EnBrera Tintreg Gilgarra: To Gods Unknown

By Titch Laudrigan

Books one and two… ‘EnBrera’ (No Choice) and ‘Tintreg Gilgarra.’ A fifteen year old runs into the mountains to escape an abusive home. Four months of supplies painstakingly hauled into a New Mexico mountain whence comes, a life changing discovery…, an abandoned military bunker that gives freedom with few conditions…, but to honor the Gods. Mysteriously, inexplicably, abandoned. Survival worries eliminated in one fell swoop. From there, an operating base, a home, for the decades, deep in a mountain sanctuary. Once established, reveling and thriving, he steadily devolves into worlds of dark intrigue machination.
The story comes together from his mountain asylum fifty years on as he reminisces an adventurous life between first running and present. Runaway, killer, reader, writer, observer, soldier, traveler, hitman, intellectual, psychopath... one of no moral compass. Possessed of intense curiosity, a paranoid cynic, a great intellect, and an angry pitiless dispassionate conscience. An out of the ordinary coming of age story covering fifty years. In that time, a forever loner, who came to well understand who he was. Hunter and hunted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Nov 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662918414

Book preview

Book One

Faith Is Merely Belief Without Evidence

Ambrose Bierce

When We Look Around At The Pain and Injustice

We Must Come To The Ineluctable Conclusion

God Is A Thug

Mark Twain

Fate Is Inexorable

I

Before The Mesas And Foothills

Those Three Nags Of Fate Oft Laughed

They Smiled And Said

Another Go For The Fun

Titch

In the distance northwest, an undeveloped expanse of land, I see a military chopper doing what appears a systematic search. Back and forth while wondering its purpose. Me? They should have given that up decades ago, but habits, they die hard. Imagination gone awry.

Years gone. Gods, so many. Decades. Am here, something of an old man, in a favorite spot, enjoying the view; this preoccupation, reminiscing~~only if manic energy levels were at rest.

Sitting here in the afternoon sun, sipping aged Scotch, feeling a contented swimming buzz~~possessing an inner warmth, assessing the beginning. Mentation to the start of what proved my third and final attempt to run from home, and as thoughts wander, everything following.

I tell this story, think this story, in the past, present, and future. Simultaneously. The story can sometimes get time lost both in words and telling. You will see.

A successful decamp it was and despite odds against, the bunk was successful in grand style; beyond credible belief. As became, an understatement of many levels; known beyond anyone’s believing, the running away that is, and as you will see, even to me. Still is. When all was finished, finalized, the escape was something vastly successful... little was by my hand.

Everything here following, for the most part~~found, seen, and done, perhaps a few elaborations.

Bear with the gibberish..., just a while longer.

Contentedly sitting in the sun~~thinking about life in several parts, about life as a whole. Pondering the moment succeeding in my escape, the clueless age of fifteen, and even then, not for a long while after, had I been sure of success. Not then fully knowing I had succeeded, but assuredly, doing well beyond my wildest dreams. Paranoia aside, forever paying due homage to the Gods who helped me prevail..., still breathing to the present.

My final attempt followed a life’s hell dreaming of such, my choice to remember; a time of pain from first childhood memories. This thinking, reminiscing, was of my desperate need to escape an abusive nightmare. My life to age fifteen, an all-encompassing nightmare~~on many levels.

If desiring to have details of this earlier life, then you will be sorely disappointed. Nothing I care to detail. Suffice to know, it happened. Frequently and violently, things that shaped my life with relentless purpose. Still so, as I stare at shrinking mesas below. Yes, suffice to know… no added minutiae necessary.

For a time after fleeing, there was constant feeling I was on the verge of failing, even when clearly absolute I was safe from everything tormenting, outside of memories. Those have not left. Failure was something drummed repeatedly when young, and if objecting, was beaten down further, more furiously, by words and then fists when words accomplished less than desired. Except..., succeeded, as less than skillfully planned and hoped.

No, not really. Not as personally designed. Not even close. Envisaged an escape, and did, but much more took place beyond the pale of belief. Something intervened beyond the realm of realistic expectations. Much of what happened defies credibility and makes little sense, but despite, these things happened. Events out of my control, were to come after lighting out~~happenings and discoveries, which made my venture an incredible success. A dubious triumph, for the world will see this declaration as something morally otherwise when weighing the whole. Everything, in many ways, too strange to believe..., you chose.

Makes little difference what anyone thinks, truth be told... do not care, my story follows, regardless.

A Long Life At The Whims Of Gods

One No Doubt Unexpected

Titch

No, or perhaps yes, the Gods interposed, in spades. Entities, beings~~something intangible, intervened. Someone’s Gods, no question. As I think back to them, was it to help, or was it to play? Imagine both, though admittedly, know not; Gods, of any age, were rarely known for kindness. Ever. They maliciously, sometimes sadistically, played and teased. They were fickle. Just ask the Greeks, the Ancients of any land. They knew. Coldhearted malevolent contrariness was an inner being in my opinion, especially, the major religions of today. One kindness for every million evils of present-day organized religions, but who remembers the sins amongst? Not the blindly religious. What truths I answer? The realities they, the blind faithful, conveniently closed their eyes in midst of.

