5/16/13: Santo, TX-Adventures in Chupacabraism

Day 1: Tucson to Texas 5/16/13

3/17-3/18/10: To the Coast-Melody & Marci

I originally contacted Melody via her Craigslist ad around the first of March. She was to be moving from Austin to Portland, stopping in Taos to see friends, then continuing on toward San Francisco. I had also been in chatting with Ray since Slab City, and discovered that he was in fact still on hiatus from his walk, and would be heading to the coast and up toward San Francisco instead of Yosemite due to climate concerns! It would be a bit warmer along the central California coast, and a good time to see some of the southern portions of Hwy. 1.

Between the two, it was obvious that this was an alternative to a dreaded trip east and a partial repeat of 2008's West Coast Run--one of my favorite's to date. It would also presumably provide an opportunity to dig deeper into some of the "Camel Ideas". This could be quite cool indeed.

For once, everything went as planned-- even better! Melody picked me up in Santa Fe as scheduled on St. Patrick's Day, and before nightfall we were sailing into Flagstaff where an ex-coworker from my radio days happened to live. Melody needed a break, doesn't mind venturing off the beaten path, and as the sun was about to set we were pulling into Marci's place for a nice, albeit quick, reunion.

The two of us had some nice chats between Flagstaff and Barstow, where we stopped for coffee on highway 58, before stopping in Bakersfield for a couple hours. The final stretch of road between Bakersfield and Hwy. 101 was incredible. It reminded me of what I imagine Ireland or Scotland would look like! We took took our time as the sun rose in the fog over the hills and valley behind us, stopping periodically for pictures or to just look around. I sent an email to Nick, who I had met my last time through, hoping to have a chance to catch up while I was there.

Shortly after merging with 101 at Santa Margarita, we came into San Luis Obispo and things began looking familiar after coming this way in June '08. I quickly remembered how beautiful this particular city is, and hoped against hope I'd see Pat's RV parked along the way.

From San Luis Obispo, you pick up Hwy. 1, and in a few minutes are in Morro Bay, and almost literally, ON the ocean. The first sight of the Pacific and the white caps can take your breath away! I was quite happy to be here and felt a surge of energy despite not sleeping much for a few days.

Cambria and San Simeon Beach State Park are a few miles up Hwy. 1 north of Morro Bay, and so was the nostalgia. I had experienced some very cool things in Cambria in '08, and had to smile as I rode past my fields and the church behind which I had lost (and re-found) SOG. This little town has held a very special little place in my heart since then, and I was happy to see that it all looked exactly as I had remembered it. It was now Thursday morning, and we were arriving at the campground a full day before I expected...

2/28/10: Watching the Wheels

People say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing,
Well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin,
When I say that I'm o.k. they look at me kind of strange,
Surely your not happy now you no longer play the game,

People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away,
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me,
When I tell that I'm doing Fine watching shadows on the wall,
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball?


I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll,
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go,

People asking questions lost in confusion,
Well I tell them there's no problem,
Only solutions,
Well they shake their heads and they look at me as if I've lost my mind,
I tell them there's no hurry...
I'm just sitting here doing time,

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll,
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go.


-Watching the Wheels
John Lennon

Once the bus finally got on the road, the ride was thankfully uneventful. After appearing utterly incompetent just a few days earlier, my nemesis driver pulled us into Albuquerque two-hours late on this Super Bowl Sunday, but still ahead of the approaching storm.

There was to be no word from Chris for nearly a week. The last I knew, he was 20-miles south of Tucson and struggling to get out of Arizona. About a week later, I learned that Chris had made it to El Paso Monday, then hit an epic wall. He remained stranded in El Paso for THREE NIGHTS! To me, this is astounding! In two years , I have never gone a full day without a ride...let alone two or three...across the river from Juarez-the most dangerous city in Mexico!

Naturally, he chose not to pontificate on the metaphysics after what had transpired in Phoenix, but he didn't need to. When I learned that the occupants of his latest lillypad had made a 1,000-mile round trip to "rescue" him, I had all I needed. Remember them signs? They're not always pleasant! When we chatted later there would be no mention of that!

