Anything that's given for Nothing isn't worth Anything.

     Introduction:
     Surprise! We're in Boston now!
     Okay, I have to say, it is a very strange and surreal feeling after trying really hard for the past 5 months to get about 2,600 miles to Chicago to be sort of pulled back to the East Coast. We took a bus (read about it below)! Now before my determination be doubted, let it be known that I am here for a reason and I believe it was the right thing to do. When my business here is done, the plan is to return to Chicago to continue living on the road and steadily moving towards my goal.
     Also, in case anyone is wondering and because I am an open book, at the time of this writing my dwindling savings amount to $1,555.94. Not quite broke, but I've a long way to go, and who knows what situations I may encounter that these savings may be used for. Broken limbs, for instance.
     I arrived here too early though! So for this update, we're just explorin' and bummin' 'round Boston. Check it all out below!

Boston is a maze of one-ways, waterways, byways, highways, and bike ways.
Are we really going the right way?
Sometimes the only way to find our way is to let the powers that be decide our way.
That itself is a way!

     Music:
     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gX1EP6mG-E
     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djV11Xbc914
     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpCcJY-rJSs
    

     Stories:
     So, once again, this blog o' mine here is, more than anything else, a place where I can experiment on projects and such. I was really happy with the whole Notre Dame thing so I decided to go off of that and I'm actually pretty happy with this. So yeah, here are two stories! Leave a comment and tell me what you think!


     Box and Chain

     I drag my bicycle into the doors of the station, cardboard scrapping along the pavement. We could easily just put the bike on top of all the luggage—let me do it and there's no risk of my bike breaking—but the bus company insists I purchase a "bike box," a scam to extort me of another $15. I know it is a scam because the bike box could not possibly fit a bike as it is simply not wide enough for the pedals and handle bars, but all employees insist it need be shoved in all the same. The box is ripped and mangled from all the shoving and dragging and an employee tells me I need a new box. I wait in line and another employee tells me I don't need a new box. I take the front wheel off for no other reason than to give the appearance that some amount of effort was taken to fit the bike into the bike box that can not fit bikes—then an employee helps me drag the heap back outside and underneath another bus.
     I hang around, waiting for the dude to come over and load bags. I'd be more than happy to help load 'em in, but this apparently does not line up with the driver's definition of a well behaved rider, and he erupts at me, "Hey! You get on bus! Not out here! It is most simple thing!" The last person I want to mess with is the driver of the bus I'm riding in so I walk on and take the seat by the window over the luggage so that I can watch if they take my bike out for whatever bizarre reason these greyhound employees will come up with next. Not that they don't have my respect. The amount of nonsense these people have to deal with on a daily basis is unfathomable. I suppose that's what happens when you take a group of stressed, hurried, and confused people and stuff 'em in a small space together for hours and hours.
     The small space that I am currently stuffed in smells distinctly of feminine hygiene products. The loading man outside does not evict my bike, nor does he notice I tied two bags together with one tag. In the clear, I finally relax, for a moment, when a round Asian man asks if my other seat is taken. "Please." And I motion to the seat. He sits and says nothing for a few seconds until I introduce myself. His name is Ashur, and that's about all I learn from him before he pulls out his smartphone and begins texting in Chinese. I'm not disappointed—at this point I'm too tired for a conversation anyways.
     The bus driver comes onto the bus and begins another overdone yet tired bus driver spiel. I really don't mind—he's entitled to it. He informs us of when and where there'll be breaks and what we can do to get him to leave us stranded on the side of the road. As he starts talking about rules I space out. When it comes to their buses, drivers seem to love exerting an absolute level of control over their weary riders. I give back my attention as he rambles about temperature, but then quickly I revert to my book for a page until he shuts the lights off and we all begin moving as one.

