Category Archives: politics

out of the mountains with ed the turtle

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This morning my sister Diane took me on a walk around her property, 10 miles outside of Monticello, in Wayne County, Kentucky. We started by walking westwards from her house. The trail wound through a deciduous forest along a rough limestone escarpment. The limestone leaned out over the trail, providing several rock shelters along the way. In a few places, large slabs of limestone had broken off and fallen onto the forest floor. The ground was covered with moss and fallen leaves, and wet from a recent rainfall.

About 3/4 of a mile from the house, we came to the meadow, approximately 30 acres of rolling grass. (Ed is annoyed that it’s not a 50-acre meadow, and intends to log until it is.)

We climbed over a split-rail fence and walked out onto the grass. Diane was telling me that Little Joe, her horse, was a lot like a puppy. “If he could climb into your lap, he would” she said. “He’ll come running towards us but don’t worry… he’ll skid to a stop just before he hits us.”

She was telling me this as a huge black workhorse thundered across the pasture directly towards us. If I didn’t love and know horses, I would have been running for the fence screaming. As it was, I tensed up to jump out of the way. Little Joe is big. Think a jet black Clydesdale and just for fun imagine flaming hooves and glowing red eyes.

As Diane said, Little Joe skidded to a halt just shy of where we were standing, dirt and clods of grass flying into the air as his hooves dug in. Then he came up between us and butted me affectionately with the side of his head, nearly knocking me down. Diane pulled his head down to her level and gave him a noogie, telling me that he likes to play rough. We continued west across the meadow, detouring around the several sinkholes that had been fenced off. Little Joe trotted along with us, occasionally getting as underfoot as a 8-foot-high horse can get.

We crossed an electric fence into another part of the meadow, and Little Joe raced back and forth along the fence, wanting to me with us. On the far side of the meadow, we continued onto the neighboring property, and Diane led me into the woods where a really deep sinkhole descended into the earth. We climbed down the blocks of limestone to the bottom of the hole. Unfortunately we didn’t have a flashlight, but several tunnels seemed to go off in various directions. Straight down I could see a waterfall, though I could not see where the water came from or went. Overhead a skylight opened to the trees. Wow, I really wished I had my caving gear with me!

We pulled ourselves away from the lure of the unknown and headed back towards the meadow. Crossing we could see Little Joe cavorting in the distance against a background of trees and stony mountains.

Unfortunately I had to go, as I wanted to also visit with my brother Donald in Missouri. Before I left, Diane and I went into town and ate at a local café. I got confused and ordered fried chicken gizzards when I really wanted livers. The gizzards were edible, but very rubbery. I’ll probably avoid them in the future.

And then I was off, driving westwards from Monticello across Wayne County. I stopped just outside of town to put up a “Vote NO on the Amendment” sign right next to a “Jesus is Coming!” sign. I figured it was appropriate… Jesus would definitely have voted against the mean-spirited amendment.

Kentucky’s constitutional amendment not only bans marriage for same-sex couples, but it also denies any legal arrangements that seek to emulate marriage. For example, the Durable Power of attorney that allows me to make medical decisions for Dan could be ignored in Kentucky if this amendment passes. The wording is so vague and sloppy that the amendment, if passed, will result in a flood of lawsuits.

About 30 miles outside of Monticello, I noticed a moving lump in the road, and swerved so that my tire just missed a turtle. I pulled alongside and ran back. I had a lump in my throat as a long line of cars passed me. Amazingly, the turtle was still alive, slowly plodding across the road.

It was beautiful, with a high dark-brown shell and yellowish markings. I immediately recognized it as a box turtle. As a kid, I always wanted a box turtle, and I wanted to take this one home with me.

So I took Ed (the name just came to me) back to the van and called Dan. I asked him to research whether Ed was threatened or endangered. He did some research and decided that Ed was an Eastern Box Turtle, and not endangered or threatened. The species is at risk from overpopulation, however. They’re frequently run over as they cross roads, chopped up by lawn mowers when they hide in tall grass, or chewed up by dogs.

I wrestled with my conscience… should I return Ed to the side of the road, or should I keep him as a traveling companion? The metaphoric advantages of keeping him were overwhelming. Even more compelling however was my inner child, who always wanted a box turtle. And here was a very pretty and lively little guy crawling around the floor of my van.

Well, as the title of this posting suggests, Ed stayed with me. I stopped at a grocery store and picked him up some fresh fruit and chicken-ish dog food. And the two of us slowly made our way northwest out of Kentucky, each travelling with our own comfortable home.

I settled for the night in New Harmony State Park, in southwestern Indiana. I fell asleep to the sound of rain on the roof and the (perhaps imagined) trod of tiny feet across the van’s rug.

thank you for your friendship and help!

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To those attending our wedding, those who contributed to our honeymoon and to other friends, I wanted to give you an update to let you know what we’ve been doing, and how your money was spent.

We raised $4,504.90 toward the costs of a 12-stop speaking tour across the United States, on the topic of gay marriage. The total cost was $90,000, so you provided 5%. We decided on this grueling activity for our honeymoon, because we wanted to do something to legally solidify our marriage, and after 17 years of living and working together we’ve traveled a lot overseas.

The costs for Ron and I were $3000 total, so that extra $1504.90 went to pay for an additional rider to attend. There were 44 riders total. We are proud to report that we received donations from a complete range of people: an impoverished grad student, a public company CEO, a dentist, a real estate mogul, and everything in-between. We greatly appreciate your generous help.

Some of our friends left funny comments with their donations. I should call out Othar Hansson’s donation of $104.90, ten cents for every federal right or responsibility that comes with legal marriage, first because you might be wondering which goofball gave us $4.90, and second because the number was revised recently by the Office of Management and Budget, which put the number of federal rights/responsibilities closer to 1,138. Each state also adds a couple of hundred other rights.

The rights accorded by marriage are substantial. If you are still wondering whether marriage matters, let me give you a couple of specific examples: Due to an anti-gay marriage law recently passed in Virginia and a constitutional amendment in Missouri, if Ron visits either of these states, and if he should fall ill, even his Durable Power of Attorney may not allow me to visit him in the hospital or decide important medical matters if he is unable to communicate, Ron and I could not move to these states and expect health insurance to cover us as domestic partners. Our wills may be invalidated if we visit or move to these states.

I say “may” because the laws are written stridently, prohibiting recognition of any contractual arrangement (even opposite-sex arrangements) attempting to approximate marriage, but the courts must ultimately decide because they may conflict with the US Constitution. Ultimately, these laws appear to be ‘lawyer full-employment acts’ because they will generate enormous sums of money for the people hired to interpret these contradictory laws. The bitter lawsuits they engender will split families. The result will be nasty. My home state, Michigan, has such a constitutional amendment on the ballot.

Many marriage rights and responsibilities relate to supporting children. One surprising fact: while 50% of straight couples have children, 33% of lesbian couples and 25% of gay-male couples also have children. These lesbian and gay families have no protection in the area of child-support or parental visitation, and so divorce (if you can call it that), for many, ends up punishing the children.