Also, his rescue nearly wasn't. After driving 500-miles, his friends couldn't reach him because of his dead cell battery. In fairness, he apparently didn't know they were coming and thankfully they happened to spot him on the last pass before leaving. Hearing this sent me into hyper-observation mode; curious to see how this would affect him, and what the reality of Austin would hold.

As for me, the initial idea was to remain in Santa Fe just long enough to kick "The Crud", then either return to Slab City, or perhaps east to Florida for a bit of Spring Training, then Atlanta and Nashville to see friends.

What I hoped would be a week turned into three. Whatever it was would not let go! As March approached, I finally felt better, had found a Rideshare to Tampa, and made tentative "plans" (ha!) to leave the last week of February...

You've heard how "plans" and I get along, right?

2/6/10: Phoenix, AZ-Deja Vu

It was clear Saturday morning that I probably had contracted at least a mild case of bronchitis; my lungs were on fire. When I was young, I came down with something-bronchial about once every winter, but had avoided anything beyond chest colds for many years. My primary concern now was getting either Pneumonia or Swine Flu, which was making its rounds through Phoenix. Chris had given me some generic antibiotics, but in my eagerness to cut weight, I had deemed them unnecessary and mailed them home on Tuesday! If this WAS bronchitis, and I were to resume traveling from Phoenix, it would be Mucinex, rest, and simple hope that allied with my immune system.


Late in the afternoon, I received a call from Chris. Oscar had dropped him on the other side of Tucson, and Chris was already complaining that he wasn't making progress. No one appeared interested in stopping and he offered that he seemed destined to walk that night. While I sympathized, I was on the lookout for these "signs" we once talked so much about...and uninterested in spin. This sure as hell sounded like one, not just because of the circumstances, but also his tone.

As the day progressed, so did a sense of familiarity! It began to resemble Port Townsend, particularly at the end in September when my body trumped my ego's urge to keep going. I spent the afternoon updating and coming to the realization that Phoenix was done. There was no need for me to stick around just to "be sick." I was close enough to do that from home where I'd be better armed to fight this off. And, what was I going to do if I went back to Slab City with pneumonia? Cough, hack, and whine about it in the bivy? What, pray tell, would that prove? No, fuck that. My self esteem's fine! Despite my well-documented arrogance, I can handle humility and common sense!

This visit had also run its course as far as El Jefe was concerned. The bus was scheduled to leave Phoenix at midnight, so we had about an hour to hang out after he returned home from work. Start to finish, this had been a good visit and I hoped that Chris and I had left at least ideas, perspective, and encouragement with him. He probably would have let me recuperate there, but I wanted to bow out gracefully and thank him with my absence; let him have his space!

It slowly became clear what this Slab City excursion actually was, and it was NOT the beginning to 2010 as I had assumed. It was a preamble. The shaking loose old habits, crutches, and dormant mindsets. It acted as a rubbing-of-the eyes, and things felt a bit as though 2008 & 2009 themselves had collectively ended; that a whole new cycle had begun. Indeed.***

Who loves his metaphors?

Before I knew it I was at the shiny new bus station, and cursing Greyhound again. Naturally, the bus was 2-hours late before it even left, and guess what! It was the SAME driver as from Albuquerque to Phoenix with 10-days before! The very same who had left us sitting unattended for 2-hours at the closed Flagstaff terminal with NO explanation! WONDERFUL!

A snowstorm had closed I-40 east of Flagstaff, so there was yet another twist: my bus would instead be re-routed SOUTH on I-10 and through Tucson. That meant I would pass within yards of Chris, who I envisioned I would witness huffing down a frontage road in the middle of the night!

That never transpired, but there was one final piece of coincidental irony. One of the kids in the van going in to Niland to "sign up for government cheese" the day we left Slab City was on my bus and heading home to Virginia.

It far from earth-shattering but served as a useful, centering reminder: focus on the complete tapestry of the last ten days, not just the last 48-hours...

2/5/10: Phoenix, AZ-The Famous Final Scene

Thursday night's incessant sneezing turned into Friday morning's "Crud." I woke up with my throat killing me, and was collecting stuff in both my head and chest although other than that...I felt great!

