated by colors) were attempting to move a ball into large nets at either end of the playing field. Sacagawea recognized the game immediately as something the Hidatsa children were playing while we were camped with them. I will admit, the game was quite similar. Two teams wearing different colors (in the Hidatsa's case headbands), and an attempt to wrap a "double ball," if you will, around a spike at either end of the playing field.
Sacagawea's boy, Little Pomp, at five years of age, was desperately pulling away from his mother's hand. He wished to join the other children! Sacagawea was concerned, but Jean Baptise said the boy needed to run. Sacagawea gave her permission and Little Pomp happily hurried to participate.
We stood beside other adults who were invested in the game. We all smiled and tipped our hats as we turned to watch the activity. However, just as Little Pomp had come onto the playing field, the adults began hissing. The children stopped playing, all of them focused on Little Pomp. Seeing no child moving, Little Pomp found his way to the ball and kicked it. A strong boy, his kick sent the ball sailing well past the trees.
Then a man with a tiny tin whistle came running out to Little Pomp. I cannot say what he told the boy, only that Little Pomp ran back to us with a flaming temper. Before the lad returned, Clark was out on the playing field raging as only a man with Scottish blood can. The adults which we had shared a friendly exchange with only a few moments earlier, were shouting and pointing at Little Pomp as he shouted back in Lemhi Shoshone, his mother's tongue. Not having any of it, I had to hold back Jean Baptise as he lunged at the opposing men. Quickly we turned to discover Clark was amidst a brawl with the tin whistle man. The other men had discovered it as well, and were all descending upon Clark.
Carrying for our own, Jean Baptise and I pulled Clark from his locked grip upon the whistle man. The other men were shouting at Clark while their children wailed tears about them. Amidst the mayhem I heard the whistle man say that Little Pomp was not "authorized" to engage in the game and demanded we leave.
The five of us stormed back to the wagon, bothered by the crude behavior of these people. Clark told Sacagawea if he were close enough to the wagon, he would surely have retrieved his gun, but the episode was over too quickly. Sacagawea quietly shook her head as Jean Baptise squeezed his arm about her shoulder. She was only disappointed that Little Pomp has not had the opportunity to play with children.
I knelt down beside the boy and told him how phenomenal he was and surely the other children could not have performed well against his strength. I was speaking the truth in these words. Indeed, the other children were certainly of greater age than Little Pomp, but they broke down into tears when the adults began arguing. Where Little Pomp stood his ground, giving back to the adults what they dished out to him. I must say, although the game ended harshly, I had never been so proud before of Little Pomp.
Our horses still needed water, so we headed out again to find a river.
Until tomorrow, my friends.
Friday, July 1, 2011
1 - The Sepulveda Pass
Hooters was quite the disappointment. Indeed I expected to sup upon owl as we had with the Teton-wah Sioux, but found it nowhere on the menu. Further, I was bewildered by the entree, "Buffalo Wings." Our travels through the Louisiana Territory found us hunting buffalo regularly. I can say with certainty they do not have wings.
From the beach side township we saw mountains before us. It is here I must explain that Clark has an obsession to climb every single mountain we encounter. His enthusiasm lead to great dissonance amoungst our band. So much so it is only he, Sacagawea, her husband, Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, their young son whom we call "Little Pomp," and myself who were willing to continue on this journey.
The lovely girl at Hooters, Stephanie, who did serve us, (to which I can say her choice of attire caught my attention) told us that the best route to cross the mountains was the "405 Freeway." We all found this an odd title for a passageway through the mountains. Stephanie explained another name for the path was the "Sepulveda Pass," which made much more sense to us. Clark wanted to go, (naturally) so the we set out the next morn.
We took our wagons up the "freeway" Stephanie had mapped for us. Indeed it was free at that! The smooth path coddled the wooden wheels upon which we rode. Never once did we fear the terrain tossing our wagon on its side, nor a concern that a horse would injure itself. We did come across a great deal of other travelers here. Their modes of transportation had amazing speed. Although Clark would complain about these fantastic wagons, I was intrigued. Our constant need for new horses to tow our wagons would be relieved by traveling in one of those vessels. Jean Baptiste and I quietly agreed together we would explore this option.