As the Gods are concerned, contrary maliciousness is a driving force. They take the arrogant to the top and once there, shove unsuspecting into the pits of hell, with misery forever following every dogged step of ageless descent. Surmise it is entertainment until the Gods tire and seek amusement elsewhere. History says so. This, their core essence through manifold ages.

Many things, so many~~Gods involved, or not~~had interceded and contrived, as it were, to help in my success and luck was not damned. Again, almost as if the Gods intervened in moment of running, amongst seeming chaos of no rhyme or reason. They, possibly, feeling a rare uncommon pity, had rescued, with intent, I am sure, to inquisitively see the end game. Those beings, whatever name they chose, saved me from a hopeless existence, one that appeared my fate, to the end. However, as always, there was a price to pay. In salvation, I was damned.

Prayed to none in any conventional sense, but my mere existence must have been of no little interest, in way of acceptable untraditional sacrifice. No throat-cutting of goats did they ask; perhaps, simply, only entertainment to themselves, sans throat-cutting. They watched of course, with avid tweaking along the way.

Perhaps, in this telling, am overthinking my value. Do like to flatter myself.

Those Gorgons Of Torture Left Me Alone

Titch

Anyway, to point, made a successful getaway on my third attempt. Then, never returned to anything that once was~~excepting, perhaps, for measures of revenge.

Had twice before run, short-lived events, and after, exceedingly violent; ill-planned ventures of a too young mind. These were attempts doomed before they began. This third was different, as you will see. Maybe not to know or understand, since not knowing details of the first tries to make comparison. Suffice, the first attempts are not worth mentioning, other than they occurred and were failures..., by anyone’s quarter measure. No doubt fiascos, but they shaped my third.

Anyway, the third attempt’s success, better planned and executed from the beginning, a huge measure of unadulterated luck. Indeed, without doubt, good fortune. As well, this venture went well beyond the several months of food planned and outfitted. Decades beyond that long-ago day when successfully fled.

For sure that I succeeded with the third try was mostly pure luck, fortuity~~if, such things as luck and fortune exist. Definitely, good fortune in the mix and this, destiny, given generously by the Gods, which should have been, rightfully so, a wealth shared unto many others. I did not deserve, but did receive; to date, not shoved into any abyss.

Anger Is A Brief Madness

Horace

An Anger Never Dead Is A Madness

Titch

Am presently~~this place I sit~~in a lofty tunnel lookout, both natural and human; a high walled precipice facing west and now, fifty years older than when first sitting in this exact spot. Then, the time I speak, my beginning in the mountain and perhaps now, approaching the end. Suppose, with last bit said, am something along the line of being an old man. Especially old, in considered opinion, if one considers my style of life. One of those short, but ever so bright-lived entities have many times heard. Most, nonsense by the way. Mine included.

Nevertheless, relative to first years, the rest of life was many times turbulent. No guarantees ever given for the morrow, but here I am, in the present, enjoying the view along with a glass of Scotch. This Scotch, today, is more than seventy years old and maybe, even eighty or more. No expiration date. The stuff of life.

Am somewhat old and this, this life, has been lived to date against all odds; still free..., breathing. Life can be reasonably expected in this country, most industrialized nations~~of present day~~and by most statistics found, to live perhaps two decades longer than what I have. However, this lifespan, would be to die a burden~~demented and drooling. I have no loved ones and imagine, anyway, the authorities will summarily shoot me if ever caught. So..., no burden would I be. Apple seeds when that age is at hand, provided, can manage the preparation; done if nothing else has gotten me first. Will see when the time arrives and as well, am sure the internet can provide ample avenues of escape. Can just as easily, at any time, purchase whatever life-ending poisons required. A bullet as well, but a clean death is something I prefer, am tired of messes.

More grousing, waxing melodramatic, about age and time. My view these days, images of myself in a mirror, is that of a tired old man... flat out tired. In the mirror, most of what seen is the eyes. It is not so much the frayed body or numerous wrinkles around the eyes, but the eyes alone. Greyish-green. Sad looking one moment, emotionally dead the next. That is what I see. Around those eyes, framing, are deep wizened wrinkles of time, or maybe, just of weather. Poetically, I like ‘wizened.’ Surrounding, thick long grey-white hair, swept back and loosely tied; fingers, the perfect comb I have found. A simple push back.

Not scared or frightened those eyes. Just haunted. Very haunted. Tired. Tired of what I have seen and done.

Excessively, I overdo this aged sentiment too much. Better to stay away from mirrors, I should think.

Ambedo

This place sitting is high on the western side of a mountain looking over mesas, closer gullies and tiny canyons, a host of things typical of a rough edged mountain. These were once semi-rugged lands leading down to a city and beyond. Vast mesas from my first days are, largely, gone. Mesas, gone to developments. Beyond, can still see the city’s lush green valley harboring a river flowing north to south and from there, west, more mesas, which extend many a mile to the horizon. Development has moved to there as well. That western horizon is a long way to where everything comes suddenly to an abrupt straight lined end; a hazy blue sky above. The land spreads over yellow and brown scrub. These areas, combined with human development, go all the way to that horizon, distant past the dark green of a river valley. Vast and distant, like places traveled. Blathering nonsense~~not anything similar to places seen.