     The Cleveland skyline isn't as impressive as where I had just recently departed, Chicago. It is still nice to see, all the same. I gaze out the window as the human made beauty of the city fades away into the more sparsely inhabited outskirts, filled with convenience stores, flashing red and blue lights, and empty intersections, green yellow red traffic signals changing for no one, forever. I look until there's nothing more to see but Cheek-Fil-A and Sprint billboards, lit up against an otherwise dark expanse, forcing an idea into my mind against my will—for the love of God, someone tag this shit!
     I fade in and out of consciousness as the bus hurdles down the highway through the night. Every time I look Ashur is still texting in Chinese. I offer him some of my almonds but he just shakes his head, looking put out by the effort. Before I ever regain my sense of time and awareness we are pulling into Penn Station and are barked at to exit the bus until we all have. I get to work at the dragging of the bike box again—helmet, wheel, and sleeping bag stuffed inside too. I can't drag and carry my tied together pannier bags at the same time so I have to leap frog my stuff through the terminal. I ask a greyhound employee walking past where I need to go and she angrily tells me I need to speak with someone else because it's not her job to tell me that but they're probably not going to let that thing on the bus and I need a new bike box. I thank her and move on until a kinder, older, employee simply responds, "Gate 85. 'Round that corner."
     I'm early to the ride departing to Boston and there's room on an earlier bus for me but not my bike box, so I wait. I really don't mind—there are plenty of people to talk to. When my bus finally arrives I want to make sure my bulky, cumbersome, pain in the bicycle box make it into the storage without troubling the staff, nor my helmet falling out. I'm sternly told not to worry about it and to return to line. Once in line, another worker impatiently explains to the crowd how to hand him the ticket, how to move ones baggage through the door and next to the bus, and then how to board the vehicle. He takes my ticket, I place down my tied together bags, then go help the loading man with the bike box after all, throwing my helmet back inside after it falls out in the lifting. Someone else yells at me to get on the bus and the driver eventually begins his personalized version of the exact same information forced into all of our minds against our will again and again.
     But the jokes on them. They didn't notice my two bags with one tag, and I didn't buy that $15 bike box—I pulled it out of their dumpster back in Chicago.


     No Names Found

     So I decide to do what I can to help these people. There's a part of me that doesn't want to. A part of me that thinks, "Well, what's in it for me?" A part of me that wants to just say, "Good luck. God bless!" and maybe give a quarter then get on with my day. Those voices are quieted though when I realize I have not a single thing better to do—so I decide to do what I can to help these people.

     Meet Bernice. She's dead! Well, not really, but for some reason that no one has been able to figure out yet, the government pronounced her dead on July 31st. Since then, she's lost the services that she had been relying on to survive, including health insurance for her medication or a hospital visit, and her housing. She's on the street now—she sleeps under a church awning just across the street from here. Her good friend Chester in blue here has been helping her out tremendously, but winter is coming and they don't have a plan. She hasn't been able to find a lawyer that will take her case, and Claire the Social Worker at the Social Security office is apologetic but unable to help her, apparently. No one can tell her why she was pronounced dead and no one seems to be able to correct the err.

     There is a simple question that we have all heard before but seldom hear any more. That question is, "What is the meaning of this?" As in, literally, why is this happening? What is causing it? For what purpose is this struggle put upon these people? Bernice says Claire, the social security worker, was very apologetic and couldn't help her. I don't know if I can either, but I at least want to learn why Claire can't.

     The streets of Boston are a maze to the unfamiliar. I find my way to a bike path along the river which carries me for some time before abruptly dropping me in a parking lot by a highway. I ask some business folk who point me in the right direction, navigate the weaving roads, cut throughs, and intersections, and stop when I see what I perceive as an intriguing oxymoron: A "community" Panera Bread.

     The have a wall of bread displayed through the window which triggers me craving for carbohydrates. With the intention of giving most of the loaf to my new and hungry friends, I walk inside and inquire about this community aspect. The breads all have various suggested donations and I agree to give a dollar for my part. I only have my debit card, which I am told is fine. When I approach the register the cashier asks another employee which loaf of bread it is to which she responds, "Tomato Basil." The man presses a button, "Tomato Basil" appears on the little screen, and before I know it I have paid four dollars for my community bread.

     Confused, I ask, "So, how does this bread donation thing work again?"

     Now the cashier is confused, "How do you mean?" And he tilts his head at me.

     I just smile, "Y'know, I got my bread. I'm gonna give it away. That's how it works!" He bids me a good day as I leave the community Panera Bread with the bread I bought for the community.

     A bit more navigating and I find my way to the O'Neil Federal building. I lock my bike up outside and find my way to the entrance. The guards at front are the no non-sense type as they X-Ray my belongings, but seem nice enough otherwise. I look around at the clean and spacious building until I find a line of people into the hallway-the social security office. Much like the DMV, I grab a number and sit and wait. I feel that because I choose to be here, the sentence isn't so painful. I observe the scene, write down some notes, until a man at the window starts venting his frustrations audibly enough for everyone to hear. He takes a seat, muttering the whole way. Seems to me as though he needs someone to talk to so I follow him over and say hi.

