Love is my superpower
Fear is the opposite of love
Love is optimism
I love my opponent because he loves combat as I do
Our spirits meet in battle
I love my opponent because without him there would be no battle
I was created for this
As was he
I love him and I must beat him
I love him because without him
There would be no win
The further East Tommy and I ventured, the more bugs we encountered. Very small, annoying bugs, and their strength lay in numbers, in the enormous black clouds of them. I mean, bugs littered the trees, making loud and ridiculous noises. Bugs, voracious as lice, frolicked in my hair like biting dandruff. So many bugs, they lived in the green grass by the herd. And all of them—Biters.
Along with bugs came the ever increasing humidity. From Kansas City on, my sweat soaked through my shirt and left it damp. Day and night, night or day, it didn’t matter. Breathing bug-clouded air, thick as water, and always the itching, the sweating, the constant need to take a shower.
In Springfield, we quickly found Tommy’s friends. They were a group of five or so drunken bums. I had sympathy for their alcoholism; who wouldn’t seek an escape in such a horrible environment. It could help, I guess, but it definitely required a fee from the user. One of Tommy’s friends had recently passed out on the tracks and lost half a leg when the train ran it over. I don’t know what happened to the discarded half….it probably wound up in the mouth of a German shepherd that gnawed at the marrow and ripped chunks of flesh from the calf. The attached half, received a boy scout type wrapping in gauze, but it still leaked at the stumped end, and required more care than what a few inebriated men could offer.
We ended up camping on the front lawn of an abandoned house. I had a tarp to lay down under me, so I had less bugs to deal with than the others. The one-legged bum decided to help himself to some of my tarp. I am not, and never have been, a fan of stumps. I used my two good and stump free legs to kick him off my tarp and away from me. He was somewhat surprised and put out by my harsh treatment, and he complained to his companions about the abuse, but they were too drunk to pay attention.
In the morning, I heard everyone get up and leave as a group. I acted like I was still asleep, so I wouldn’t feel compelled to go with them. It was time to go my own way. I liked Tommy, but not when he was with his friends. Besides, I needed to get going towards Memphis; it was the Fourth of July, and Graceland beckoned.
Wandering around Springfield, I found a Laundromat. I washed all my clothes, and sat naked underneath my tarp while my clothes spun in stupid circles. I explained my dire situation to the attendant; I needed to find the train to Memphis. He knew of a shelter by the tracks, and he was sure I could find someone there to point me in the right direction.
It took a while, but I made my way to the tracks and found the shelter. I walked in and asked the guy at the front desk if he knew any experienced hobos. He led me back into the day-room and introduced me to a man who gave a new meaning to the “dust bowl” and whose breath made throw up smell refreshing. Experience? The hobo probably invented wandering. I told the guy I was looking for a train to Memphis. He pointed out the large window to the tracks. A train sat on the tracks, the whistle blowing a final farewell. “That train is going to Memphis or Indiana…..best hurry though, cause its a leav’n.”
The train was already moving by the time I got up to the locomotive. As I walked in step with the train, I hollered up to the engineer :”Where you going?”
“Memphis!” he yelled back. Music to my ears….was I really that close?
I jumped in an open boxcar, feeling amazed in my clean underwear and somewhat lonely for having left my traveling buddy in Springfield. Soon the train carried me into the forested hills; drooping trees, creeks and ponds. It reminded me of so many scary movies. Huge trees with moss hanging, almost made me feel that the ride took me back in time. I felt unconquerable: Being alone in a boxcar, one last hop from my destination, countryside like I have never seen rolling past me at a leisurely clip. Evening came, and with it, thoughts of my friends back home. I knew they were at the parks, talking to the girls. I wished they could see me, how far I had journeyed. Everything I had experienced was worth its weight in gold, but I would love to be there, back home, with them also. I loved my friends and the brilliant firework shows that would be watched as the sun set over the Great Salt Lake.