When Chris had Oscared off Thursday, the idea was to connect Friday morning and figure out a time to meet at REI. After all, that was the flame to my Slab City Moth! The hipbelt on Chris's pack had gone to hell, and as mentioned, the rubber on the shoes Lynette had bought me had already begun separating from the leather, and I was going through the now-standard cycle of obsessing about weight and contemplating downsizing my backpack if they had a suitable model in stock. Yes, by the time we learned Chris was already there, it was obvious that hours of fun was to be had at REI! Literally.


By the time we left 2-hours later, I had my boots and Chris had his new pack. Even El Jefe had barely escaped buying one! Watching him go through the process reminded me of starting this process from scratch and having to learn everything about gear. I was actually a bit nostalgic for these days of discovery; the excitement and possibilities of "what if." Capture that, and you'll have Youth in a Bottle.

From there it was back to Jefe's for the afternoon where the three of us spent the next couple of hours chatting and philosophizing about some of the "why's" behind this way of life. It was nice, and Jefe seemed to eat it up; he was quite interested in what the two of us were doing. Physically, I was feeling progressively worse as the day went on.
Chris had set up another date with Oscar, which included a ride to Tucson (and toward San Antonio) sometime on Saturday. When Oscar called to let him know he was near, we shook hands, he walked off, and that was unceremoniously that. A slight, familiar-but-faded sense of missed opportunity hovered momentarily in the air, but I understood that what "could be" is quite different from what "should be", and most certainly is often completely foreign from "what is".

Jefe gave me an amused look as I snapped a photo of Chris walking off, but I clearly thought that this was probably it. The story had yet to be fully written but even then, immersed in the trees, I could see the forest well enough to understand what had happened over the past week.

Chris was off to his next mystical lillypad, and I was eager to hear how the events transpired on I-10 between Tucson & San Antonio, and then once he got there.

I still believe strongly in the things that he and I had supposedly agreed upon. Slab City, Quartzsite, and Phoenix had served to re-clarify and reinforce these things--the primary of which being that events tend to cooperate and work in unison FOR you if you're "on-track"; if you're synchronized, things just seem to "flow." These "coincidences" are strewn throughout this blog. I wanted to see what happened to Chris in the immediate future; to me, this would be an indicator if he was in fact tuned-in, or that he was pretending to resonate on a fabricated frequency...

2/4/10: Phoenix, AZ-Peasant Rage

ple·be·ian

adj.

1. Of or relating to the common people of ancient Rome: a plebeian magistrate.

2. Of, belonging to, or characteristic of commoners.

3. Unrefined or coarse in nature or manner; common or vulgar: plebeian tastes.

n.

1. One of the common people of ancient Rome.

2. A member of the lower classes.

3. A vulgar or coarse person.

---

the common people

---

plebeianism n.

plebeianly adv.

plebeian; pleb: In British, French, Irish, Australian, New Zealand and South African English pleb is a derogatory term for someone thought of as inferior, common or ignorant.




Lex and Val's legendary hospitality didn't end at their RV nor did our conversation's end with Wednesday. An eventful Thursday began with Val making breakfast and Lex continuing with his merciless shredding of an obsolete system, useless politicians, and a complicit, but increasingly restless society.

Most of Lex's rhetoric seemed to be directed toward Chris, which I found utterly amusing! Chris, to my knowledge, has little passion for politics and at last check, "held out 'hope' for Obama". Taking this into account, I found it odd that he was actually engaging Lex in these chats, although Lex did most of the talking and Chris plainly seemed to speak from Lex's established lead, offering nothing contradictory or original, other than proclaiming that Lex "should read Todd's blog." He was the congregation's "Amen!" to Reverend Lex's sermon.

For my part, I was again picking my spots and biting my tongue; generally comfortable within my familiar observer role; observing Chris as much as anything. He seemed to be enjoying the  experience; one whose pursuit seemed meaningless the night before. I also concluded that this Peasant Rage had taken phenomenon status over the last couple of days and was still trying to take its temperature and examine its source in Lex.

Keith

After Lex & John had left for work, we had another nice conversation with Val until their friend Keith arrived. Val had arranged for us to ride with him all the way to Phoenix as he was on his way to the airport to pick someone up.