     The dude says his name is Snake. He has the word tattooed on his neck, just in case I forget, which is very considerate of him. He's muttering about killing someone, specifically the lady at the window, and that he "does not care" if he does to jail or not (despite himself also saying all he want to do is get high, and I do not think they let you do that in jail). He was a cashier at a super market for ten years, but he doesn't work anymore. He'd been surviving on his Father's benefits but he inexplicably stopped receiving them. This is his sixth time here to demand three months worth of missed pay outs and he seems pretty fed up. Hearing enough, I wish him luck and stand to move away. "I'm an evil mother fucker." He admits with some level of pride in his voice. A father with his family sitting nearby over hears, "God bless you." He says slowly and stares at Snake, unflinching. Snake crosses his arms and looks every directions except back at the man. I look towards him as I walk away and say, "and you as well."

     An hour passes and my number is called. I do not get the woman at the window's name. I do not get an audience with Claire. I do not get to talk about Bernice's issue. However, I do get a form and I do get a phone number. I have to call to make an appointment with Claire, even though Claire's right there. I'm told some unclear directions to some payphones near some McDonalds somewhere (Verizon took the ones in this building out as they weren't making any money). Nothing more to say, I thank the voice behind the window and leave with my form and my number.

     When I get to my bike, there is a security guard hanging near it. I greet him and he asks if my bike belongs to me. Apparently, a canine unit had been called in to check out the bags on my bike for explosives or something. The guard says I may not touch the bike. I comply happily, sit, and begin reading. Less than a minute later, I'm told the canine search has been canceled and I should have a nice day. The officer walks off before I have the chance to thank him.

     It takes a while to find the payphones—the number I was given is toll free, so I'm glad for that. I press the correct sequences of buttons on the phone until the automated voice asks for the last name of the person I am looking for. I only know the worker as Claire. I don't know the correct sequences of buttons. Nothing more to push, I thank the voice through the phone and leave with my form.

     Retracing my route is easy and I find Bernice where I left her by the wall of the library. The form she has to fill out to give me permission to be her advocate seems to unsettle her. I give that, the load of bread, and some mayonnaise packets I have to her and head into the library to have lunch and to let her decide if she would like to sign them. If she does, I tell her I'll try again tomorrow.

     I pull off my little free milk trick and drink that with my staple—the PB+J. On my way out of the café I grab a handful of mayonnaise packets for Bernice, work on my blog for my daily allotted time there, then head back outside and find Bernice and Chester, still hanging out across from the green line subway exit. Chester informs me that Bernice would not like me to be her advocate. We just met and she does not feel comfortable, which makes sense. I realize at this point there isn't anything more I can do to help her. There doesn't seem like there is anyone that can help her. Bernice doesn't know what to do and she just may well die, on the street, from the lack of medicine she needs. And why? Because a few people clicked here when they should have clicked there and now the computer says so and no one seems to know how to change it back. No one seems to know how to reason with it.

     That is, of course, because one can not reason with a computer. Computers have a set code and if X then Y and that's the end of the line of code. The myriad of human condition and infinite possibilities of circumstance has no room to fit there. This is just how computers work, and for computers that's just fine. However, people aren't computers. We're still warm, on the inside at least. When people are taught to uphold rules and policies religiously, even in cases when that rule or policy is of determent to the very goal or mission of whatever group/organization that person is a part of, we get these baffling situations that just don't make sense.

 

     For instance, the public library of Cambridge gives guests just 15 minutes of computer access a day. There are plenty of computers open and now I'm asking for directions because at least half of that time was spent waiting on the computer to load and reload after the browser continuously kept crashing when I tried to bring up Google Maps—but the rule is the rule.

     Another example, some downtrodden folk are sleeping in a park, taking cover from the rain in some cardboard. These people have no where to go and it takes just a few minutes of interactions with them to see they are no threat to anyone, but at 1am they are awoken by a gang of police who tear their boxes apart and scream at them, "Losers!" and "You don't live here no more!" and send them off into the wet night—the law is the law.

     What upsets me about these situations that any rationally thinking person can see that something doesn't make sense here and yet these individuals in authority do not appear to be thinking rationally. They are not applying or enforcing policy and law with judgement. They are not thinking critically. They are not questioning. The computer says so and no one seems to know how to act any differently. No one seems to know how to reason. I worry, what will our government look like when everyone in charge trusts in our system, our clearly and tragically flawed and broken system, without judgement or question?

     It will look like Bernice. Whether through human or computer err or failed policy or even an individual's own foolish mistakes—there will be people that need help and no one will be able to help them.