Just before dark, the train stopped. We were somewhere out in the hills. There was nothing unusual about it, except not far off a gathering started to happen. Locals in pickup trucks were converging on a field. I could hear talk, but hillbilly-southern, some sort of gibberish. I wondered if lynch mobs still existed. At dark, the fireworks started. Different place, same customs. I had the best seat in the world. The show lasted about an hour, and so did my goose-bumps. My train started moving soon after the show ended. I could see the people leaving in their trucks and returning to homes that I imagined as shacks on hillsides, while I rode my magic carpet towards a palace of the King. But I no longer felt alone. Whoever those people were, I had experienced something with them, and for that, we were connected. The train had stopped in the perfect spot. Who knew the middle of the Ozarks held such mystery, and yet people that would unknowingly give me a gift of the greatest firework show of my life. That was no mere accident.
I lost a friend and a father within a week of each other. Disease took my dad beyond remembering who I am, who he is. Death took Miles.
Soon after my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I had a dream. In that dream Dad and I were standing on the rim of a canyon, deep and rocky. Dad started to walk down the trail that lead into the depth. I could not go with him. It was a journey he had to take alone and I could go no further. I was furious. I yelled into that canyon as loud as I could: “He’s my father, and you can’t have him!” “He’s my father and you can’t have him!” over and over and over again. But the canyon, cold and emotionless, just echoed my cries. I was powerless, and Dad continued his descent. All I could do was watch and yell into the abyss as I lost sight of my father.
At the time of the dream I thought of that canyon as the disease of Alzheimer’s. But now having lost Miles, I see that dream again in my memory. Miles’ body died by his own hand, but at that time I think his spirit was in the same dark canyon that my father now wanders.
Rocky, my father: There is no amount of writing and remembering that can describe what Dad has done for me and his family. The man that had backed me un-conditionly. My entire life proving a bond that nothing in this world could break. Love
Miles, my friend: The person who’s simple compliment on my improving grappling made me feel ten feet tall. The guy who saw me having a bad day and asked me if I needed to talk about it. Miles was a man younger than me that I looked to like a big brother.
In the past, death and loss made me bitter. I once thought it better to not love than to lose love. The pain was to much. The experience of losing Dad and Miles tells me I was wrong. I now know that there is no end to energy. I can feel it deeper than any loss. The actions of Dad and Miles live forever, as positive effects are like ripples on the surface of an eternal pond. The times I had with these men cannot be changed. Knowing this reminds me to live and love without holding back….. and that is my goal.
Mini Maude Ridge
From where I sit I see the old red ranch house, then Mini Maude Canyon spilling to the Park, then the far mountain range opposite the desert from my mountain, from me.
The house: The windows are gone, but it still stands. A thousand feet below me and a mile away in the meadows. A red reminder that others lived here before. I am not the first. A hundred years ago travel was slower, yet people lived and worked here as I now do. I can.
The canyon of pines, quakies, creek and grass. Rock outcroppings I have never visited. The elk are there. The breeze carries the scents, sounds and cool of autumn. The elk bugle, to each-other, but I listen; eavesdropper to a conversation as old as a species. Chills.
A few years ago I found a stone spear-head near here. I was tracking an elk wounded by my arrow. How many hundreds of years had it laid there? The man that lost that spear-head hunted here as I do now. Was it in a wounded elk? Did he come to this point and look at the far away mountains and wonder the way I am now? I have seen his pictures carved on the rocks. No photo I could take would capture what my spirit sees from this ridge.
How far away are those mountains? I could drive to them I am sure. I know the direction. I probably have already. But traveling faster than my soul will not take me there completely.
My black stands; he is old now. There is a union between man and horse, it is real. Ours is strong. My black is still strong. I look to distant mountains and I know it is right.
We will make that ride.
The cop’s look was suspicious, even if his tone was friendly. How does a town this small have its own police force? Always a fan of the getaway; I felt not too confident. Damn, I shouldn’t have un-saddled. Ten days riding through Georgia, and my first five miles into Alabama found me in a tight spot.