Our stay with Lex and Val was barely 12-hours, but left an impression on me. It was yet another smack in the face, and legitimized this overwhelming sense of familiarity. Something was most definitely afoot in the desert southwest! The same as it had been on the Pacific Coast and Idaho in 2008, in various places and particularly up north last year, and now everywhere I seemed to look in '10. There was no "warm up"; 2010 had kicked me in the mouth almost immediately, beginning with the conversation Chris and I had had Sunday night in the desert.

Rather than take the relatively sterile I-10 into Phoenix, Keith decided it would be easier to get the two of us where we needed to go if he took US-60, meaning we'd get to see 120-miles of rural Arizona. I was happy with that! Keith was in his 70's, retired, and from Flint, Michigan. He escaped Michigan's ridiculous winters in Arizona.

The three of us talked about many things and Keith, notably, never bothered with "what ya gonna do when you're done?". Instead, he offered a glimpse into his mindset when he told of joining the military out of school, and later being glad he didn't "rush off to pick a career." He said he had no idea what he wanted to do and would have "just fucked off" in college had he not gone out to "live a little" first. I found it remarkable that this 70-year old man contradicted the establishment in favor of, "Live First!" He held that mantra tight, which gives me hope for myself...and others!

Keith was this "theme's" final example. Keith has witnessed Michigan's economic starvation firsthand, and while not affected as badly as some he, too, harbors a special sort of rage-also directed squarely at the government. He is yet another who's abandoned "party" affiliation, and discarded political dialectics. He is, like many, disgusted with Obama and the rest of the Democrats attempting to market and sell what I've rebranded "Insurance Reform" and deceptively selling it as being primarily in the "people's" interest. Keith sees thru Iraq & Afghanistan, wonders why Guantanamo is still open, and has a particular hatred for The PATRIOT Act, sarcastically wondering why "Obama hasn't repealed it yet" in wonderfully obnoxious tones! Soon enough, the conversation turned to something brought up by Lex the night before while I was on the phone; a conversation I had missed but a topic I liked: Demonstration!

Coalition X: A Rant

We began speculating about a massive cross-country, March of the Unemployed converging on Washington at about the time of the mid-term elections with the goal of forcing revocation of the PATRIOT Act and to "raise awareness" as to how much rage is really out there. Even the ENRAGED are scarcely aware of how much ANGER is pulsating just beneath the surface of American society. Don't be mistaken: It's NOT directed at Barack Obama, Sarah Palin, Nancy Pelosi, or even that greasy bastard John Boehner. Not specifically. It's directed at ALL OF THEM, COLLECTIVELY. It's not just a particular political party, IT'S THE GOVERNMENT AS AN INSTITUTION that's losing the "consent" of the governed! Read your Constitution if you need that put into perspective.

God help the politicians if the Plebs ever realize how powerful they are. The system has unwittingly built the opposition Army, and this could be the foundation of what I call, for lack of a better name, Coalition X: where the binding ingredient has NOTHING to do with race, background, or religion. The singular common bond would be simply: poor. The economically manipulated and oppressed; the realization that the American Dream has become something that, as Carlin said, "you have to be asleep to believe." With millions unemployed & without hope of getting their jobs back, and pissed about it, WHY NOT ORGANIZE? What else are they gonna do with their time?!? Trust that they'll be rescued by a government "that threw them overboard thirty-fucking-years ago?" Send resumes to India?

The time's long past for a timid "regress of grievances"; let the towns police themselves. When the "policing" turns into Establishment Thugs overstepping bounds and trampling rights, as it will, we'd show it. We'll have "embedded journalists" and thousands of tiny little camera phones... most with immediate access to the Internet! The philosophy worked in India and Alabama in the last century. Of course, in my opinion, this is all "best-case" and supposes that the tired, muddy masses will organize. All indications are that they won't. Collectively, we're the animal afraid to escape the zoo because he'd have to fend for himself; unchained prisoners of dependency and fear.

We all loved the idea, and we spent a good amount of time dwelling on the embryonic details until it became painfully apparent how far Chris and I have moved in different directions. When he began to speak from his predictable, redundant, politically correct place about keeping an eye on people in case of looting, I went from beyond disgusted to disdain. A million people? (We think big!) "How exactly would you do that? Wanna hire the Hell's Angels and repeat Altamont?" Demonstrations should be a bit messy, and should inconvenience a few. Otherwise, why not just take out a billboard?