     And that was the end of the story... But I bump into Bernice and Chester the next day and it seems as though they've taken what I told them about Paypal and came up with an idea to get a fundraiser going on the internet on a site called indiegogo. Bernice luckily still has her bank account it seems. Of course, this is not a permanent solution for Bernice. She needs $300 every two weeks for her pills and she needs housing too. Cigarettes help a bit in lieu of her medicine, so most money she gets on the street goes to that. For my part, I don't even know if anyone reads this blog and the last thing I want to do is shake any of my hypothetical readers down, but this too is part of the story. As I already said, I decided to do what I can to help these people.

 Here's the fundraiser I helped Chester and Bernice get up:

https://life.indiegogo.com/fundraisers/victim-of-circumstance-declared-dead-when-alive


They also asked that if anyone has any advice to send it their way. Here's her e-mail address:

spunkyandcuddles@gmail.com

Feel free to give if you'd like.
No matter how much you do, it won't solve any problems
it'll just help.

     Food Review:

Hanging around Boston, close to home down in Connecticut
an old friend made the trek to visit!

Meet Selwyn! A man among men,

this hero of the people joined me in my quest to find the legendary Quincy Market!

And find Quincy Market we did.

We were lost in the labyrinth streets for a bit

but we persevered!

Quincy Market was just as I remembered it from 8th grade

though maybe it felt a little smaller now.

The fun is in the choices!

There are so many options to choose from though
it can be a little overwhelming.

I conferred my opinion

but the choice was up to my gracious supporter.
Selwyn decided on mmMac n' Cheese.

Selwyn makes his order carefully.

Evan at the counter probably heard him the first time.

It's a bit expensive for just macaroni and cheese

but I suppose some of the price goes to the name
Quincy Market.

Evan tells us he eats all the cheese he wants through out the day.
I'm pretty excited watching him make it right in front of us.

Not that mac and cheese is very complicated.

The cheese melted and Evan just sort of mixed it all together.

Louis is on grilled cheese duty.

Conversation is difficult over the noise of the market.

Pretty standard grilled cheese.

I can appreciate the simplicity.

Selwyn and I are pretty hungry after our venture together.

We grab a table outside near my bike and dig in!

I start with the grilled cheese and tomato soup.

Dipping one into the other is great!

This is the definition of "comfort food."

I recall the rich multi cheese macaroni with spinach and artichoke back in South Bend.

This is about the same price and just has American
but never minding the comparison,

I do enjoy it!

Selwyn, titan of titans, star of stars

enjoys the sauce smothered pasta with me.

Stylish slam of the spoon into the gelato.

We head up to the 2nd floor area to enjoy the expensive dessert Selwyn spoiled me with.

Thanks again for the love my friend!

And here I greedily eat all of Selwyn's ice cream on him.
Just kidding! We were sharing and trying each others' flavors!
Final Verdict: Quincy Market is a big attraction in Boston, even on a weekday.
There are plenty of hungry people bouncing around inside

enjoying the freedom to choose their meal.

That freedom comes with a price however.
Namely the expensive food, crowded hallways and dining areas, and difficulty to communicate with the people around you.
Stop into Quincy Market for the experience and to check it out at least once

but leave this little spot of history for the tourists.

     Pictures:

A year ago, I rode to Boston on my old mountain bike.

I slept on these steps with just my knife and a towel.
Returning now, I'm a bit more prepared, both in supplies and knowledge of the road.

The Boston Public Library is absolutely beautiful.
I'd say it's my favorite library I've ever been in!

Benjamin Franklin is definitely a role model of mine.
He threw his drunk belligerent friend off a boat once, y'know.

I signed up for Children International.
I should be able to get $28 a month together even if I run out of savings.
I think everyone wants give
but we all want what we give to be put to good use.
Maybe that's why we give

when we feel someone could make use of our own resources better than we can.

Found a cool smoke shop with some cool art displayed.

Headed into a bar to meet some folk
but everybody was just watching the game!
Guess that's Boston for ya.

I am fortunate that when I have no food
I can afford a hot meal.

I join my new friend Becca on her morning commute!

The train is a popular mode of transportation around here.
The different tracks are color coded.
I hear about the "green line" the most.

Cars wiz by, then we wiz by the cars.
Riding in rush hour is stressful, but exciting too.
We don't have to wait in traaaaaffiiiiiic!!

I get to the library with the intention of working on my blog.
Instead we began the above story.

This security guard lectures the crowd on how to be quiet and listen for numbers being called.

 This fountain in the Federal Building is all dried up.

Goal! 

 A drunk and belligerent man knocked that news stand over. These transit police came over and after talking at him for a while told him to scram. When asked how often they deal with individuals like that, they said, "Everyday."