“You have some ID?” I know the law, does he. I didn’t have to show him ID; I wasn’t doing anything that required it. Ya right. I handed him my license. The cop headed for his car with my ID in hand.
”This don’t look good.” I said to the guy who had brought me some pizza. He was the Mayor’s son.
“Oh shit, you wanted?”
“Yes”
“The keys are in my car.” he whispered “You can steal it”
I eyed his Honda. It did look fast. But is there room for me, my tack, a German Short-hair pointer and my horse? I wasn’t sure. The cop knew the roads and I did not. I could probably knock him out easy enough, or there is the .45 in my saddle bags. Na, that’s real trouble. I better just hope for some luck. Its been a good ride, anyways………..
I will say this about jail in Alabama, everyone is friendly. Southern hospitality, they pride themselves on it.
The radios, computers and worldwide dragnet of the modern police system. Being an outlaw isn’t what it used to be.
Revelation 6:8
LIncoln was a place where you had to watch out for the Bull (train cops). We got off the train and slipped away from the tracks and camped in a place where Tommy had once found a wallet and three hundred dollars.
The next morning we traded-in our greasy clothes and had a shower at a homeless shelter. Tommy stayed for lunch but I wanted softer company. I borrowed the bike and pedaled towards the University of Nebraska. I found a pizza place near the football stadium. The girl who took my order was friendly until I tried to woo her with my tales of traveling by freight-train. I bet she’s old and ugly now……and probably fat.
Dark-time found me back with Tommy. We stashed his bike in some bushes and hopped a train for Kansas City.
Late the next morning we were on Kansas side of Kansas City. It was hot and humid. We must have looked in bad shape sweating by the tracks; An engineer threw a pack of water to us as he rode by in his locomotive. Tommy found an open topped gondola car and climbed up in it. After a few minutes he jumped back down with a big copper wire and a smile.
“This is worth some money, let’s go sell it.”
We crossed the Missouri river on a railroad bridge. I had never seen a river so big. We sweated and walked for hours through the Missouri side of Kansas City. There was several recycle places we passed, but Tommy knew one he thought paid the most. We got there just before it closed. That wire was worth seventy-five dollars and I was repaid for the loan I made in Denver. I didn’t have to ask.
That same night we caught a train for Springfield.
Today is my two-year anniversary. Not guilty! Since July 16, 2008 I have been on a mission; My motivation comes from being the intended victim of a conspiracy to destroy a life. My vengeance:
I have traveled to Salt Lake, California and Virginia to watch college football games. This spring I went to South Dakota to see Mt. Rushmore. I have done grappling training in four different schools and competed in two states. I have flown international business class to Brazil and lived like a blue-eyed rock star for a month. I have built a swimming pond and football field behind my house. I have hunted and killed trophy mule deer, elk, bobcat, and guided friends and clients to some great hunting. I have helped a young man who is paralyzed from the waist down hunt and kill his first bull elk as part of the Rocky Mountain Dream Foundation. Last summer I was towed around Flaming Gorge by a huge carp as I held on to an empty gas can. I have made a hundred new friends, and gotten engaged. I have re-connected with friends and family that I had not seen in years. I have re-planted dead fields on the farm and seen the grass grow. I have taken millions of breaths of freedom; every one of them sweet. I have used my German tracking dog to find wounded animals. I have taught my primary class. Not long ago I got my first paid acting gig; the leading role in a national advertisement for a limousine company. I have started writing. There have been soul-stirring mornings and evenings at the ranch when I knew God had sent the birds to sing for me. There was Vegas, Atlanta, Wendover, New York, Minneapolis, Boise, Cincinnati, St. George and Wyoming. I used to be strong; now I am stronger. I was fast; now I am faster. I have had a great life, but the last two years have been the best yet.