In Those Mountains

It Was Soothing To Hike And Climb

Pleasantly Lost In Mind

Titch

When a small skinny teenage kid, recent to the Mountain, decades ago, did often sit in this same spot. This was, still is, quite pleasant, an inaccessible near invisible place from a small obscured opening into a mountain amongst high rocks and gnarled trees. Have sat here many times, throughout the years, looking over this land. Yes, in this same spot, staring west in daydreamt revelry, winding down from ever-exhausting activities of the day... while contentedly, quite so, sipping Scotch. Sometimes, in waning pinkish grey lights with book in hand. Each time returning, a Scotch in hand, knowing I had again escaped from somewhere. And..., as far as the world which wanted me dead? Well, they knew not where to look. I smile at this. If ever known, even an inkling…, for them, not very long.

The wide-open mesas on the city’s east side, are mostly gone, already said, and only this mountain’s presence halts further growth and sometimes, not even then. The city has moved near the mountain itself and in cases, right onto it, but this was not so when a kid. The mesas, once unencumbered, were vast... at least as remembered. No, that is how they were. The city boundaries were miles to the west, as I, a teenager, saw in those days. More precisely: the years of the failed war. The city was then a distance and all the houses and roads now existing were not even then..., a dream. Perhaps, that is true. I do not know what civilization had planned back then, but regardless, my beloved mesas are largely gone. Progress? Not at all..., straightforward desecration.

Below lie narrow, rock-strewn sandy-bottomed arroyos and narrow canyons, all coming up the side of this mountain. These ravines and canyons, which presently observe, all come into the mountain itself, where currently I lodge. This is the mountain I watched from, decades ago, and now... again.

I Reveled In The War Where America Lost

Titch

I was, decades past, many days gone from the home of hell before seeing signs of searching, but could be, no one ever did. All seen was below and beyond the numerous near vertical small canyons. Where glassing with binoculars, all activity was to the northwest. Thinking of that time, with relaxed comfort, figuring, any signs of my passing had long vanished. Done away by short-lived afternoon rains.

When afternoon rains came, more common in summer, these short deluges were at times massive. These rains could bring floods in mere moments. Arroyos, bone dry one moment, violent walled waters the next. Those rains killed, often, animal and human, in an instant if unsuspectingly caught. When rain clouds were in the vicinity, even far away, it was time for higher ground or risk drowning, washed away and never seen again. Literally. These time-dependable dust cleansing air-refreshing rains came through like clockwork, especially with warmer days. Luckily, some rains had come early. It was early spring and I received opportune lifesaving rains~~gifts of the Gods.

When The Rains Arrived

It Was Undeniable Exhilaration

Titch

Spring was when I ran into the mountains, finally getting away from the abuse. Running was a necessary need.

Smallish in build, I had only recently reached five foot eight, probably less, and had not added much corresponding weight to supplement that growth. Such would come later. I was of stature before the spurt, barely five feet and this was relieved, much hoped, necessary growing. Was also on the verge of adding that wanted bulk (in short time, did); at age fifteen, desperately wished for an increase in mass. Now, aged, prefer otherwise. At the time of wanting weight, added only a bit more height. Plenty of muscled weight, in time, but not much more in the way of height. Wanted to be taller, but later life, in many situations, lesser height proved an advantage; at fifteen, was about as tall as I would ever get. Indeed, have shrunk a small amount through time’s ravages..., along with years of hard soldiering. The growth, as said, was recent as a teen and the weight, until that time, had been less than one hundred pounds. Had been physically small for a good many years.

That Lack Of Size In Early Years

Added To A Smoldering Anger

Titch

At the time, before running, was aware I had no chance of physically challenging my father’s size, not yet, not for a good while. Barely 130 pounds and twenty only recently gained; just over 200 pounds now, and little is not muscle or bone. Twenty of Scotch and bacon is what I think, but the rest not bone? Hard muscle still.

My perception of my father was a guy who would pick on someone who could not fight back and he in turn would run if anyone fought back. A bully and a coward, but... favorable odds makes for braver people; never thought him brave. For me to stand up to my mom’s verbal viciousness, any attempt whatsoever, only brought further screaming and venting, as well as slapping and kicking and this..., right after, would see my dad’s violence added to the mix. A hopeless situation, outside of committing to something suicidal~~murderous, or if not dramatically violent, running first moment and never coming back. Chose the latter.

A Thin Distance Between Madness And Reason

Titch

The things needed, in volume, were patience and guile. An escape methodically planned and after, executed similarly.

At the time, had a banana-seat, monkey-barred mountain bike with knobby tires that could go just about anywhere. It was while riding in the mesas, looking upwards, that I formulated my plans. A dawning fantasy giving way to reality. On a day, a cold bright sunny one, looked up at majestic formations, coup de foudre, there in front, was a place I could run and never be found~~beginning plans hatched and from that moment, grew exponentially until fruition.

