Anyone who does a trip across the US is in for some interesting experiences, and in my case a healthy amount of introspection. Sure, many things were exactly as I expected them to be. Nebraska, flat. Hotels, variable. Long drives, some beautiful scenery, lots of towns much different than New York.

For me, what was really special were the people I met, which with very few exceptions, were not only outgoing and generous of their time and efforts on my behalf while making this journey and dealing with the Comet’s mechanical problems, but often exceptional as people. Bookstore owners were terrific in accommodating this first time author, and the readers who showed up to signings engaging and stimulating. It is hard to single anyone out among the owners who have been so deferential, but I have to make particular thanks to Tammy at Ralph’s Books in Casper and The Book Shop in Sheridan for adjusting their schedules, arriving late/early to have me sign when my schedule got bollixed.

Beyond that, though, were the people like the Denver taxidermist, the folks I met at the Buckhorn Exchange, Shannon the Comet owner, the folks at the Crest Funeral Home in Madison, Joe my fishing companion in Missoula and the owner of the Fiji Merman in Casper. I met them cold, and they welcomed me with uncommon openness.

And then there were the passing acquaintances, clerks, desk people at hotels, waitresses, people from whom I asked directions. Unbelievably cheerful and helpful. People say "hi" in passing, and even ask "how are you?" At Fort Cody where I bought my $4 bobber head buffalo for the dash board, the clerks there spend a half hour scouring other bobber head buffaloes for one that had a sticky on the back. I finally had to beg them to abandon the search. It’s not that people in New York fit the stereotype of cold city dwellers. They’re just much more business-like, less instantaneously deferential and accommodating. Most don’t seem particularly happy in their jobs, blue or white collar no matter (though they love to give directions.) So many people I ran into at gas stations and fast food places in middle America and beyond seemed, by comparison perhaps, positively thrilled to be there. Dumbfounding.

Then there were friends that I met along the way. First, Jeff Parker. Every time he and I enjoy an adventure together, I come out the other side a better person for it. He and I resonate on a common wave length, like old souls, and I’m invigorated by his friendship. Jon and Ruth Jordan, whom I’ve known for a few years, are so generous of heart and energetic of mind that I find myself just sitting back and enjoying them. I think Jon once remarked at what a mellow person I am – I hardly think of myself that way. It’s just that when I’m with him, he’s such a powerhouse of purpose, asserting myself takes a back seat to just watching him go, marveling. I guess Jon’s sort of a character study. Chuck and Laurie Box – they put me up, they helped me when I was in trouble, fed me, leant me their truck, gave me a work space at their office. All in my hour of need. Those are the kinds of things that not only make me grateful, but humbled. Wipruds, ones I’ve never met like Tom and Den and Roy and Kathy treated me like close family, and I now look forward to knowing them better. And then Ron and Jeanie at Northwest Falcon. I’m a customer of theirs, and they know me only through emails and my myriad difficulties with the car. It was so fitting that they should have me over at their place for a cookout to celebrate the end of my tour, because we really connected and are fast friends.

This takes nothing away from established friends back home. Bob Martinez, who's been there every step of the way with support. Ken Brill, long-time friend and confidant. My sister Rebecca - a rock, a cheerleader, a grounding wire. Sue Anne Jaffarian, who was there with me on the phone as I crossed the Great Plains, and many other times - a bold and warm friend who signs her emails "hugs" - right back atcha, babe.

Finally – perhaps it should have been firstly – I have to thank my boss and good friend Jim Quinn for giving me the time off to make this trip and being my home base while away. I’ve known him for, jeeze, longer than either of us care to recall. Those of you without friends like him are poorer for it.

These are all people I know I can rely on, and hope they know they can rely on me at any time for anything. In this life, there aren’t often a lot of people you can say that about, and I count myself extremely lucky having them as friends. What’s that inscribed in the copy of Tom Sawyer at the end of “It’s a Wonderful Life?”

"Dear George, Remember no man is a failure who has friends. Thanks for the wings! Love Clarence."

Well, not right on the money, but you get what I mean.

And of course, I’m grateful to my readers who emailed me throughout the trip with encouragement. This trip was in large part for them.

Oh, and ultimate splendiferous thanks to Milty and the crew at Wiprud.Com. You know who you are, and what a terrific job you've done keeping my postings up to date. Enjoy Aruba.

For those of you who have read PIPSQUEAK, you can kinda guess that I have a strong cynical side. I haven’t lost that, but it’s been seriously challenged. There’s a side to human nature, to Americans at large, of which I wasn’t quite aware. And now appreciate.

Has all this been an epiphany? No, it’s not that pat, and this is not a book or a movie. Has it changed and enriched me?

Enjoy the wings, Clarence.

Brian M. Wiprud

Return to top