The parallels between gay-marriage and interracial marriage are strong. You might not remember (or even been born), but the last state constitutional amendments banning interracial marriage were overturned by the Federal Supreme Court in 1967, not so long ago. Missouri holds the record for keeping its toothless anti-miscegenation laws on its books until 1969. I vividly remember that around that time my own parents were infuriated by the bigotry of anti-miscegenation, and expressed concern for friends — an interracial couple — whose parents refused to attend their wedding. ‘Activist courts’ were the ones who struck these anti-miscegination laws down. In 1967, 70% of American citizens were against interracial marriage, just as a similar percentage of Americans today oppose gay marriage. Yet today a majority of us would be totally embarrassed, or astonished, if a friend made a disparaging comment about an interracial couple.

Because most marriage rights and responsibilities are afforded by federal law, state-sponsored ‘civil unions’ are poor substitutes. Immigration rights, for example, are federal. There were three people on the caravan who expect to either have to leave the US to reside with their long-term partner (due to expiring student or work visas) or who have already left and returned just to come on the trip. Those who leave typically become ‘silent victims’ because they change their citizenship and stop participating in the American political process. This is a special burden for their parents, because gay children have difficulty caring for parents from overseas. Although only 3 countries currently recognize gay marriage, 16 countries do the humane thing and recognize ‘permanent partnerships’ for the purpose of immigration. (No, the US is not one of them.) In the area of taxes and inheritance, you are probably aware that Ron or I will get a big tax hit when one of us dies, with a possible risk of losing our house. This is not a concern for married couples.

Raising money for a cause is one thing, but using it wisely is another. Ron and I did our best to try to maximize the use of your funds to sway public opinion on the topic of gay marriage. We are especially interested in media and public relations, and we specifically used our technology talents to facilitate media.

In the weeks prior to our trip, Ron took on responsibility for spiffing two web sites: marriageequality.org is the site for Marriage Equality California, the organization sponsoring the caravan; equalityexpress.org links directly to the site for the caravan itself. He also wrote a blog along the trip documenting what we did. [Which you're reading here! - Ron]

I provided logistical support for reporters on the trip: particularly wireless internet access to allow reporters and bloggers the ability to upload stories while driving down the road. The San Francisco Chronicle sent an ‘embedded’ reporter and a photographer with us on the trip, their deadline was 5pm Pacific time each day. Reporter Rona Marech could be seen on the bus between about 2 p.m. and 5 p.m. wearing sound-deadening headphones, with her head wrapped in a sweater, so she could block out the singing or story-telling of other riders while she wrote. And then, at about 5:30 p.m. (yes, what a surprise, a reporter sending a story after the deadline) she would be scrambling to upload the story through my less-than-reliable ATT wireless connection. During the trip we discovered another person with a Verizon wireless internet connection, and between the two of us we were able to provide good service to the press.

If you like reading ‘general picture’ stories, I’ll invite you to read Rona’s daily articles on the trip at the SF Chronicle web site. You get a very vivid feel of the trip from Rona’s exceptional writing. These articles appeared in the print edition also. I believe the first article was above-the-fold, front-page.

If you are interested in the day-to-day activities of the speaking tour, see Ron’s blog.

If you are interested in a very personal, sometimes beautiful, sometimes snotty account of the emotions around the trip, check out Leslie Ewing’s blog.

The effects of your contribution, on the press, were big. We were covered (as I think you know) by CSPAN3. We got great international coverage of our rally in DC, with articles in the International Herald Tribune, Reuters, AP, the Guardian in London, the Washington Post, China Daily, SF Chronicle of course, etc.

During our trip, we appeared on various local news stations. We know this not because we saw them ourselves (we were typically either long-gone before the news, or we were riding on a bus when they played), but because people called us later to tell us. In the Bay Area, I can tell you that I talked about “the importance of telling our stories in the midwest” on Channel 7 news October 3, and Ron talked about the general importance of the trip on Channel 5 news October 5.

We carried with us on the journey a documentary film crew: Roland Torres and his assistant Anthony Perez. Halfway through the journey, Anthony landed in a drunk-tank in Denver (you can read the details in Ron and Leslie’s blogs), and essentially got both Roland and Anthony kicked off the caravan. Fortunately, Ron and I were in the vanagon, not the main big-bus. We saved Roland and Anthony’s documentary by taking them with us, somewhat in violation of the wishes of the “executive committee” running the event. I think in the end, everyone was happy about this, and hopefully the result will be a great documentary “An American Quest” to be aired on cable in late November. Roland says he’ll put us in the credits.

Because we hosted a number of slightly unapproved activities in our Vanagon, not only taking on the drunk documentary videographers, but also visiting Fred Phelp’s church in Topeka in violation of an overwhelming vote (see godhatesfags.com for details on Fred’s church), running over our allocated speaking time and other annoyances, we gave ourselves the name “The Bad Person Bus”. Though we were a little bad, we think we did a lot of good.

Now, I have returned to SF trying to concentrate on the business, which has suffered in the last 4 weeks due to our marriage and exhausting honeymoon. Ron is driving his van back home from Washington DC. Apparently, while he is driving back he is doing good things along the way. MECA’s Assistant Director Molly McKay (who one of you called “the hot chick in the wedding dress on CSPAN”) called to say, “On the way home, your husband seems to be inspiring people to take up the issue.” Specifically, he stopped in Lexington Kentucky to drop off some books (Why You Should Give a Damn about Gay Marriage, Davina Kotulski) and other materials. Ron isn’t back yet, so who knows what additional trouble he’ll cause.

We are so grateful that we could get married, and we are very thankful for the support of our families in that marriage. I don’t think I ever expected the outpouring of love we got at our wedding, and how different that was than a civil union or ‘just living together’. Having members of my family there made all the difference to me, and I so appreciate your kindness to them.

At a few stops along the trip I read my marriage vows to illustrate the value of our marriage. Those of you who attended our wedding know that I basically couldn’t get through these vows without breaking into tears. Not much changed even after saying them for the third time, maybe it got worse. A few of our friends watched the Washington rally on CSPAN, and sent emails like “Hey you guys, stop crying on national TV! :) ”

Even if you did hear me say them publically in one place or another, you might not have deciphered the words through my blubbering. Ron and I did not put our vows in the program. Whenever we spoke them, people in the audience cried. People always came up to us afterwards and say they felt the same way, thanking us for saying it. Here they are:

Dan’s vows:

My love, Ron Lussier, you are my favorite person in the world. Together, we have been richer and poorer. We have been sick and healthy. We have been shunned and acclaimed. We have been better and worse. And we have stuck by each other through it all. I am so glad to have you.

For 17 years, I, Daniel Rex Greening, committed myself to you as my one and only life partner. It was a private commitment, only a few knew how serious we were.

Today I publicly reaffirm my love for you before friends and family here today. I vow to love you and care for you, as long as we both shall live. I will help you when you need help, I will comfort you when times are difficult, and I will celebrate with you when times are good.

You are my friend, my lover, my partner, my everything. And today I marry you. I love you so much, Ron Lussier.

Ron’s vows:

Dan, I love you. My life is richer through sharing it with you. My fears are calmed because you’re there to comfort me.

You balance me, and you make me better than I would be without you. Plus, you’re really, really cute.