With ideas growing in dimension, had specifically, for this bike, fashioned side bags with one to hang between the handlebars. In time, purchased several bags and hauled them along, loaded with supplies and hidden out of the elements; secreted in an arroyo, two miles from the house my parents purchased upon retirement. At the time, brand-new, sitting on the extreme southeast edge of the city with only mesa and gullies beyond; flatlands, all the way to the edge of these iconic mountains. The house the family moved was on the edge of the city and indicative of what would be. Development.

For money, there was a weekly two dollar allowance; I washed cars, mowed lawns and had a part-time job at a restaurant/hotel bussing tables and washing dishes for under the table wages. Was making five hundred a month for a short while, all untaxed. Besides wages, got tips bussing tables and room service~~many times, excellent... nearly half my income. Tips were great and if I hustled and smiled, got them. Also, stole tips from tables and oft raided the cash register. Needed money, ill-gotten, or not.

Was A Military Brat

It Added A Measure Of Coldness

Titch

Was considered, after Britain, the time of my dad’s retirement, done with that year of school, my junior year, even though three months left. In addition to being small, was a year younger than other students; my mom when a teacher had started me early. Did not care, but with exception, could sometimes have beneficially used an extra year of growth and weight amongst peers. A problem not being in school, was around the homestead more than wanted, but solved this by staying out and away on the bike. Spare time was used for making plans and moving on them.

Back then, before my said spiritual awakening, it had been my intention, dream, to buy a car. The future date being my sixteenth birthday..., still a good ways off. This plan to happen as soon as turning sixteen; had saved enough money and with the car..., escape. One day I would, as oft dreamed, just drive away and never return; a packed car, a full tank and so, down the road~~full of fantasies back then. Delusions, Gods, I had loads of them. I had numerous uncounted fancies, all worth their weight in gold~~then and now. My concept of future and time back then was that which dwelt within an unrealistic dreamworld. A mind I then had, near literally, which had no concept of the world. Acataleptic. Only, there was the unquenchable desire to get away, regardless of what I thought I knew.

Traveling Was A Background For Ideas

Titch

Days and months of youth flowed slowly or so seemed in younger years, a slowness of time within a troubled kid’s mind. A month of youth, seemingly, akin to that of an eon by present thinking. Later, days and weeks passed at the blink of an eye and too, so with decades. Presently, laughably so, I think in decades, rather than interminably long weeks and months of yesteryear.

If Injury Is Done

It Should Be So Severe

Vengeance Need Not Be Feared

Machiavelli

II

The Start

If You Would Not Be Forgotten

As Soon As Dead And Rotten

Either Write Things Worth Reading

Or Do Things Worth Writing

Benjamin Franklin

Enough of this blathering meandering of my past, as well as a suggested lost youth. I had a childhood and knew where it was and where it had gone~~the whole Gods damned time.

After deciding the beginnings of a plan, stashed canvas bags away into the mesa and up an arroyo where safe from bad weather and discovery. I wore a knapsack and kept a sizable bag between the handlebars and with, ferried my supplies. Usually in small volume, with sometimes two trips a day. Mere fantasy it was at this point, but one committed and daily gaining belief. Stole things from the house, mostly food, in small quantities that I hoped would never be noticed. Also, took containers for anything vulnerable to weather, like matches and fuel bricks. Food was canned or dry-packaged; lightweight dry foods being the preference, but also the costliest. Peanut butter was a crucial big-ticket item. Later, took along packages of tortillas for wraps sans sauces. Most life-sustaining calories would be on the bland side, I knew, but no matter, it was food in my stomach which mattered; too, planned to hunt and forage. Realistically, or not, would figure this out later. Snakes, hares..., any edible varmints, would be a good start.

Spoons and forks to go with my knives. Even a potato peeler. Why that? At the time who knew, but eventually came in handy. Found a six-foot metal tube and into, inserted two ends of a corded wire, making a loop at one end and controlled from the other end to make it smaller or larger. Considered with this, could get snakes from safe distances. It worked and better yet, used it for neck holds on anything snared. No sense getting bitten.

As starting this venture, moving supplies, began planning everything in extreme detail, even using rough-camping guidebooks as references. In a library, stole a book on native plants and animals.

Medicines, bandages, water purification pills. Everything. Pliers. Got a decent sleeping bag from one of the many military surplus stores and with got a ground pad; my thought, would sleep it rough until finding decent shelter from the elements and prying eyes. I think, dreaming a bit unrealistically, but knew, would quickly learn and adapt to most everything in non-stop manner, continually getting through difficulties by the seat of my pants.

Surplus stores supplied most everything, including boots and outdoor clothing. Dry-packaged foods (add boiling water) came from these stores. Military dry foods were basic, unimaginatively so, but bought these whenever possible. Idiot-proof in preparation, but expensive, even back then. Dry foods, best of all, were light and stored effortlessly in volume~~a lot for little space and weight. Several days of dried food fit comfortably into my multi-pocketed jacket. The jacket warmed but also, a proper storage container. Jarred and canned, cheap and plentiful, were necessary, but back busters. Much still resides in the Mountain.