Admittedly, I probably didn't hear him clearly and surely wasn't treating him fairly. After his first few words, for whatever reason all I heard was Wendy's silly Port Townsend Proclamation claiming that in the event of Armageddon, "there'd be no need for guns in Port Townsend because the community would come together." I've never fully recovered from hearing that utopian notion presented with a straight face and without protest!

Since reconnecting with Chris in '08 I've taken a hard right turn. I'm obviously fed up with Agenda Monkeys, "progressives", and now Utopians in particular. But, in a vacuum Utopians would provide a valuable service: surrendering goods without a fight.

[See later: Lambs to Wolves (2017)]

2/3/10: Quartzsite, AZ-Preacher, Lex, & Val

Leaving the Oasis, we almost immediately had a ride into Niland. The folks running the Karma Kitchen were driving vanloads of people into town to sign up for "government cheese" and offered us a ride. In the van were some teenagers I had yet to see during my stay, and I found it rather odd to see these kids signing up for public services, but it didn't bother me in the least in fact I was happy for them! "Bleed em dry!"

I chuckled as I recognized that, so far, my metaphysical senses had begun the year subordinate to the political/social ones rather than overshadowing them, as was the case in '09. This was an interesting balance.



Chris and I made our way to the south end of town, and set up shop to see how we'd fare tandem-hitching on this state road. We figured if nothing came of it, we could catch the dollar-bus toward Brawley in an hour or two. I was just as curious to watch Chris as I was to see how we'd travel together-or if we'd even get a ride!

I had repeatedly heard how he "was in no hurry" now. After hearing him profess his love for Sit Down & Shut Up, and even his attempted hijacking of The Side Car, I wanted to see it for myself! I've told Chris (with annoying frequency) that I would love to see what happened to him if he wasn't always "running somewhere." Considering it was Wednesday and that he had originally wanted the starting gun to sound on Sunday, I was open-minded about the possibilities. This could be cool.

Niland

With that as a backdrop, we threw our thumbs in the air unsure of what to expect. I was amused at how easy it was to settle into hitching! It had been 5-months, but it was immediately an old hat. We didn't sit there too long before Christian pulled over on his way to El Centro. He was the perfect way to begin the trek toward Phoenix; he was very friendly and the conversation quickly turned to society and politics. Not long after he dropped us off in Brawley we would be in The Preacher's truck heading east toward Blythe... and the theme would become blinding.

Brawley, CA

The Preacher

The Preacher is from Texas, and yes, he IS a preacher. One who swears profusely and loves pot. He himself had just left the Slabs and was on his way to Quartzsite, Arizona before returning to Niland the next day. He quickly offered to take us all the way to Quartzsite instead of Blythe, and I began to wonder if we'd make Phoenix that afternoon. He had a small pickup with a cab, and Chris chose to ride in the back with his two dogs, who would provide entertainment themselves!

He professed to be a man of God, but I would categorize him as a borderline revolutionary: disgusted with everything Federal Government, Democrat AND Republican- and quite loud about it. He did little to conceal his disgust for law enforcement as we stopped at the Border Patrol checkpoint-- so they could look at us and ask if we were citizens. Here was someone as offended by this arbitrary "papers please" bullshit as me! It set off a firestorm of conversation that lasted all the way to Arizona. I got a kick out of this middle-aged redneck. He was another of the people I've met with regularity all over the country for nearly two-years. He was pissed off and no longer suffered official, disseminated bullshit. He has equal hatred for each political party and, like many more than some are comfortable in admitting, is ready to do something about it even if that "something" is just withdrawing his support.

As he laughingly pulled a handgun from beneath his seat immediately after passing thru Border Patrol, I thought about the distinctions between he and the hippies/ pacifists preaching peace, love, drum circles, and Communitarian Responsibility. If there's ever a vacuum, are these the factions competing to fill it? Smart money's on the one willing to fight for himself, even if that means slapping the wrong people from time to time. Sorry, hippies. In that world, you're prey.

I greatly enjoyed this ride thru the Imperial Dunes then across the Colorado River back into Arizona. I was glad it was Chris sequestered in the back and not me! When we finally detrucked in Quartzsite, Chris realized that this was the guy to whom Melissa had handed the bunker when she left. Small world.