I will always value your advice, even when it’s not what I want to hear.

I promise to always be open with you so that you will always know me.

I’ll try very hard not to walk away from an argument, but listen to what you’re saying, and to understand what you’re feeling.

I promise to laugh with you when we both want to scream.

I promise to do all I can to help make your dreams come true, and I promise that our life together will be full of adventure.

We met though we were 3,000 miles apart. Before we had even kissed, I loved you. I’ve loved you even more during our 17th year together than I did during our first, and I will love you even more next year

I’ve been with you in great times and bad, and I’ll be there for you in the future. I want to wake up to you every morning for the rest of our lives.

Thank you again for your contributions to us, whether by supporting us emotionally, attending our wedding, or contributing to our honeymoon. We really appreciate you, so much. We hope we have done honor to your contributions.

Love,
Dan Greening

heading home

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This morning we headed over to the White House to drop off the signed petition to President Bush asking him to respect the U.S. Constitution and reconsider writing discrimination into the document. I was dismayed to discover that you can’t even get onto Pennsylvania Avenue any more. The street is closed off, as are the blocks around the White House and the grounds of the Capitol. A sign on the fence around the Capitol says “Closed for construction in preparation for the 2005 Presidential Inauguration.” That seems lame to me… Congress especially is supposed to be a place of the people, not a fenced enclave with signs reading “Pass holders only.”

Well, surprise, no one at the White House would accept our petition for the President, even with California Assemblyman Mark Leno working the cell phones. So we rolled it out in a park across Pennsylvania Avenue from the White House, chanted way too much, and then rolled it up again. Before leaving, we each took turns reading lines from the petition our loud. It’s a pretty good petition and might make a difference if our President wasn’t such a satanic retard. I think that someone is going to mail it to the White House. But right then I was tired and wanting to get away from the group.

It’s not that I dislike the other riders, though a couple of them annoyed me often. They were professional activists, and way too strident and self-important for my tastes. Curiously, Molly, who is a professional activist, doesn’t have this effect on me. I think she has a disarming humility that wins people over. It works for me.

There are other members of the group whose company I genuinely enjoy. There is Leslie, who is a irreverent and sassy, but who still raises a fist when reading a petition. There are Joe and Frank, who cute stoners who hide behind curtains when they think that the E.C. might be doing room checks. And there are many others from the ride who are really good people. But we were all on edge from a week of too much in too little time, and I needed space.

So Dan and I headed over to the Smithsonian Museum of the American Indian. It’s a spectacular building of curving irregular sandstone blocks. Around the museum are plantings (including a mini corn field!) and a flowing river and waterfall. When you enter, the first thing you notice is that you’re in a kiva, a ceremonial meeting place. The circular ceiling soars 4 stores above you, and carefully-placed prisms cast rainbows onto the walls.

The exhibits we saw were also unique. We didn’t have much time, but we saw a bunch of small exhibits, each one curated by members of one tribe. There was an exhibit from the Igloovik of northern, northern Canada. There was a Auto-Neige (snow car) used by the Saint-Laurent to go ice fishing. There was an exhibit on Mohawk ironworkers. And one tribe seemed really obsessed with their new casino.

Unfortunately we only had 45 minutes in the museum. If you go, I suggest leaving yourself 2 hours minimum, and more if you have the time.

Then I drove Dan, Allison, and Heidi off to Dulles. Dan and I got into a fight on the way about back-seat driving, and we both went into a funk, leaving Allison and Heidi (who told me that they never fight) looking uncomfortable in the back seat.

After dropping off the crew and making up with Dan, I headed south along I-81. Along the way I found a shop to weld two brackets on my muffler that sheered off somewhere along the way. I suspect that there were originally damaged by the severe vibrations of my drive-shaft in northern Brasil. Fifteen minutes and $15 later, they’re patch-welded. I suspect that the welds won’t hold, and when I get back I’ll try to get the problem solved more permanently.

From I-81 South, I turned west onto US 33, which took me into the Appalachians and Wild, Wonderful West Virginia. It’s now 9 p.m., and I’m in Seneca Rocks State Campground. I’ve driven 3330 miles since leaving Sausalito on this journey.

Despite the long way I have to go, it feels good to be back in my camper, with linen sheets, down pillows, and a big fluffy down comforter. Filling in for the part of Dan is a king-sized pillow. The sky overhead is brilliant with stars. I wish Dan were with me, but otherwise things are pretty damn good.

the rally amid the tears

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Hi, are you still there? We watched you on my computer today. You guys were great and we were crying.
— Barbara Culgin (via AIM)

Hey! I know those two guys crying on C-SPAN! Good job, guys! xoxo Steve
— Steve Dorato

Hey, I got to watch! Yay! Y’all look great! Stop crying on live national TV! ;-)
Glenn Crocker

Well, the rally has come and gone. The riders made it through (emotionally) intact. And from my point of view, it was a success.

Sure, there wasn’t nearly the turn-out we expected. Rather than 30,000 people, we got 300. But what is important to remember is that the people in this movement are quiet, boring, stay-at-home folk. They have kids and are often very, very tired. And this fight for civil rights is very young.

Dan and I started the day by ferrying the musicians Tuck and Patty to the rally site in Francis, our VW bus. The stage was still being constructed, however, and the sound system wasn’t even close to being ready for sound check. We brought T&P back to the hotel and then hung around in our rooms for another hour, during which I finished a previous day’s blog entry.

At around 10:30 we went back over to the rally site. The riders were all milling around behind the stage. Soon it was 11 a.m., and we all climbed up the steps onto the stage and sang “What the World Needs Now is Love Sweet Love” badly. After we’d all climbed down from the stage again, the speeches started. I believe that there were around 50 speakers. I know that every rider spoke, and there are 44 of us.

Every speaker had between 1 and 10 minutes to speak. If you went over, someone with an orange flag would start waving it with greater and greater urgency. We were told beforehand that our mikes would be cut if we didn’t stop talking.

There were lots of speeches, many of them very inspirational. Andy Thayer of Don’t Amend went over his time, and John started waving the orange flag. Andy continued, and the flag waved more urgently. Andy went on, and the John jumped up and down, waving urgently. And Andy continued.

Many of the riders had practiced their speeches over and over on the bus, getting each down to exactly one minute long. This had the unfortunate effect of taking away a lot of the extreme emotion people showed when talking on the road. Eve Lubalin, the PFLAG mom, didn’t cry. Joe and Frank, who always cry, didn’t cry. Bev spoke about how much she wanted to be part of the lives of her children, and didn’t cry, though she broke down in tears as she left the stage.

Robin Tyler got up and spoke some truths that no one else had the balls to say. She produced the 1979, 1987, and 1993 Marches on Washington for Gay Rights. She spoke out about the failure of other gay organizations to promote the rally. I am especially annoyed at HRC, who produced the 2000 March on Washington despite many telling them that the timing was inappropriate. Dan and I attended. They sent no one to speak at our rally.

Then it was time for Dan and I to speak. Dan told everyone how we had been married just over two weeks previously, and then he re-read his vows to me. His voice shook with emotion, and as he reach the end “I love you so much, Ron Lussier”, he broke down in tears and fell into my arms. We were both crying.