Kit Carson Was Taken Aback

When Saw In A Book Things Done

Titch

Vietnam, per the news, always appeared on the verge of a winddown with men finally coming home; this war made much of anything and everything wanted available in abundance~~exceedingly cheap. Strangely, from other news of the time, no winddown loomed that I could see. Nor, did the fighting seem near to subsiding; from things read, fighting raged with tremendous intensity..., several thousand miles away. Ending the war, having peace, was seemingly pie in the sky talk. Distant wishes..., for the bodies still arrived in their hundreds.

A Consequential Stranger

Had the parents taken a closer interest, it might have spelled disaster. A most probable finality to dreams entertained; therefore, necessarily, unnecessarily, I was overly cautious. My mom, typical character, was an especially nosy person..., her nature. Privacy invasion, a persona compulsion. This being so, she regularly spied, going through belongings whenever not around and this, whenever felt. In time, became proficient at hiding and concealing necessaries~~a unique talent gained through experience, since knew well she was adept at finding anything. Nothing guaranteed safe for sure but was able with deliberate effort to increase the odds in my favor..., did not take risk of discovery lightly. Was as guarded of privacy as reasonably could, always, but no guarantees. As soon as possible, acquisitions were transported to my stash. Nothing accumulated in the house and if feeling threatened, went straight from the store to the cache; when unobserved, threw everything over the back fence, rode around to grab and then, off with a rush.

In concise order, quickly, amassed impressive amounts of supplies. This creation and storage was on top of time spent mowing lawns, washing cars, bussing tables and even an occasional outing with friends. Quickly, accumulated everything needed to sustain a long time. Was figuring minimally six months of actual food, supplemented by a presumed ability to forage; in fact, much more than six months of food. In time, this became moot. With future discoveries, this accumulation was never of critical importance.

To note, a few months was an eon back then and running out of anything was nothing worrisome. At the time, did not think I would, or could, run out of food. I thought, at necessary times, could simply sneak out of whatever lair, return to the city and buy more food. This, because thought I would still have hundreds of dollars, after I ran for the mountains.

For whatever reasons, believed I would always have a full belly; food all the time without lifting a finger, other than boiling water or using a can opener. Of course, there would be the imagined gutting, skinning, and cooking of my hunts. Could have been a rude awakening had things not gone a certain way.

Fingernail clippers, scissors, combs, soap, and shampoo. Books and writing materials, packing it all. Was beginning to go overboard with my supplies, but that did not worry much and energetically continued accumulation. A near-daily basis going into the mesa..., many times twice a day; this, before my evening job. The first cache was not far into the mesa, a fast distance done while obsessed with this affair, especially the accumulation of food, even though, did not realize there could or would be a time I would run out. Already said.

Kept a healthy level of paranoid worrying going. Usually, smaller numbers of things, not always, with each trip out and never when I felt discovery a danger. If the parents were gone, took larger loads and many times, significant amounts, straight to the stash from a store. Large loads to beyond would come soon. For now, much was throwing things over the fence and retrieving after going unseen around the block on the bike. Thirty minutes to the stash, counting resting, unpacking, storing, and fifteen back. An exhilarating downhill return.

Once to the arroyo, had little fear of anything excepting perhaps a storm taking my supplies, but this never came close to happening, even though this area was known for short lived floods. After well into the supply buildup, began another phase and that, scouting another site. This next location would be into the mountains and I would do this by hopscotching my supplies. It would take plenty of time, but on this next leg, could transport larger loads in extra bags, since risk of discovery was considerably reduced. Removal of everything to the second location went fast, but each trip was harder with accumulated weight. At first was three miles from the house and next, scouting sites at the mountain base where everything turned into steep ravines amidst giant rock.

Found a new place within a narrow rock-walled canyon..., under protecting stone slabs that I had to crawl up and into. Again, ferrying supplies forward, but now, as said, could carry larger loads in extra bags, since no worries of observation. Added bags onto the bike and rode/pushed three additional miles to my new hideout. These distances were estimates and not the crow. The trip forward was grueling, but the return, a speed thrill breeze to the house; pell-mell, hanging on for dear life. A hair-raising go, feet up, whooping.

Generally, only one of these hard hauls with a heavily laden bike each day, whenever possible, but that part of the moving was soon finished. The first move, I completed in a few days, not counting work and routine interruptions. During this second process was still bringing supplies, mostly foods, but also things either forgotten or items I thought would come in handy in the future. Abandoned the first area altogether and began taking new supplies straight to the second location. So far, everything was going well; I displayed methodical thinking patience (surprisingly so) as well as proper planning. Was proud of myself, increasingly believing I would complete this venture. Regardless, would soon get to the point of no return..., this pivotal moment coming fast.