Imperial Dunes, CA

Lex & Val

From there, it looked good for Phoenix. We had a few more hours of daylight, were at a very busy intersection, and considering the events of the day so far, (remember, it had begun at Slab City's Oasis Club) it seemed to be shaping up as one of the "memorable" ones.

Chris had made a curious decision however; one that seemed a bit out of character for him. Quartzsite happened to be the winter home of his friends, Lex & Val, whom he'd met on his walk and met up with in Boise last September. It appeared to me that he was again simply favoring the sprint at the expense of looking around. I didn't think much of it at first, after all they were his friends and it was his business. We tried both the exit ramp and the truckstop, but things were now more challenging.

We considered hitching separately and things suddenly felt a lot like the Iowa 80. At some point, I asked Chris about his decision not to call his friends, who had made a point to tell him where they were and to look them up if he happened through. His reasoning was, "I don't know if they got my email" or something. It seemed ridiculous not to at least call and leave a message, and I told him so. I handed him my phone and he gave them a call. A short time later, Lex & Val were at the truck stop to presumably go for coffee or something. After chatting for a few minutes, we were reacquainted (I had met them both at Lynette's in Boise) and they whisked us off to the RV park where they spend their winters insisting that BOTH of us stay for the night, despite the fact that their son was also living there.

With their dog and cat, it was crowded! Even with this obvious inconvenience, their hospitality was the thing of legend! We were offered showers, which after a week at the Slabs I pounced on. Then began the conversations. Care to guess the topic? (Hint: It wasn't American Idol.)

I had heard much about Lex and Val from Chris over the last 2-years. Lex had spent years riding horses across the country to Idaho and spent his summers there. I learned this night that they escaped the communists in eastern Europe decades ago with Lex escaping a Russian concentration camp as a child in Czechoslovakia, finding his way to the US, and essentially being enslaved by people HERE as a result! Val had a similar experience escaping Romania. Now retirement age, these two delightful people have worked hard and paid their dues only to be rewarded for their service to society much the same as everyone else: with a smack to the face and a struggle to keep afloat. Enter-- the chat.

Even by my standards, Lex is passionate. He's not shy about telling you what he thinks and, like everyone else I seem to run into: PISSED! He told us several times that being "out there" we "see things as they really are." I absolutely agree with that and have tried to explain it to dozens of people- usually to no avail. He got it with no solicitation.

Again, the theme held serve. I was witnessing venomous dissent; another call to tear it down. The difference here was that these were NOT radicals living out in the desert. These were not gun-totin' ultra-conservative separatists up in Montana. Here was a couple who should be enjoying retirement who instead have their adult son living with them as all three struggle to keep it going.

Like many others I have encountered, they did everything they were told and expected to do. And, for what? That question has NEVER been sufficiently answered. The pattern was undeniable. The cacophony getting louder.

As I curled up on the floor of their little RV and dozed off, I was getting an idea of what was happening. The Plebeians are stirring. Stirring despite being ignored; stirring independently of the Patricians. Once outside the media/ social bubble, you'd need to be blind and deaf not to notice. It also seemed apparent, based on the past couple of years and these familiar moments of human synchronicity, that things were aligning. I even pointed out to Chris that we had seemingly "combined our experiences." I now know what these significant events and people look like; this Wednesday seemed FULL of them and Chris had been part of it. All we had to do was relax and let it gel. The problem with that? The "we" part...

1/29/10: Slab City, CA

El Jefe and I finally hit the road for California's Imperial Valley in the early afternoon. Five-hours later, after leaving Quartzsite, the Colorado River, Blythe, and 20-foot cacti behind, we were treated to a stunning I-10 descent into the Imperial Valley and Indio/ Coachella, before hugging the eastern shore of the Salton Sea to the scuttled settlement of Niland... home to Slab City.

The Imperial Valley from Above

The Salton Sea

Slab City is difficult to describe to someone with no frame of reference. It's nearly impossible to explain to the institutionalized. It was futile for me to tell Jefe what to expect, since I wasn't exactly sure myself beyond common basics. Slabbers often describe it as the "last free place in Amerika." They leave the term "free" intentionally ambiguous, but I quickly learned that it's "free" in both rent and state-of-mind. It's the real, unfiltered and raw freedom of The Jungle: with a definite sense of self-responsibility/ determination. The Zoo's caretakers are absent; there's no one to tend to you, your shit, or anything. There's no one to pay to do it, either. There are no utilities. No running water. No sanitation. No amenities of any kind... unless you consider empty concrete WWII-era training-bunkers an "amenity." In the Mojave they're a luxury; ones to be arranged for and reserved!

