“I started out searching for myself and my country,” Peter Jenkins writes, “and found both.” Peter Jenkins wrote a book describing how disillusionment with society in the 1970s drove him out onto the road on a walk across America.
One scene that struck me from that book was when he was walking with a woman who would become his wife, across Texas. In the dust and glaring sun, car drivers were honking in encouragement, but they didn’t realize how exhausted Peter was, and near the end of his rope.
At the times that I walk through Irvington, N.Y. or currently, Phoenix Arizona, people have no idea of the evil that is happening to me, and the sword that is hanging over my head.
Like Jenkins at that point, I’m not in good shape.
Lets start one night at my home near Irvington, N.Y. My kidneys are aching, blood is coming out in the toilet. If I put on pants, the pants are poisoned, and in a few minutes, the effect on my kidneys are noticeable. One time, I was stuck in a train with clothing that had been thoroughly poisoned, and the nearest station that had clothing stores was 20 minutes away. I stood there, almost exploding with pain and discomfort, until the door opened, I rushed up to a budget store and bought some shorts, changed into them in the Peekskill library bathroom, and within ten minutes, was feeling much better. Within 20 minutes, I was completely OK. This remedy ALWAYS worked. The scenario was not unusual.
One time my brother came up from Arizona, and I foolishly went with him, poisoned pants and all, up to the motorcycle museum and the vegetable farm in Newburgh. It was a very hot day, I was not drinking enough, and my kidneys were getting hit by the poison. And then my heart started giving danger signs. Major danger signs, including pain.
I did not recover from that day.
But I digress.
So here I was, one dark night, and I said aloud to the listeners (of whom I will say more later). I said “I’ll make a deal with you. If you stop poisoning me, I won’t talk about you. I won’t try to expose you.”
All of a sudden, there was a noise like a gunshot outside.
And as the days went by, the poison got diluted or expired, and I could wear clothes again, my kidneys were fine, the bleeding stopped.
I was overjoyed.
I went on a hike that weekend, to Croton on Hudson. I phoned home, telling them I would head from the dam toward Ossining, knowing that that “bad guys” would be eavesdropping or wiretapping. But then I looked at the inviting lake, decided to cross the dam in the other direction, and went down a different route..
At the bottom of the hill, came the warning. A dead bird. A banana peel artfully dropped right after the dead bird.
The first time they had used “banana peels” for communication was after they had sprayed me on my bike. I went unconscious, and fell off. I told all and sundry that I would not be biking for a while. Next day I walked down the lane from my home, turned on the main road that goes down through the woods, and in front of me was a fresh large yellow banana peel. I thought of all the slapstick movies of people slipping on banana peels. Soon on my walks banana peels showed up everywhere. Fresh yellow peels. Dark brown peels. Dead birds. Horribly mutilated dead animals, staring at the sky.
Other times, that same location at the bottom of Mulligan Lane had had dead birds, dead mice, a dead snake, and other nasty messages.
Not roadkill. Messages.
I remember when one young man exulted to another “They got him off his bike!”
But back to the deal I made. I saw the various dead stuff at the bottom of that road in Croton, and I panicked. I went to the police station and talked to a cop, who had the same reaction that any sane person would have, namely profound disbelief. I even told him that I had heard two members of the Mafia talking in my house, while I had locked myself in a bathroom to escape them. “Ah” he said. “Hearing voices!”
So I had broken the deal.
Punishment was yet to come.
At another point, I had to go to New York with my mother. I usually avoid the city, because the bad guys punish me when I go. (They are a big network, probably a Mafia, probably in every state of the Union. They have young people. They have old people. They have families. They have blacks, whites, Anglos, Latinos, gays, and non-gays).
On the way back from the city, I felt like crap. I decided I had probably been sprayed in the city, though looking back, there was no proof of it (proof varies in these matters, but it was very lacking in this case), and I started telling my mother aloud all about how I had been framed, I had never talked to my “girlfriend” since 1981 (she had become a lesbian since, and had her own girlfriend), and so forth. I wanted to be overheard. I wanted to get back at that Mafia who had poisoned me in the city.
But they got back at me.
Back in 1994, the first drug they used on me was a drug that amplified sex urges.
In the last year, they tried out different drugs. These drugs did not amplify sex urges, but they were reproductive-related. Some were gasses. They would start a burning, that would spread. My private parts would expand. This was not reversible completely, though I tried fasting, and looked for ‘activated charcoal’ at the health-food store, hoping it might remove the stuff. (It didn’t).