There are some people I need to thank;
Mr. Lopez: Thank you for coming to my ranch, setting up camp next to a no trespassing sign and helping yourself to some great hunting. You were so sure you were going to kick my ass. What happened? Oh, you probably don’t remember. Ha ha! I am laughing so joyously as I write this! But really, thanks. It was a pleasure whipping you…..both times. And if you still want proof that its my land, come on back. I will show you the deed this time. I swear.
Mrs. Lopez: Every man should have a woman like you. You tell other men how bad ass your husband is and how he hurts people. And when your husband makes his move and gets knocked out, you are there for him by lying about what happened so that he can feel better about himself. But you were right, I really didn’t know who I was messing with; Had I known I probably wouldn’t have taken it is so serious when he rushed me. Still laughing!
The Duchesne County sheriffs department: Without your policy of not responding to trespassing complaints there probably would never have been a confrontation that night. By never talking to me or anyone but the “victims” you made quite the case for the DA. Your investigation skills are legendary in the county. And deputy whateveryournameis, great job on the stand. Trying your best not to perjure yourself, but still trying to convince the jury you left messages on my voicemail, when you knew you hadn’t. I think the jurors were a little insulted.
The District Attorney: Wow, Second degree felony aggravated assault….for a fist fight? Thirty thousand dollars cash only bail…the ambition! I love how you added another assault charge after I laughed out loud at your offer of a plea bargain. And three hours of closing arguments; Good job.
My attorney: Keith, I was a little nervous at first. But you pulled it together in the stretch. Well done.
My friends: You testified, you came to the trial, you prayed for me. You had my back when there was a target on it. Sometimes you find out who your friends are. I have REAL friends. I owe you my life.
The founders of our country: Thank you for the constitution and the bill of rights. Without the right to a trial by our peers the prison-industrial complex would have no check on its tyranny. The United States may have more people in prison than any other nation, but I am not one of them. You truly were inspired.
The Jury: You spent two days of your life being my jurors. There was a lot of bullshit to sift through. I was so thankful to finally take the stand and tell you what happened. Retired Forest service guy; I saw the nod. It was ever so slight, but made me know you were hearing me.
My Family: Mom, Dad, Rich, Kevin, all my aunts, uncles, and cousins. Sometimes there is just too much love for evil to prevail.
The last two-year I could have been in prison, but I wasn’t. Right now I could be looking at two more years in prison, but I am not. Nope, instead I am living what is possibly the greatest life that has ever been lived. If you have seen me working to learn new things, make new friends, help others, build, create, do and thrive; and if you see me just smile for no reason, now you know why. It is my revenge and thanks…… and it is sweet.
It was hot even in the shade, but I had no desire to be inside that courthouse; inside anywhere. Outside there is fresh air, sky, birds,life. Freedom.
“Bllaaake! They’re ready!” it was my mom yelling from the courthouse doors. “Why does she sound so excited?” I thought. I went inside. It took all my character not to walk the other way. Towards my mountain home. Freedom.
My seat was at the defendants table, next to my lawyer. We had to stand for the judge to enter. He gave the courtroom a lecture on not making a scene when the verdict was announced. You could tell the judge thought it was a guilty verdict. There was a good-sized audience, all there for me. For the last two days we had sat in front of that ass-hole while he did what he could to obstruct my defense. Guilty verdicts give judges power. He had told the jury that even if they didn’t like the laws or the way they were applied to my case, they must find me guilty. That is a lie. An informed jury tries the law as well as the case. The founders of our country knew the jury was the people’s last peaceful defense. Freedom.
I studied the jurors faces as they entered the court through their own door. I knew a little about each one of them from the selection process. There was the young rancher, the middle-aged school teacher, the retired forest service ranger, the housewife, the waitress. “They look happy.” I thought…”But why won’t they look at me? Is there any way they could look happy about sending me to prison? No way, the teacher lady is smiling…is that a smile? Whatever happens, I have fought for whats right, no man will own my soul.” Freedom
Just like on television;
Judge: “Has the jury reached a verdict?”