And all of the clever, moving things I had intended to say were completely gone from my mind. I don’t work from a script, but it usually comes out well. This time it didn’t. I spoke a little about how love affects everyone, no matter what the gender of the couple in love. I spoke about how everyone at our wedding was laughing and crying. I told folks about my 83-year-old grandmother, who after the wedding said it was a joke that people wanted to keep us from marrying. And then I saw John. He was waving a flag, jumping up and down. And my mind, which was in ‘babbling mode’, went to ‘empty’.

I looked to Dan, and he closed our speech. But I wanted to say something else, which went something like this:

“I want to tell everyone out there that when you get married the people at your wedding will be transformed. We never develop defenses against true love. That’s why we cry at weddings. When two people marry one another, their love spills out and fills every one in the room with joy. So don’t be afraid to invite your families and your friends. Allow them to share in your love, and they will know that love is love. And this discrimination against us will fall.”

I’m not sure it came out that good, but that’s what I wanted to say.

Chrissy Gephardt showed up at the last minute and told everyone to vote for Kerry and against Bush. She was so passionate that Davina followed her at the Podium and thanked her for speaking at the non-partisan National Rally for Marriage Equality. Standing next to me, Ms. Gephardt winced and said to me “I guess I overdid it.” I whispered back “You just said what everyone else is thinking. Thanks for that.” Then I made room for her to stand in front of Dan and I.

The rally ended with all of us dancing in front of the stage, in couples and in groups. We’d done something amazing. We are the vanguard of a major civil rights movement that will affect millions of loving Americans. We’re love warriors.

Dan and I spoke for three months via email, phone, and written letter before we actually met on October 11, 1987. He was living in Los Angeles, and I was in Nashua, New Hampshire.

17 years ago today, Dan met me at Washington National airport. I’d flown down on Eastern Airlines, the first time I’d ever flown. As I babbled to him about how amazing clouds were from the top, we walked to his hotel room. His small room was filled with about a dozen guys and as many sleeping bags. They all checked me out and (I think) whispered approving asides to Dan. And then we headed to dinner.

I’d never eaten sushi, and Dan was going to introduce me. As we walked towards the restaurant, there was a lull in the conversation. Desperate to fill it, I said “So, do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

Oh my god, how desperate could I sound? I felt like whacking myself in the forehead repeatedly. But luckily Dan just chuckled and said “Okay!” And then we went on to have what seemed like the longest sushi dinner in history. Afterwards, we practically ran back to my hotel.

Tonight we went back to Sushi Taro. I was astonished that it was still around, and I learned that it had recently celebrated its 18th year in business. Everyone there congratulated us on our anniversary, and our waitress told us that we gave her hope for finding someone special. Oh, and the food was magnificent. Dan and I ate sashimi and yakitori (items grilled on bamboo skewers.) We drank sake. And we kept looking at one another and saying “I can’t believe it’s been 17 years.”

I love you so much, Dan Greening. More than ever.

conflict resolution and processing

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Yesterday, Dan and I learned from Anthony that he had not left the hotel when he was picked up by the police. He had wandered down to the lobby and a security guard had harassed him, despite his saying that he was a hotel resident. When he couldn’t remember his room number, the guard called the police rather than looking Anthony up by name.

We also learned that the E.C. hadn’t spoken with Anthony to listen to his side of the story before kicking him and Roland off of the bus. The last that they had spoken to either of them was before Anthony was found, when Roland only knew that Anthony had left the room at midnight. When Roland tried later to tell Davina about what really happened, Davina told Roland that it wasn’t open for discussion.

For me, this changed everything. Anthony been harassed and ejected from the hotel, probably because he was part of our very flamboyant group or because he was hispanic, or both. (The guard who ejected Anthony had seen him enter the hotel with about a dozen other riders returning from the bar.) Then, to make things worse, the E.C. had pronounced their guilt without listening to Anthony’s story. The more I thought about it, the more unfair it seemed.

This morning, Dan was going to get onto the Big Bus to explain to everyone Anthony’s side of the story. It seemed only right that the other riders, who had only heard conjecture and condemnation, should hear what really happened. Dan told me that he only intended to tell the folks on the bus what happened factually, and allow them to draw their own conclusions.

When Dan got on the Big Bus, he was told that he would have to sit in the back-most seat. He told Molly that he wanted a few minutes on the microphone to speak to the riders, and he was told that they wouldn’t allow him to do so. Molly accused Dan of trying to divide the group. Dan, frustrated, got off and came back to the Vanagon.

The members of the E.C. followed us, telling us that we would have our chance to talk about things as soon as there was time. I asked when, and was told that it would be soon, today. There was huge amounts of tension… I was very angry at them for not only expelling a member of the group without all of the evidence, but then refusing to allow the truth to come forward. Dan was frustrated, and the E.C. didn’t seem to happy either. Roland and Anthony, who were riding with us, stood on the other side of the van looking uncomfortable. Eventually we settled down a little and agreed to talk later.

I simmered most of the rest of the day, for the reasons I listed in my previous journal entry. I hate the idea that the group can turn its back on people for a single mistake. It scares me deep down inside.

So on Dan and I, Roland and Anthony drove towards Columbus in the Bad Boy Bus. The rally in Columbus was at the First Unitarian Universalist Church, a wonderful sprawling complex of classrooms, meeting halls, and of course, a church hall. By the time we got there, the speakers were already in full swing. The event was especially special for Jennifer, who had family in the area. Her family were all proudly in the church to listen to her talk.

After the speaches, we all went into a meeting hall for an amazing spread of hot dishes and baked goods. The folks in Columbus definitely know how to show hospitality! Unfortunately, the folks on the Big Bus were there for all of about 10 minutes before the E.C. were shouting “Okay, everyone, time to get on the bus!”

Dan and I were left sitting with a group of locals, thanking them for their hospitality and finishing our meal. It was yummy, as was the large tray of cookies that one lady gave to us as we left.

Just outside the church we were interviewed by a local ‘No on Issue 1‘ camera crew. They were working on a documentary on the fight against Issue 1, Ohio’s anti-marriage amendment. They interviewed us for about 20 minutes, and Dan and I spoke about why marriage was so important not only to us, but to society in general. We were finishing one another’s sentences. It was very cute. They also taped a promo spot of us asking Ohioans to vote against Issue 1.

About that time Roland and Anthony returned from an errand fetching a new charger for their camcorder. We all piled into Francis and we were off. Rather than go 2 hours northeast to Akron and then another 2 hours southeast to Pittsburgh, we decided to skip Akron and drive straight across. It saved us tons of driving, and also allowed us some ‘down time’ before the bus arrived for our final talk of the day in Pittsburgh.

We got to the hotel and checked in. I went off and spent a few hours driving around town looking for a do-it-yourself car wash, and finally found one. A couple of hours later I was back at the hotel, my car sparkling and happy. When I pulled in, a cute young woman came up and asked me if the bus had arrived. It turns out that this was Dolores’ daughter Danyelle, who was joining us here. I told her that we had skipped an event, but that the bus should be arriving momentarily.

