It's late summer or early fall of 2010 or so. Take yer pick. As far as I remember. And after an argument with my old business partner, I was effectively living out of a truck. Homeless, and soon to be stateless. Well, by American standards. I would never live in Texas again after I left. And I still miss it to this day.
It was nearly 90*F when I finally managed to fix the tire of my truck and head northwest, towards my eventual target of Oregon. I decided I'd take the Moab-Provo-Boise route. Not the fastest, but the straightest and potentially the least amount of fuel. I had much more time than money anyways. At the very least it takes me through some Native American reservations. If I got in to trouble, I was hoping they would help a fellow Native. Or, at the very least, not disturb me too much. I planned to stop for the night in the top of the Navajo Rez at the bottom of Colorado.
For me to get to Moab, Utah, I've got to go through New Mexico and Colorado.
The windows were all down, but it wasn't much relief. The only thing they let in was dust and hot air once I got going. As the miles came, so did the thirst and the hunger. But after a good while I still hadn't found a shop. I wiped the sweat from my brow and looked in to my rear view mirror to check on the dog. That's when I saw a large SUV with flashing lights. I briefly wondered how long they had been there before I noticed them. I glanced at my speedometer. I was well under the limit. It must be something else. That's when I began to worry. The only thing for miles was me and this police car. I pulled over and shut off the engine. I was too tired to be anxious. Whatever came to be would come to be.
"Howdy. Can I ask where you're going and where you been?" The officer stated plainly as his eyes started to wander over the vehicle. I was taken a bit by surprise at the abrupt line of questioning. Standing next to my truck in the blinding New Mexico sunlight was a Border Patrol Agent. His dark green agency issued jump suit was unmistakable. The good news is he was unlikely to kill me and steal my shit. The bad news is I now would have to prove I'm an American citizen. I had no idea where my passport was in all this mess in my truck. So, I guess I would have to at least act like an American.
"Do you speak English?" I had hesitated too long to answer.
"Yes. Yeah I speak English. I just been in this truck since Austin. I'm a bit shell shocked having to actually speak to someone after so long. I'm headed to Oregon."
"Oregon?! What's there for you?" I noticed the agent had a hint of a Mexican accent and mused to myself for a fraction of a second at the irony in it and my circumstance.
"What's there for me is none of your fucken business. I didn't drive all the way here to waste my time chatting up some border agent in the middle of God damn nowhere. Why not move along and go harass some other law abiding citizen so I can go about my own damn business, Tio Tomaso." Is what I wanted to say.
"Forestry work" Is what I did say.
The agent looked me over again, then looked in the back seat at Carlow.
"Nice dog. That a Greyhound?".
"Thanks, yeah. She's the only thing I own in the world besides this truck right now." I immediately regretted saying that.
"You homeless?" He was suddenly interested in what I had to say.
"I guess I am now."
He looked long at me and the dog. I knew what he was thinking. He's curious about my story. He now wanted to search my truck. But he didn't want to have to mess with the dog. Cops hate vagrants and drifters.
I normally wouldn't be nervous, but I had a revolver in the console and really didn't want to mess with explaining to a Fed that my Texas gun permit was recognized by New Mexico. I doubt he would care about it's legality in Oregon. Or, rather, it's lack of legality there.
"But I am not stateless. Y'all wanna see my ID?". Border Patrol agents almost never ask for ID if it's obvious to them you're an American.
"You got insurance on this thing?" I hadn't expected that. They usually don't care. And it would seem cruel for even a border officer to want to remove someone homeless from the only thing they own - the only shelter they had, and in the middle of nowhere. I had my wallet in my hand when he pulled me over. I opened it up, pulled out my Texas ID and a small insurance document, careful not to flash my gun permit. The ID was still good. The insurance document was a fake. My business partner was notorious for not having insurance. It was his last gift to me, a faked insurance document. I handed them to the officer.
He looked at the ID and then to me, and then looked back at the ID for a bit...
"It's a long ride to Oregon, Tex. I wish ya luck", he said as he handed my docs back to me.
"Obliged, Sir". Now fuck off.
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