My pal Chester told me a great tip
I can use the computers at the Microsoft store at my leisure!
I can't upload pictures on the laptops here, but the employees are cool and chill
and they randomly had this pizza "party" so that was cool too.

They were giving away free raw oysters! Wow! Ritzy!

 A popular spot to sleep, on these stones under the church.

It's hard to genuinely meet people when your hungry.

Harvard area at night.

They were much friendlier than most of the Harvard students I met.
Just sayin'

Not sure how my new friends slept through this garbage truck that sat next to us,

engine running, for like an hour.
I got my stuff together, did some yoga,
was ready to go by the time they were all getting hassled to leave.

Might as well sneak into Harvard's campus while I'm here.

If I play my cards right maybe I can get another tresspassing notice!

I liked the feel of the academic building.
I did some good writing in there.
I was hoping to go to a philosophy class but just found some boring sounding economic ones.

It's a pretty campus but I was eager to check out MIT.

"Photography is similar to the seemingly truthful—but actually false—state of various kinds of 'knowledge.' No matter whether or not we are convinced of the information that that is presented to us, every bit of it is useless in allaying our doubts." ~ Ai Weiwei

The Cambridge Public Library only let me on for a record breaking 15 minutes.
The lady on the left is currently telling me I can't take pictures inside without filling out a form.
It's a beautiful building though.

Cool fountain near MIT.

Cool fountain within MIT.

Cool food banquet at MIT.

Cool security for the banquet at MIT.

"It was in my heart to help a little because I was helped much." ~ Kahil Gibran.
In addition to the shelter of its awnings, this church gives out lots of food too.
And it doesn't even have a big sign claiming it "cares."

So as I was bumming around the mall, a lady asked me if I was going to the bike ride.
"What bike ride?" Says I.

So I was expecting a little gathering, maybe 20 people, 50 at the most.

HOLY CRAP!!! WAS I SURPRISED!!
I heard more than 700 people showed up!

More and more cyclists just kept showing up in front of the Library
Until finally, the Boston Bike Party began!

The second Friday of every month, an impressive group of people organize this amazing event.
www.bostonbikeparty.com

It's not a race.

Everyone is cool and just kind of leisurely rides down the street

blocking traffic en masse.

Remember last week when I said "We own the road!"
Well, this time it's really really true.

There goes the lady that told me about it.
Thanks Sandra!

I was so so so so SO pumped during this entire ride!
Really, I've never seen anything like it!

Imagine if we were all driving cars.
That would not be fun.
That would be a traffic jam.
People would not be talking
They would just be honking.
Bicycles are the way to go!!

A safe, free, and fun bicycle tour through the city at night...

...that ended in a sweet PARTY on the PIER!

Cool people everywhere
chillin'
ridin'

and dancin'!
Several riders had a trailer with a speaker on it
blasting music through the streets!
They turned it up at the pier
and we danced into the night

watched over by the lights of Boston across the bay

Practice.
The real things goes you know or who knows where.

Harvard Square was a little different than I pictured it.
A little bit cooler, actually.

I think the art of graffiti lies not in its technical skill or prowess with the can.
(That bit is just what gets peoples' attention and respect).
The art of graffiti is the message!
Pasting an idea right where everybody can see it
Right over some other idea
The rest after that is subjective.

This is Ian.
My brother on the road!
He's been riding for seven years.

This is his project
bicyclebenefits.org
He really believes in it
and has been devoting his time and energy into it for a while now
If you are any sort of cyclist, check out his website!!
It really is really cool!

He gave me some cheese
I shared some honey
Travelers 

This dude is a legend!

I got to ride with him! Yeah!

You can learn a lot from trees.
They give a lot too.
Trees are just...
Great.

Lotta water in Boston.
Tough to navigate!

These cyclists rode past me outta no where.
They had police escort and stopped traffic and the whole jazz

The ride was for some cause
and that's cool
But the Boston Bike Party was cooler

Fog rollin' in from the harbor

I love weeping willows.
They're my favorite kind of tree!

The squirrels in the Boston Commons are pretty brazen!

We march forward
We march backward
hoping our will is guiding us correctly.
Or are we guided by something else?
Was I meant to be in Boston?
To see these people and these sights.
To write this story and take these pictures.
I need to get back to Chicago.
One step forward and two back
my goal, my dream, is taking on such a different form than I imagined.
But what did I imagine when I set out five months ago?
I can tell you now, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
It's The World. It has taught me much.
The lesson this week?
Nothing is ever simple.