Driving around Pittsburgh, and especially at the hotel, I had seen a larger-than-normal number of blind folks tap-tap-tapping. I finally asked one of the guys why there were so many blind folks in the hotel. He told me that that weekend Pittsburgh was hosting a blind dart players’ championship. My mind boggled, and I couldn’t help saying “Wow, that sounds scary!” He chuckled.

Writing this up later, I wondered if he was yanking my chain. Well, it turns out he wasn’t:

Audio Dart Tournament
The fifth regional tournament sponsored by Audio Darts of Pittsburgh.
October 8 – 10
Best Western
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Cost: $15 per event or $75 for six events; registration deadline is October 1; mail contact information and payment to Louis Wassermann, 2503 Silver Oak Drive, Pittsburgh, PA 15220.

After speaking to a group of college students at the University of Pittsburgh, we returned to the hotel. The time had finally come for Dan and I to speak with the E.C.

We all met… Molly & Davina, Bev & Jacqueline, Belinda & Wendy, Dan and I. Once we got past the initial pleasantries, I was invited to vent.

And I did. I told them that they were attempting to keep way too much control over members of the group. I told them that I felt betrayed by Molly when she apologized to the other riders for going off with Dan and I, without even telling me she was going to do so. I told them that they were wrong to have expelled Roland and Anthony without hearing their story. I opined that creative people were messy and complex, and that they couldn’t be forced to ‘stay on message’ or ‘use the buddy system’ all of the time. (Davina got defensive here… “Well, I’m creative, I wrote a book, and I didn’t go out and get drunk.”)

I told them that if they invited documentary filmmakers along, they couldn’t expect them to make a 6-hour television series of people being ‘on message’. No one would watch it. It would be dull. Blah blah blah. I went on for about 45 minutes.

I think that they heard me. I certainly understood better why Molly was so tense, though I can’t really talk about it. (Liability.) In any case, I felt better, and I hope that if they lead events in the future they will be a little more relaxed.

making the announcement / st. louis, mo

to spite face, cutting off of the nose

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Today started at 7am, an hour earlier than the previous days. Dan is driving Francis this morning, and I'm going to be riding with everyone else on the Big Bus. I've heard a lot about the community and politics aboard the bus, and I wanted to experience it for myself. Almost immediately after departing, Molly got up and apologized for leaving the bus after a vote against going to the Westborough Baptist Church. She hadn't spoken with me about this beforehand, and I ended up feeling somewhat betrayed. We had a lot of fun on our brief outing together, and here she was saying that it had been a mistake and a betrayal of the group. I consider myself a member of the group... Then Belinda got up and spoke about how rough of a day yesterday was. She told us that the Executive Committee had lots of information that it could not share with the group and still retain control. She told us that the Executive Comittee was telling us everything that they could tell us, and asked us not to ask them for more information. She keeps telling us how she needs to maintain control. It's frightening to me, as I consider myself a person who is fairly free and independant, to have another person telling me that they are controlling me. We were told that because there were members of the press aboard, we needed to really stay in control and maintain appropriate behavior. References were made to 'good riders' ("and you know who you are") and troublesome riders ("and you know who you are".) "Me?" was my immediate thought. When references are made to trouble makers (or evil-doers), I immediately feel guilty. My Catholic upbringing, I suppose. Belinda then told us that the E.C. could not act as councellors for all of us. She asked us to go to the two Unitarian Universalist ministers aboard if we needed someone to speak with. The E.C. has asked the reverends to be more proactive in speaking with the various riders. The word 'processed' is used a lot. The Executive Committee was 'processing' our visit to the WBC until 3am last night. The reverends will be 'processing' with each of the riders. The E.C. needs to 'process' the incident with the film makers. Then Megan (as in Pagan) got up and spoke about how the everyone loves the E.C. Then John got up and spoke about how sweet it was going through Kansas City as an openly gay man and a proud activist. Stuart (his husband) spoke about Kansas City, and his first trip here with John by train, and how beautiful it was. On the train with them was an insensitive Los Angelean woman who didn't appreciate KC, but Stuart considers it his home away from home. We were only an hour out from St. Louis, but I was already emotionally exhausted. Jeez, how do the other riders survive? Someone popped the film Separate but Equal into the bus VCR. It's a film based on the fight to desegregate public schools. This was the last part of the film, which folks had begun watching the previous day. I think it was a metaphor.
Now it's 10:30am — I just got a call from Roland telling me that he had been kicked off of the bus. The E.C. is in the back of the bus huddling in a tight group, discussing whether to prohibit Roland from filming the caravan at all. I went back and told them that I think that their decision to ban the documentary crew is stupid, but it's theirs to make. I told them that I would be honored to have Roland on our bus. They thanked me and returned to their huddle. I'm so angry. I guess that the idea of being in a group that would excommunicate you for a single mistake is pretty frightening. I've been rejected by an entire group of friends twice before in my life, and it's devastating. When we were in Salt Lake City at the Cedars of Lebanon, there was much sturm und drang about whether we should go over to the Mormon temple to quietly discuss gay marriage with people there. Molly got up and told everyone that she believed that since we were in SLC anyhow, we should engage people in discussion. Davina stated that she had given her word that we wouldn't speak. A local reporter who was in the restaurant 'coincidentally' stood up and told us that engaging the Church in SLC would offend lots of people. As this was being discussed, a shy, quiet waitress who has been bringing our tea leaned over to me and whispered "You should go over there. You should definitely go over there." She said it with such urgency that I had to ask why. "My mom came out as a lesbian a few years ago" she said. "She was a Mormon, and after she came out, all of her friends and family shunned her. She was so alone. It was so hard on her." I knew what she felt. While I was in college, I was crazy in love with my best friend, a straight boy named J.M. Despite our both knowing that I loved him, we decided to become roommates at UMass. It was a huge, huge mistake. J.M. didn't love me in the same way I loved him, and I got more and more nuts. My drama spilled out into the corridors, and half way through the semester, I was told that the entire floor of our dorm (including J.M.) had asked that I be transferred away. I have never felt so rejected in my entire life, and I've never really recovered from the damage of that rejection. And when I see it happening to someone else, I feel it very personally myself. An hour later and 45 miles from St. Louis, and the E.C. is still huddled in the back of the bus...

Proclamation

All five women of the E.C. came to the front of the bus at 11:35 am. Molly began by announcing the status of Karen, the PlanetOut reporter. She's doing okay and on her way home to the care of her doctor. Then Molly announced that Roland and Anthony were being kicked off of the bus. The E.C. felt that Anthony jeopardized the entire caravan, so the two filmmakers would not be allowed on the bus in the future. The board members were also concerned with their personal liability, and they didn't want anything that didn't promote their goals. Their decision was unanimous. It's raining. The rally in St. Louis was supposed to be in a park, so the E.C. is trying to figure out where the rally will occur. I haven't been able to reach Dan on his cell since leaving this morning, and I'm a little worried. He probably just forgot to turn on his phone, but to imagine him going for hours without noticing is a little out of character.
Well, I heard from Dan. "Ron, I haven't listened to your messages, but I have something to ask you. I am making a unilateral decision to pick up Roland and Anthony in St. Louis." I agreed, and Dan told me he would see us at the St. Louis rally.
The rally in St. Louis was held in Tower Park, a large private park. I'm not sure how that works, but apparently it does. The park was beautiful. It was raining, so everyone was gathered tightly in a victorian gazebo. Like the folks we've met all along the way, the men and women of St. Louis were full of smiles and love. In many large (and expecially coastal) cities, gay men (and probably women) feel like they have to act aloof and unapproachable. Somewhere, and from someone very stupid, they learned that this makes them more attractive. And so they go home alone at the end of a night in the bar, knowing that they were devastating. We've encountered absolutely none of this attitude in the places we've visited. Folks are friendly, warm, and have opened their hearts to us. They've shared their family dramas and listened to our stories. They've served us food, often home-cooked and way, way better than anything we ate from hotel restaurants. We've been welcomed like relatives who have been away and who have been missed.  