With this cache established, I immediately scouted another location and again, a similar site. The terrain had become extreme regarding climbing and moving. But still, with a full backpack, was able to heavily load the bike and slowly drag/push it up ravines and arroyos, albeit with lesser loads as time went on and assuredly, far reduced speed. The inclines for this third move were much steeper and laden with obstacles, mostly large rock and narrow brush sided ravines. Steep versant with views of anything forward being practically straight up~~two to three thousand feet. Found another weather-secure place twenty feet above a dry rock-strewn waterway, within a narrow canyon, and to here, dragged everything. This last trek exhausted, surpassing everything gone before, many times over, but adrenaline kept me going. My impatience to finish this move, made everything feel excruciatingly slow. Obsessed, excited, and rides home, still death-defying.

Everything, moving-wise, laden or not, was in steeper narrower circumstances. Soon, the bike would be useless for anything going onward, but this would be thought out in days to come, after making final moving runs to this third location. Before this leg, there had been what were, mostly, accessible trails for using my bike, along with sturdy legs (skinny though they were). Legs and bike which could, naturally enough, traverse almost everything. The rest of this trek would be strenuous hiking, especially while ferrying materiel much further; now, with the bike as a lesser platform. The moving distances would be shorter, but the treks more demanding. In another week had again gotten everything moved. Suppose I could have made this third move faster, but did have to maintain appearances, which included sham family dinners, neighborhood jobs, and working in the restaurant. Still, made things work.

This third location was where I planned to stage my final separation. Finally, away and gone~~permanently.

In this timeframe was rarely asked what I was doing and one reason, believe, was the distraction of parents adapting to retired life. My mom had in truth gotten meaner, still forever screaming, but there were things deflecting attention. Moreover, there were other siblings and they garnered some share of abuse. Particularly true of a younger brother. Fortunately, was left alone during the day and only had to deal with family at dinnertime when not working the restaurant. For as grossly dysfunctional as my family was, we had the disturbing habit of being together every evening; dinner, a morose unpleasant get-together. Nothing was there to do and so, endured..., but not for long.

A long way from home at this third location and the trip up, depending on load, over three hours in time up of hard riding and hiking. After the third location established and supplied, only had light loads with each visit and these, usually made up of dried foods.

Another piece of luck, knew this early on, water was not an issue; regularly found places where all to do was dig a hole in damp sand to fill my canteens. The water was murky, but fine after filtered and boiled (or purification tablets); had a roll of cheesecloth for filtering debris. Later, cheesecloth came in handy for making varmint stews and soups (bone removal). My biggest worry regarding water was sterilization, but never a problem.

Also, hauled a stove with extra fuel, replete with compacted pans designed for camping. The stove itself was for ‘just in case situations,’ since, planned to cook mostly with small fires. There was an abundance of fuel everywhere, castoff from numerous trees dotting the sides of the mountain. Worked for heating a cup of soup, but as said, plenty of wood everywhere; rains washed wood into readily gotten piles. Never a lack of combustibles; anyway, fuel for fires was never a problem. In survival manuals~~fire, water, and staying dry were big worries roughing the outdoors. Staying healthy was merely commonsense behavior with only needing, in opinion, to keep dry and clean. Food and water helped.

III

Away And Gone

None Bring Conscience Like the Face of Death

Finally, time arrived to leave~~to run or abandon this venture altogether due to fear. Everything was set to depart and no one was any the wiser. I was more than nervous (beyond scared as admitted fact), but also boiling with anxious energy to be away. A feeling of EnBrera driving desperately on and had worked myself into frenzied keenness, pressed hard by unreleased adrenaline. There was an energy that overrode fears and anxiety, pent-up to be gone from parents and home. Knew that if I did not take this next step, would never forgive myself, living life in beaten failure, a forever of ‘what ifs?’... stagy drama that last, but true.

Do remember a determined rapid speed of mind in these thoughts and knew of my mind’s penchant for damning self-judgment. To not go could well kill me. Ergo, time for the leap. This next critical move done knowing my desired supplies were lying at the mountain’s base. Those essentials hidden in the third cache were in mostly one spot, but some materiels were stored elsewhere. Nearly forgot where leaving certain supplies, but in the end, got everything together. Did one more run and purchased over a hundred dried food pouches, a month’s worth of eating in one acquisition. Had far exceeded the planned six months of food. I may have spent as much as two hundred dollars on that run and still, had twice that much left. I emptied my dad’s wallet as well as my mom’s purse on that morning gone and this, that act alone, not to return.

Left hints over the weeks prior that I liked areas near the university and had been downtown with friends. As well, enjoyed everything going in areas on or near the university campus. Narrowing this lie to a specific locale had the potential to be a mistake and regretted at the time, not keeping my remarks a bit hazier. The parents were a little disgruntled with this information, probably thought the crowds would radicalize, but fortunately, did little to dissuade. They could also have been unhappy that something made me happy..., a typical reaction. Generally, an emphatic ‘so what,’ combined with demeaning verbiage. Anyway, in willful disinformation, dropped the idea I was occasionally hanging near the university and if a search after my absence, that is where I hoped anyone would first look, but they also knew I liked exploring the mesas.