Some of the drugs were extremely unpleasant.
When I come home at night, I know that I will be under surveillance. The “bad guys” will there. Maybe they have moved a wall, Or a ceiling, or expanded a crawl space. Maybe they have a tunnel. They are here too, now in Phoenix. They can get into my brother’s house. They can gas me. They can get at my body. They can get at his body. They have gotten at my parents.
There is a really big story here.
The more you know of the jigsaw puzzle, the more it hangs together. But I only see part of it, obviously, I’m not privy to the Mafia’s thinking (if it is a Mafia) or to their technology.
But I’ve seen way more of it than you have.
I asked my brother once, if in his whole life, he had met any criminals. He said no, except perhaps for one troubled teen. I looked back and I too have not knowingly met criminals, except for a high school student who posed as a friend (I had no friends) and the proceeded to steal my father’s stamp collection. (I went to his father and accused him, and his father told me I was making a grave and wrong accusation. Until his father found the stamps.
The teen returned some of the stamps, but we found out later he kept the most valuable ones.)
Anyway, I certainly digress here, but my point, is, though society has a substantial number of criminals, many of us don’t encounter them. They are a hidden presence, until they strike, and the smart ones stay hidden.
Not only is everything I tell you real, it probably is a big understatement of what is going on.
I should say that there are many Americas. Criminal America is one. There are many others.
When I would cycle, I would call or email bike stores in the places I wanted to visit. Look how helpful they were:
We are located approximately 10 minutes from the airport by car. You can take a cab or catch the Maui bus to Paia. There is a bus stop directly across from our Inn. I am not sure if the Maui bus picks up at the airport, but if you go online you can find out their schedule and pick up locations. The bus stop that is near us is in Kuau (near the old Kuau Mart) about 1 mile out of Paia.
You can go up Baldwin Ave to the crater, but you can also go up the Haleakala Hwy. It would be more scenic up Baldwin Ave, and it may be the shortest route. You can also cycle out to Hana from our place on the Hana Hwy. We are a very good location for many bike routes, there is a bike route into Kahului from Paia. There is also a good bike route to Kihei which is on the south shore of Maui.
The weather in Hawaii is usually pretty mild. There is no real difference in times of year. You may have more rain or more sun with tropical storms. It will be hotter in the spring and summer, but only by a few degrees.
Hope this is helpful.
thanks for letting me know. You will not regret your visit to Tasmania! There is a reason why I settled here and not somewhere else in the world (I am German and just had to leave my native country because it is too crowded).
Before your visit just contact me, I can arrange everything, even when it has nothing to do with bike tours.
I asked this guy about Mt Lemmon, in Tucson – a ride that I ended up taking. A long but not-too-hard steady climb for 20 miles out of a desert into the sky island and a rapid descent after.
“Not sure about Mt Lemmon as I live in Phoenix.
I was in Tucson last weekend for el Tour. On Sunday we decided to take a ride before heading backmhome. We rode through Saguaro Park from Ina rd, then rode south and looped back through Gates Pass and back on Silverbell to Ina.
In our experience of one ride I’m not sure Saguaro is any safer than Mt Lemmon or any other road. On our way up and over Gates Pass we picked up a rider at a scenic pullout. The road is double yellow there and curves and dips to limit visibility. A few minutes later I heard a car overtaking us, then squealing tires as there were also cars approaching. As I looked back I saw the car sliding to a stop a foot or so from the back tire of the rider behind me.
We were riding single file within a foot of the fog line.
As she passed she had a scared look on her face, it was a young overweight girl. The guy behind us told us he was sure she was going to hit him.
My point is that it doesn’t matter what route you take, sometimes it’s just luck or fate that separates us from a crappy driver. Take the ride/route you want and be glad you’re not “living” your life vicariously through TV, Facebook or a cellphone.
I’ve had some good experiences on the road. You find friends in surprising places. Enemies too. Peter Jenkins found a renewed belief in his fellows when he went on that very big walk.
But the fact is, the Mafia has been doing its thing to me for the past 24 years. Its been hitting other people in the same period. Probably I wasn’t the first. I won’t be the last. The technology is out there now, and you can’t put a cat back in the bag.
If I had time to tell the story with all the details, and in order, it would make a little more sense. but this is a blog. I can’t defend myself, even at a minimal level in this situation, but perhaps with your help, something can be done.
My whole life has been derailed.