Kansas City

Kansas City is incredibly beautiful. It's as though the local planners stated that all new buildings would have to be works of art, and the architects really tried to make it so. The hotel's internet connection is down until October 11th, so Martha (from Amsterdam) and I go on a 'short drive' down to a coffee shop that the front desk recommends. Unfortunately, they don't tell us that's it's 20 miles away in a different state (Missouri.) When we finally get to the address we were given, there's not even a café... the address doesn't exist. A passer-by tells us that he's heard that the Fairmont has access in their lobby. So we walk towards the Fairmont, about 6 blocks away. Halfway there it starts raining. Then it starts raining hard. Martha and I walk into the posh lobby of the Fairmont looking like two wet cats in "Marriage is a Human Right / Not a Heterosexual Priviledge!" t-shirts. The desk staff looked askew at us. We looked aloofly at them. And then we scurried around a corner and found a place to sit. The Fairmont did have wireless access, but it was $14 a day for access. In a moment of extremely poor judgement, I paid the fee, and then realized that it was midnight and I was incredibly tired. Too tired to write. But it was Martha's 6th anniversary. Gay people, who until recently could not marry, have many annniversaries. Often the anniversary is of when the couple started going out. Dan and I first met 17 years ago. This coincides with another anniversary, the first time we slept together. Now we have a second anniversary, of our wedding two weeks ago. So it had been six years since something happened between Martha and her wife, and Martha wanted to send a love note. Martha's and her wife live in the Netherlands, where they can be legally married. Martha is a love exile... she cannot return to the United States because she cannot bring her wife with her. If the federal government recognized their marriage, Martha would be able to live close to her ailing mother. Instead, she needs to live 3,000 miles away. After Martha wrote her letter, we drove home through Kansas City. The streets were wet, and one hotel's face danced with thousands of miniature lights. I love this country. coyote
ron & dan / topeka baptist cult compound, kansas

a simple day of drama

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We arrived in Denver last night, and I was feeling really depressed. I had looked at the schedule for October 7th and it called for 7 hours of driving after a morning breakfast and rally, followed by a one-hour dinner, followed by another hour of driving. I knew that if I left Denver after the rally, there was no way I would make it to Topeka in time to have dinner with the rest of the group.

I’ve also been feeling really isolated from the rest of the group. I keep hearing about soul-bearing sessions between cities. Bonds are being made and friendships forged, but I’m not there. This is my fault, of course, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

I went to talk with Davina about these issues. Regarding the long drive, she suggested that Dan and I skip the Denver rally and drive straight through to Topeka after breakfast. She also suggested that I let Dan drive some segments without me, so that I could join everyone else on the bus. I think I could stand a few hours on the bus, and I’m going to ride with everyone else on Friday.

This morning everyone headed over to The Center for a breakfast sponsored by the Gill Foundation. They actually had a catered delicious breakfast.

After breakfast, various riders spoke of their experiences and why they were making the trip. Anthony spoke of his boyfriend in Mexico whom he could not marry without leaving the country. Davina showed her 1,138 candy heart ‘rights and privileges’ Molly was her usual charming, inspiring self.

When the director of the Center got up to speak, he joked about breakfast “I bet that’s the first fresh fruit you’ve had in a while!” Dan chimed in “We’re married! We’re not supposed to have fresh fruit!” There was a moment of silence, followed by some laughter and shouts of “Off message! Way off message!”

Just before we left, Molly asked for everyone’s attention, and then said “I hate to say this, but we’ve lost a rider. Anthony left his hotel room last night at midnight. He didn’t bring his cell phone or room key, and he hasn’t been seen since. Has anyone seen Anthony?” No one had. It was the first most of us had heard of this. “If he doesn’t turn up, we’ll have to go on without him” said Molly.

Anthony is Roland’s assistant. The two of them are filming a documentary series. Anthony is a cute and slender guy, and I know I wasn’t the only one wondering if he was lying somewhere beaten up.

But there wasn’t much we could do, so Dan and I headed east out of Denver.

About 120 miles east of Denver, we learned that Karen Ocamb, the reporter from PlanetOut, was on her way to the hospital. She had been feeling ill since Reno, and she finally decided that she needed to go to a hospital. Dan started phoning around, and soon arranged for Leslie Ewing to be the replacement blogger for the news site. [Update: After a whole day of tests, Leslie has been released to the care of her doctor.]

The drive was long, but by skipping the Denver rally we had some slack to drive at a comfortable speed and to stop occasionally to stretch. We even stopped for lunch at a Taco John’s somewhere in western Kansas.

Around 2:30 in the afternoon we finally heard that Anthony had been found. Apparently he had been picked up and was in the drunk tank. He couldn’t remember the name of the hotel, so he waited until the police connected his name with Roland’s queries about his missing friend. He and Roland were going to fly into St. Louis tomorrow to join us.

At around 7:30 that night Dan and I finally arrived in Topeka. The rest of the group was very close behind, and arrived 20 minutes or so later. Dinner was at an amazingly good Italian restaurant named Paisanos.

Almost immediately upon arriving, Dan and I had entered the address of Fred Phelps‘ Westboro Baptist Church, a hate-filled family cult based in Topeka. They’re the folks who run the vile godhatesfags.com web site. (Rather than visiting that sewer, go visit the web site of the Landover Baptist Church. Their motto is Unsaved Unwelcome. As Jesus Commanded. Much more entertaining.)

When the bus arrived, Dan and I asked Molly if she would ride with us to take our photo in front of the Westboro Baptist Cult Compound. She told us she was totally into it, and would hate herself if she was in Topeka and didn’t Visit The Filthy Pit Of Vile!

Sometime during dinner, the idea started that others might also wish to visit. This caused incredible amounts of angst amongst the Executive Committee. They told everyone to get onto the bus, then spent almost an hour talking in the restaurant about this. Finally, almost an hour later, they came out and got onto the bus. Molly announced that the executive committee couldn’t reach a decision, and that they were going to allow the bus to vote without discussion. (Several folks tried to ask questions but were quickly suppressed by members of the E.C. yelling “We don’t have time for discussion!”)

A vote was taken. 7 people voted to go, and the rest either abstained or voted to not go. Molly got off the bus to join Dan and I in our car, and Dan grabbed Mike, the photographer from the Chronicle. Then the four of us were off, driving the mile to the Phelps compound.