Young rancher: “Yes we have”
Judge: “Is the verdict unanimous on both charges?”
Young rancher: “Yes”
Judge: “Will the defendant please stand.”
“On the charge of second degree felony aggravated assault we the jury find the defendant Blake Sparks Fluhart…Not Guilty.”
“On the charge of simple assault we the jury find the defendant Blake Sparks Fluhart…Not guilty.”
Freedom
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We were somewhere between Denver and Lincoln. Kansas I think. The country was flat and we had been passing by and through small towns, plains and fields since I had woken up. It was hot.
Freight trains often stop in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes when they are stopped another train will pass by going the same direction. Do they pull over on a side track? To this day I don’t know how it works. Oh well, who cares? All I know is our train was not moving and I was thirsty. Tommy looked a little gaunt himself. Before we left Denver he had raided the dumpster behind McDonalds. As a result, my friend spent a good part of the night with his ass hanging over the side of our grain-car. I had bought my hamburgers and slept well.
Near the tracks was a community swimming pool. I was filthy, and how I wanted to go for a swim. Just outside the entrance to the pool was a soda machine. I hopped down and walked over there and got Tommy and me a couple sodas. There was a teenage girl lifegaurding, and she looked as refreshing as the pool. So I leaned against the fence and drank mine right there, looking at her and the water; Wishing I could stay longer. I heard the brakes release on the train. That was my cue to get back on board.
Those plains were exotic to me. I had never been East. I sat and swayed with the movement of our train; Looking out at forever. I could see no mountains. The light was different, the sky was different and the way things looked was different. Over my own smell and that of the train’s diesel, there was the scent of the country we were riding through. It was all new. It was surreal.
Whenever trains go through a town or come to a city they slow down. As the sun was setting we approached Lincoln, slowing to a crawl. In the dusk I saw unexplainable lights next to the tracks. Small lights that floated in mid-air, moving along with us until they would suddenly vanish, only to re-appear seconds later. There was maybe a dozen of them. I was hypnotized.
Seeing the wonder in my eyes, Tommy put his hand on my shoulder: “They’re fireflies Blake.”
I had never seen fireflies before, and nothing could have been more magical.
Halfway though my third day in Denver I was trying to figure out what my next move would be. Tommy was gone. He had left on his bike the day before because we were having no luck catching a train. He said he would be back in a while but we both knew he wouldn’t. I was a little mad at myself; I had lent Tommy thirty dollars. I was camped under a bridge by the tracks that had no good trains going my way. I figured there was no chance of making it to Graceland on the trains any more. There was much to train hopping, and a guide was essential. I thought about trying to hitchhike. Anyways, it was raining and I was un-decided, so I just stayed and read the book Tommy had left me.
Traveling with Tommy had allowed us to get to know each other. Tommy liked the Hobo life. He had never liked responsibility and work. There had been a few years of regular life; Living in an apartment with a wife and kids. But Tommy was a hobo in his soul, and he could hear the train horns blow from his bedroom window. Leaving was what Tommy did, so I had no illusions. There was nothing in his world that would compel Tommy to stay with me when it was no longer convenient. So I was completely surprised when Tommy peddled up to me just before dark. He was soaking wet.
Tommy: “I wasn’t going to come back.”
Me: “I know”
Tommy: “I was staying in a house with a friend. We were dry.”
Me: “Sounds nice.”
Tommy went on to tell me that he couldn’t stop thinking about me alone under that bridge. He knew I couldn’t make the trip on my own. Tommy had come back because he had a Son my age and he hoped somebody would help him out of a tight spot. There in Denver Tommy gave up his freedom to help me. It was everything he had. That moment has had a great influence on my life.
Sometime in the night we caught our train. It was still raining but there is a dry place to hide on the back of a grain car. We were on our way to Lincoln.
Tommy Long; I saw you at your human best. I will never forget it.