Left that final morning, just as any other day, and last parting thoughts were to forever burn my bridges, go after my dad with a bat, even the mom, and run like hell. Nevertheless..., desisted from anything drastic to undermine all so far done and thus, silently left. Besides, they had already left for whatever errands~~no sense endangering several weeks of hard work. Revenge, if thriving needs to satiate, could be realized at a later date.

Before anyone left, had a good breakfast that my mom, in rare kindness, fixed before she left. She could occasionally surprise.

As far as bridge-burning ideas went, knew I would forever want revenge, but that was something for later. If, still so desired. First... do a bunk.

IV

Into The Hills

Ill Fortune Seldom Comes Alone

John Dryden

After a circuitous route, making it look as if heading downtown (to possible observers), plus three hours later after purchasing last provisions, was in my cave like camp. A snuggery within a warren of fallen rock, forming a comfortable cave-like shelter from both wind and rain. Inside lie protection from the elements~~no wind or rain. Perchance, varmints had the same idea. Found a dry area in a back section; safe from water runoff and was able to comfortably lay myself on level sand in an excellent spot for a hidden fire. There were escape outlets in this back area, if needing a quick getaway; inside, everything, securely protected. Not sure how long being here, so hid most things out of sight, just in case. If to run, for any reason, would return to retrieve whatever I could. With all done, the setup and organizing, it was approaching middle afternoon and me, bone-weary tired. Several weeks of strenuous effort was catching up. Emotions~~nearly drained.

Possessed a metal flask, one stolen from the father, filled with cheap whiskey and with this warming liquid, planned to toast my first night. Whiskey was a foreign substance, but something I guessed entirely appropriate for a small celebration of my first night. Stupid I had not taken the bottle.

By end of day, had brought everything together and finished organizing my supplies. Expected to be here a short while and had plans, immediately, to explore upward areas for another campsite. Wanted, as soon as possible, to move upwards; the farther away, better odds of avoiding discovery. Something, the only thing a problem, personally, on that first night gone, was my bike. It was of no more use, but I had great affection and it was, sentimentally, going to be hard to part. After situated, went back to the last site, retrieved, and lovingly carried it back. Everything from hereon, to anywhere above, would be on foot with packs on back and over shoulders.

The next day, found a secure place to hide my longtime companion and that was the last seen. Had had that bike for more than five years and with, had gone everywhere. At parting, realized that knobtired, banana-seated, long-handled bike had never done me wrong. Ever. To this day, miss it, and perhaps, when things again quiet, these decades later, will go and search for it. My friend, probably long gone. The elements perhaps, or better yet, a kid got to make use. My Rosebud and maybe, still in those rocks awaiting return to the mesas. Never named the bike Rosebud, just liked the tearful drama of dying Orson Welles imagery. Welles had his sled and me..., my bike.

My first night, approaching early April (forgot precisely)..., somewhere thereabouts. Pleasant enjoyably warmer days, but for maybe the wee hours when it could be, and was, freezing.

On cold mornings, wrapped in the bag mummy-style, it took willful effort to get out and face the cold and so, loosen the limbs. As much as wanted, no fire first thing, but went to the entrance and out onto rocks offering views to surveil for activity. Looking for human movement, any, with my binoculars.

Masked my tracks when possible, as first into the rocks, but rains did much camouflaging, if not all. Was lucky with the rains of that spring, though did know showers, sometimes massive, regularly came through from east to west and these, generally, short-lived, but useful for my needs of the time. If seeing rains coming, I laid out pots, thus saving a trip to an arroyo. Though this being the case, I never assumed the rains would hide me and from experience, spring was not the best time to expect afternoon showers, but they happened.

Believed, once the parents took notice of my absence, they might eventually think I had come this way, knowing I liked to hike and explore, but as said, was hoping searching would first go into the city. Downtown had food and shelter, as well as armies of runaways. My parents could very well have said, Good riddance, bon voyage, without second thoughts.

I had been downtown around the university in recent times and found couch surfing for overnight stays an easy go. Especially, if offering quick coin, which also got a breakfast of egg, toast, and coffee. The downside amongst available places was the multitude of strangers to contend. With visitors came risk of robbery or otherwise~~a skinny kid was a right prime target for a host of evils. My first city foray was months off.

There was one attempt at taking advantage during a city visit and it, an abysmal failure~~for the perpetrator. Later.

Am Not Where Thought

So Look As You Will

Titch

My fantasy~~a foolish one, was to become a hermit, hunter, forager, and find a hidden cave from where to have this come true. Had no gun, but knew how to make spears, crude traps..., stupidly assuming no lack of edible game. Perhaps snakes, squirrels, hares, and maybe something significant like small deer, would be in the offing. Snakes were easy, but not so regarding all else. Did, in time, catch and eat some of these animals, but the numbers would not have been enough to independently sustain. Simply supplemental. Should add, edible animals would be less than steady; seasonally available varmints is what it was. Hunting would be especially bleak in the winter, but I knew not the general behavior of local indigenous animals and had not yet considered the changing of seasons.