The Phelps cult is located on a fenced-in block in a residential neighborhood. We had already checked to make sure that they were protesting out-of-town, and the compound was dark except for a big spotlight on a sign reading ‘GodHatesAmerica.com’. Sweet, huh?

Well, we took some photos and then headed off to the hotel in Kansas City, where we joined the rest of the group. Unfortunately, the hotel’s internet access was down, so I spent the next few hours trying to find access in downtown Kansas City, finally finding very expensive access at the Fairmont hotel.

Now it’s 1 am, and I need sleep. We’ve driven 1888 miles since leaving Sausalito, and 599 miles just today. Tomorrow will be another long day, but at least I’ll be riding on the bus tomorrow morning.

coyote

unitarian universalist church / cheyenne, wyoming

feeling the love in laramie & cheyenne

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Another early start this morning so that we could get to Laramie at the same time as the bus. Today the documentary film crew came along and complained that the folks on the Big Bus were being way too ‘on-message’. While that makes for a very effective political movement, it makes for lousy footage. We gossiped and joked and the miles flew by. Roland is the documentarian, shooting a 6-part series for the Q Network, the new gay gay gay! channel on cable. Roland is fab Hawaiian from Oahu, working his way through a combination of jet lag and unnaturally early mornings with cigarettes and a healthy dose of humor. Roland’s assistant Anthony follows him around with a tripod, not talking much but looking really cute.

We raced ahead of the Big Bus and got to Laramie in time to film them coming off of the freeway into town. Then we drove together into Laramie and the University of Wyoming, the only campus in the state.

UWyo campus is beautiful, tree-shaded with brown sandstone buildings rising from green lawns. Students move quickly from one place to another through the student union. Other students have set up tables promoting various causes. Within a half hour of arriving on campus, I was delighted to overhear several animated conversations about gay marriage rights. Within a half hour, many of the tables in the Student Union were staffed by folks wearing Freedom To Marry stickers. (None were spotted at the Students for Bush table, however.)

Out on the lawn, there was a wedding of three couples (straight, gay male, and lesbian). (The priest wore a kilt, which I don’t remember being regulation attire from my Catholic school days.) One guy stood to one side with a sign saying “This is God’s Country. Marriage is between a Man and a Woman.” He seemed vaguely embarrassed to be there. Afterwards, we had a panel discussion where various riders and locals told their stories. Then students asked questions. They asked what gay people had to do if they wanted children. They asked about other countries that recognize gay relationships. And people shared their stories of growing up gay in rural Montana.

On a trip that has had a large number of coincidences, another happened in Laramie. The local woman who was coordinating the event came up to me and said “Hi, are you Ron?” Once she reminded me I remembered her… we had spoken for a while on the ferry to Provincetown when Dan and I went out to make our wedding arrangements last May. It was a bit rough, and her girlfriend had spent the entire trip out hugging a trash barrel. (I was feeling pretty queasy myself but knew enough to stand in the wind at the front of the boat.)

Before leaving Laramie, we went to the Fireside bar, where Matthew Shepard first met his killers Aaron James McKinney and Russel Arthur Henderson. The bar is closed and for sale now. We formed a tight group on the patio. Reverends Helen and John gave a blessing while many of the riders wept.

 

Afterwards we were off to Cheyenne, about an hour away.

As we drove over the pass between cities we were struck with a sleet storm. Folks in the Big Bus told us that several accidents occurred on both sides of the freeway. (I was too focussed on driving to see them, though I saw the back-up on the Cheyenne side of the hill.) Luckily Frances, my VW bus, is equipped with four-wheel drive. I pulled engaged the driveshaft and we continued on without incident.

In Cheyenne, we were graciously welcomed by the local Unitarian Universalist community, who made us a meal of burgers, baked beans, killed macaroni salad, and delicious deserts. The church hall / basketball court was filled with riders and congregants talking about the injustice of denying gay couples the right to marriage while allowing straight folks on TV to marry millionaires and midgets. Then, like clockwork, we were headed south at 6 pm. Schedules must be kept.

Tonight we’re in Denver, where the local gay community is putting on a ‘Variety Show’ for our benefit. Tomorrow we’re being treated to breakfast by the Gill Foundation, followed by a rally.

coyote

through the salt and into the sage

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Today was a driving day. After a quick breakfast this morning, Dan and I took off about a half-hour ahead of everyone else. We left Elko and drove east into Utah.

The gay activists in Utah had been really hesitant to return our phone calls when we were attempting to arrange a visit here. Finally we asked our parent group to talk to their parent group. The response came back that they didn’t want us stopping in Utah at all. “How about if we just meet with your group’s members?”, we asked. “No”, they responded, “Please don’t stop in Utah.”

The activists here are fighting an ammendment that will write discrimination against gay people into the state constitution. Their feelings were that if we stopped here at all, it would just harm their cause. Our feelings were that laying low is not the way to win a fight.

In any case, nothing was scheduled for Utah except for lunch at the Cedars of Lebanon restaurant. As we were crossing the Great Salt Desert, Dan decided that it would be fun to call the restaurant and arrange for a belly dancer. During lunch she came out and performed a very energetic dance for the caravanners. There was much hootin’ and hollerin’.

After lunch, we debated whether or not we should do something in Salt Lake City anyway. Molly got up and said that she felt that we should do something to give us some visibility. Then Davina got up and said that she had given her word that we would not. There wasn’t much debate, and about half of the riders decided to walk over to the public library. There we held hands in a circle for a silent prayer for the people of Utah, that the forces of darkness and hatred would not win in this state.

(As we were walking back to the bus, we passed a car with a Human Rights Campaign sticker, as well as a sticker stating “No on 3 – It Goes Too Far”. Think about that wording… to me it implies that it’s okay to write discrimination into the constitution… just not so much of it.)

The rest of the way was a long, dry drive into Wyoming and to Rawlins, where we’re spending the night tonight. We passed an exit for Deeth Starr Valley, and I wondered if Darth Vader had a vacation home there. Big black ravens looked up in annoyance from their roadkill every 10 miles or so, wondering how I could be so crass as to disturb their breakfast. The air was crisp and smelled of the sage that covered the rolling hills.

Somewhere in western Wyoming, I was laboring up a grade when the Big Bus tore past me. I was in the bus with Heidi and Allison, and all we saw as the Big Bus passed was a blur. I heard later that the riders were waving, but all we saw was the picture to the right.

Tomorrow is another busy day, with events planned in Laramie, Cheyenne, and Denver.

Dan is begging me to please go to sleep, so I guess it’s about time to do so.

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boarding / oakland, ca

elko, the heart of darkness

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Our bedside clock started honking loudly at 3:30 this morning. I keep trying to get Dan to allow me to throw it away, but he’s strangely enamored with it. I got it in my sophomore year in college, and perhaps he admires it’s refusal to do the decent thing and simply fall apart.

After showers, we were somewhat more awake, and on our way. We picked up three Marin riders in Larkspur; Dolores, Laura, and Megan. They, along with their several hundred pounds of luggage, bells, drums, and other activist paraphernalia, piled into the car, with Megan (the thinnest of the bunch) squeezing in between the door and a mountain of luggage that threatened to topple and crush her.