It was then that a black and white wagon with a piercing scream I can only compare to innumerable hawks diving at their prey at once, stopped angular before us. The horses reared back and it was all we could do to calm them. A military man in a navy blue uniform (obviously a Spaniard) carried a gun at his side. This prompted Clark to reach for his own shotgun beneath our bench. But Sacagawea begged him not to create conflict until we knew if the Spaniard were of a friendly nation.
The soldier, who introduced himself as Officer Garcia, told us this freeway was not the place for our "old-timey" vessel. He turned to me and asked for what he called a "driver's license." I did not know of what he spoke. The always easy to provoke Clark said frankly, "We are here under orders of the President himself." This appeared to anger the uniformed man. He ordered us out of our wagon. I began to introduce the band to Officer Garcia who appeared to already know our names! Although he was unfamiliar with Jean Baptiste, and remarked that he thought Sacagawea had married a man named John Smith.
Once we had explained our journey to Officer Garcia (who proved to be a model ambassador for Spain), he transformed his cold demeanor to a jolly disposition. The soldier appeared to be humored by our band. Having avoided a battle, we were much relieved.
In the end, Officer Garcia proved to be kind and guided us to the actual path of Sepulveda, adjacent to the freeway. Here we met far less swift wagons and were able to crest the mountain to gaze upon the marvelous valley below.
Until tomorrow, my friends.
From the beach side township we saw mountains before us. It is here I must explain that Clark has an obsession to climb every single mountain we encounter. His enthusiasm lead to great dissonance amoungst our band. So much so it is only he, Sacagawea, her husband, Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, their young son whom we call "Little Pomp," and myself who were willing to continue on this journey.
The lovely girl at Hooters, Stephanie, who did serve us, (to which I can say her choice of attire caught my attention) told us that the best route to cross the mountains was the "405 Freeway." We all found this an odd title for a passageway through the mountains. Stephanie explained another name for the path was the "Sepulveda Pass," which made much more sense to us. Clark wanted to go, (naturally) so the we set out the next morn.
We took our wagons up the "freeway" Stephanie had mapped for us. Indeed it was free at that! The smooth path coddled the wooden wheels upon which we rode. Never once did we fear the terrain tossing our wagon on its side, nor a concern that a horse would injure itself. We did come across a great deal of other travelers here. Their modes of transportation had amazing speed. Although Clark would complain about these fantastic wagons, I was intrigued. Our constant need for new horses to tow our wagons would be relieved by traveling in one of those vessels. Jean Baptiste and I quietly agreed together we would explore this option.
It was then that a black and white wagon with a piercing scream I can only compare to innumerable hawks diving at their prey at once, stopped angular before us. The horses reared back and it was all we could do to calm them. A military man in a navy blue uniform (obviously a Spaniard) carried a gun at his side. This prompted Clark to reach for his own shotgun beneath our bench. But Sacagawea begged him not to create conflict until we knew if the Spaniard were of a friendly nation.
The soldier, who introduced himself as Officer Garcia, told us this freeway was not the place for our "old-timey" vessel. He turned to me and asked for what he called a "driver's license." I did not know of what he spoke. The always easy to provoke Clark said frankly, "We are here under orders of the President himself." This appeared to anger the uniformed man. He ordered us out of our wagon. I began to introduce the band to Officer Garcia who appeared to already know our names! Although he was unfamiliar with Jean Baptiste, and remarked that he thought Sacagawea had married a man named John Smith.
Once we had explained our journey to Officer Garcia (who proved to be a model ambassador for Spain), he transformed his cold demeanor to a jolly disposition. The soldier appeared to be humored by our band. Having avoided a battle, we were much relieved.
In the end, Officer Garcia proved to be kind and guided us to the actual path of Sepulveda, adjacent to the freeway. Here we met far less swift wagons and were able to crest the mountain to gaze upon the marvelous valley below.
Until tomorrow, my friends.
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