Snakes, though, were indeed easy, but they went only go so far taste and diet wise. In the winter, would I be able to find them? As came to be, shortly, would not have to worry about hunted sustenance. It became an entertaining distraction and not a necessity.

Stayed put in the shelter that first day and organized supplies for more efficient travel. Also, relaxed and worried, alternating between.

In the next days, only short exploratory ventures. Recceing for familiarization with surrounding areas and found another route going up and north along the side of the Mountain to what looked like a tiny canyon. Planned to explore this area during the next few days and began rethinking ideas for staying in this present location, despite mostly settled. This current setting was great in opinion and though some eight rigorous hiking miles from the house, decided this was still not far enough from prying eyes. Wanted access to something harder to find, somewhere into the upper heights.

After two full days resting, awoke early, grabbed a bite, and cleansed; always diligently performed necessary basics to staying civilized, as well as healthy~~kind of. After checking the area for activity, moved hard and fast up narrow gullies located between large boulder-sized rocks~~much of the route was through deep ravines. I call some places canyons or gullies and others would probably say something else, like ravines. Does not matter, the picture is there.

Higher into the mountain, edged mostly south after going a little north, as well as ascending. Much of this time, while working myself upwards, felt overly exposed to weather, plus observation by unwanted parties, and hoped there would be no rain while in these ravines until safely away from potential floods. This area was too high for such, outside of short-lived waterfalls, but best be sure. Again, when seeing dark clouds, anywhere, always a good time to cautiously prepare. Water running from this mountain, known by many, to come in sudden fast-moving walls. Had heard many a time of flash floods, had even seen, and forever, warned to be wary, to quickly move, sun or no, at moment’s notice.

V

Another Campsite

Believe Those Seeking The Truth

Doubt Those Who Find It

Andre Guide

Soon found another location a mile distant. Much like the present in that it was deep within overlapping rock; perfectly secluded, dry, and weather protected.

Perceived distances were never crow miles, but believed this next location to be a mile further into the mountain, though undeniably, not a straight line. A shortish distance to move, but hard climbing to get. Decided to move everything here and went back, packed up, and so, made another trip. Typically arduous it was, in the extreme. Stashed everything in my new location and hightailed it back; again, packed the bags, but at this point, too exhausted.

Moreover, the sun would be down before completing another trip. Traveling in darkness was never a good idea, no error. In the end, it was two days getting the next site ready~~hard, fast-paced humping back and forth. This included futile half-assed attempts at covering tracks or other signs. I needed cover-up after my final trip and hoped for a cleansing rain.

At the end of this move, again set up and soon, exploring surroundings with short trips on animal trails. What animals made the trails, never saw, but did think future dinners wandered them.

Sometimes, on explorations, headed north just to get south, or vice-versa, all adventurously fun and at the end of this move, felt good about everything. Albeit, sore and tired. Maybe, right or wrong, feeling too good about things, but thought to never let my guard down; extreme caution... a survival necessity.

Every direction east from here, from where just come, was generally up, steeply up, south or north, but occasionally sprinkled with level areas where I could sit, relax, or best of all, enjoy the scenic panorama.

As before, organized camp and made plans to explore. After marking escape routes, if necessary, I hid and stored my supplies, as a precaution. Believed, looking back these decades later, my third night in that site was my first full week of absence.

From here, made several side trips in the first few days, getting familiar and comfortable. This new site was situated within and under large rock overhangs and nearby lie small caves (mostly from fallen boulders, though a few were natural). One other thing, as settling in, had an overwhelming desire to get thoroughly clean; had done wipe downs wherever finding water, but wanted a thorough cleaning, clothes as well. After a week gone, was becoming ripe. Brushed my teeth, threw water on my face and did small wet cloth wash downs, but that was it. So, to sate this desire for a thorough bathing, climbed a nearby ravine, a passageway between rocks and boulders, looking for wet sand and soon, found just such a place. Dug a hole with a collapsible shovel until I had a pool of water, one large enough to sit and thoroughly soak. After digging to the desired depth, let the water settle debris and then dunked my head and gave my scalp a hard scrubbing. Then, undressed and gave myself a cloth wash after sitting in the muddied hole. When the water settled, I scooped out water for a rinse. Worked ok. Felt great, and followed with a naked lay down in the sun to tan and warm. The temperatures were still coolish, but with no winds and breezeless sun between rocks, I dried warmly. After quasi-cleaning, dutifully filled in the hole and returned for a nap.

Next day, awoke later than usual and went up the mountain through a ravine, which I could now follow with eyes shut (not about to do such). Should say again, that an arroyo, ravine, or gully was to me any passage up and through rocks with oft sandy walkable bottoms. These places, pathways in the mountain ascent, could have been small canyons just as well. Use your own caviling words, but think you have the picture. While looking around an area just above a ravine, spotted a possible trail high in the distance. A faint intermittent line along the mountainside, seen when getting ready to head back. The trail, if indeed, appeared a simple spotty north/south line with several breaks in continuity, but still an