We got to the Oakland Macarthur BART stop at 5:30am, and then milled around for a while taking pictures and being enthusiastic about same-sex marriage. A BART cop came along and told me I had to move my bus, which seemed unfair as he didn’t tell the larger bus to move. In any case, move it I did, and then we milled about some more. At 6:30 a politician appeared and gave us a proclamation, and everyone applauded. I guess this is now official Marriage Equality Express Caravan Week in Oakland. It’s not too late to organize a block party!

 

Dan and I were giving an interview to Channel 5 News outside of the Big Bus. (I hear from our neighbors that I totally dominated the news report, probably because the reporter slept in and Dan and I were the only people outside the bus.) While we were being interviewed, the reporter asked the stinging question “Hey, isn’t that your bus pulling away?” Indeed it was, and Dan and I raced to Francis to catch up. We lost the rest of the group at the first light, however.

I’m driving my VW Vanagon camper Francis because

  • I get car sick in busses, and
  • I really like driving.

After today, however, I’m worried that I may have made a strategic blunder. Boss-lady Davina has set a grueling schedule, and I’m having trouble keeping up with the Big Bus, which apparently cruises along happily at almost 80 MPH. Uphill.

We finally caught up with the rest of the Equality Express in Sacramento. We sang and chanted, and speeches were given. An appreciative crowd of perhaps 100 local folks cheered and signed our protest letter to President Bush, asking him to not fuck with the U.S. Constitution. Then we sang and chanted some more, and everyone got on the bus. I mean, it was more substantive than that, and there were some really emotional moments, but I’m too tired right now to get into it. You’ll have to trust me.

Our second stop of the day was Reno, and thanks to the Sierra Nevada being really high, Dan and I got there about 10 minutes after everyone else. We joined the pack of riders just in time to give our speeches. Dan talked about fighting for understanding in his family, and I spoke about the incredibly positive reaction from the guests at our wedding. It was a bad news/good news sort of speech.

But the surreal part of it all was that we were talking not to a supportive, cheering crowd but to a handful of bored-looking reporters, several of whom were involved in conversations on their cell phones and with one another. When I was using the megaphone, I wanted to ask them to please pay attention. Instead I pretended I was speaking to a rapt audience. My eyes scanned the crowd catching one tearful eye after another. My imaginary audience was silent with rage at the injustice I was describing! I rocked Reno!

Then we chanted and sung and chanted, and then we got on the bus again. And once again, I fell quickly behind, shamed by the power of a really big diesel engine.

From Reno to Elko, Megan rode with me. Interstate 80 through Nevada is one of the most intensely soul-deadening pieces of asphalt in the world. Megan started out oohing and ahhing and taking pictures of clouds, but 3 hours later she just wanted to pee. (This problem was addressed in Winnemucca, whose funny name is the sole highlite of the trip.) We pulled into Elko 40 minutes behind schedule, but just in time to join the group at a casino buffet!

I never fail to be amazed that people would actually come to Nevada to have fun. The flashing lights everywhere give me a headache, people smoke like it’s 1950, and there is not even the slightest bow to good taste. And while Los Vegas has managed to lure a few respectable restaurants, that sure ain’t the case for Elko, Nevada, tonight’s stop.

Our dinner consisted of a buffet that was mostly mush drenched in butter. The roast beast tasted off. I ate a couple of pieces of fried chicken, but I should have emulated the smarter (and thinner) Caravanners who went right for the salad bar.

It’s been a long, long day. 509 miles at an average speed of 59 MPH, and a total driving time of almost 9 hours. I drove the entire thing myself, which was another mistake. (Tomorrow I’ll let Dan drive at least half of the time.)

I’m tired, and I guess a little grumpy. I’m going to curl up with a good book (called Lost in a Good Book) and try to get some sleep.

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the day before

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photocrati gallery

Today was an amazing day. The sun rose on a blue sky and a still sea, and the temperature quickly rose to the mid-70′s. Tomorrow we get married, but today is for play.

Many of our guests are coming a long distance to witness our marriage. My best man Sorin was flying from Hawaii with his wife Heather and their son Joshua. Many other friends were coming from the west coast. We wanted them to have something to do while they were here, so we planned on a Friday full of activities.

This morning started out at 11am with a tour of the Provincetown Dunes. A line of Chevy Suburbans pulled up in front of the Land’s End Inn and everyone piled in. And then we were off on a drive along the beach and into the Cape Cod National Seashore Dunes. The Suburbans glided across the soft sand as our guides told us about the history of the dunes (deforested by the original settlers, who they went ‘oops!’ as the sand started blowing into town.)

At one point everyone was allowed out for a tramp up to the top of one dune. My 83-year-old grandmother went right along with everyone else, and lots of pictures were taken of the peeking over the horizon.

The second event of the day occurred at 4:30pm, when everyone gathered on the town dock and boarded the Bay Lady II, a beautiful ketch-rigged schooner that took us on a slow silent glide out into Massachusetts Bay. The weather was perfect for a sail. Bottles of beer and rosé were opened and everyone quickly got quite convivial.

The sunset from the deck of the ship was amazingly beautiful. Two sundogs appeared, the first time I’d seen these rainbow-colored patches on the horizon. And then the sun set, and we sailed slowly back to port, everyone sitting a little closer to the person next to them as the temperature dropped.

From the dock, a bus brought everyone over to Herring Cove Beach, where a campfire and clambake waited. P’town Parties really delivered with an incredible clambake including chowder, steamed clams, lobsters, and steak. We drank more wine, laughed, and stared into the fire. Eventualy people started drifting away to their beds until there was only a handful of us remaining.  We stood there shoulder to shoulder around the fire, no one talking much. I was thinking that I was so blessed to have the friends standing there with us on the beach at land’s end.

Now I’m back at the inn, writing this and thinking about tomorrow. After all this time, I’m finally going to be getting married, just as I’d always imagined it, in the company of the people who mean the most to me, and to the man I know I’ll love forever.

coyote

heading down-cape

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We drove down to Provincetown today, marriage license in hand. My dad and his girlfriend Barbara came along. We’re in the home stretch.

Most of the planning is complete. We’ve rented the Land’s End Inn for the entire weekend. We’ve scheduled the ceremony at the Unitarian Universalist Meetinghouse, and we’ve been discussing the ceremony with Reverend Allison Hyder for weeks. Chester Restaurant is reserved for the reception. A florist, photographer, and videographer have been hired. We even have a case of assorted sea shells for decorating the restaurant.

Even my vows, which worried me so much, seemed to all come together a few days ago. I wrote them out, then re-wrote them, and they seemed right. (Dan and I are not sharing our vows with one another before the ceremony, but we compared word counts. He has 160 words, and I have 207.)

After the 12 years of engagement, 7 months of wedding planning, 2 months of invitation RSVPs, and endless family turmoil, it’s nice to finally be here. Dan and I keep looking at one another and saying “I can’t believe we’re actually getting married!” We’re wearing stupid grins like two kids in love for the first time.

Thank you, Massachusetts.

coyote