Coming in, I knew that primarily RVers occupy this abandoned Navy base in the winter months, biding time until the weather up north becomes tolerable... and the desert turns into a 120-degree summer furnace. I also expected a large degree of old-west lawlessness and was prepared to find everything from Rainbow types to fugitives on the run. The opportunity to see this mix of half-million dollar RV's & Mickey & Mallory Knox greatly appealed to me! I was curious to see if a collection of people could coexist in an unregulated, unmonitored environment. Or, whether the "regulated monitoring"/ expectations & separateness would prove to be the source of the any "expected clash." Was the common thread here something other than collecting wealth? Was wealth even a factor at the "Last free place in Amerika?" How, or would people organize themselves? What would this relatively primal, organic community look like?

I received a text from Chris late Thursday afternoon saying he had already arrived, met some people, and was helping Leonard Knight repair Salvation Mountain which was damaged in the storms of the week before. Leonard's at least in his late 70's, has been a Slabber since 1984, and become a kind of face of Slab City because of his now-famous tribute to "God's Love" standing as the unofficial gateway. He and his "Mountain" have been in various documentaries, and Chris and I were introduced to him the same as most folks over the past few years: Into the Wild. Since Jefe and I arrived later than expected, we'd have to wait until Saturday to meet Leonard and see his folk art icon.

Jefe and I met Chris at a small music stage, and after people watching while politely enduring some really bad music, Chris guided Jefe's truck out in to the desert and a bunkers occupied by Adam & Melissa. This would be Friday's camp. Chris had met them at Salvation Mountain and if memory serves, they recruited him to help clean/ repair while he was there. In typical Chris fashion, he now obviously felt an odd sense of obligation to Leonard although to my knowledge Salvation Mountain, particularly its disrepair, had nothing to do with his visit to The Slabs. After having just written my diatribe on the Red Cross, this reeked of...something!

Adam & Melissa were from the LA area, and interesting characters; Adam and I even shared a C-grade celebrity acquaintance who switched to TV/ film after we worked in radio together. We were joined around the cozy fire by Kevin: one of the more interesting characters I've met to date and one who would recur throughout my stay. Kevin lived south of Gallup, New Mexico and was at The Slabs to essentially use his role within Social Service's to provide a buffer from the state, and to help Leonard- who by most accounts was moving deeper into the Southern Hemisphere of Sanity- after starting only near the Tropic of Capricorn! As Kevin described it, they were providing team "assisted living" to Leonard so he could stay and continue working on his Mountain. There were several people who appeared to play a role, with Kevin acting as Leonard's "right hand" until Leonard "got sick of him" after 3-months... which happened like clockwork. Kevin now operated behind the scenes helping whoever was now awaiting their own 3-month termination!



Kevin is one of those interesting road dogs that you meet every so often, but are all too rare. He reminded me a great deal of Don Dufner and Alex Sardine in that he has a McGuyveresque quality about him; he could seemingly make and DO anything! At first I found him annoying because he seemed to think himself as The Perpetual Authority. The problem with my initial assessment was... that... he... apparently... is! He had insight on sailing etc. and was a historian on the Salton Sea area, which is a fascinating story in and of itself even separate of The Slabs.

Jefe was interesting to watch as well. He was battling conflicting ideas surrounding the now-familiar-to-the-reader conflict between safety/ security & freedom. He seemed to enjoy sitting out in the desert's dirt, and I believe began to see and understand that... yes, people DO actually do this in varying degrees. As we went to bed, there was some question as to whether he would stay another day, or head back to the comforts of civilization.

The brightest full moon of the year illuminated the desert floor as El Jefe sacked out in the truck while Chris and I continued to re-acquaint after not seeing each other since 9/19; four-plus months had passed since Port Townsend. While interesting changes had taken place with each of us, some things will never change...

Flash-free Moon Shadows

1/28/10: Phoenix, AZ-El Jefe

El Jefe liked the idea of a road trip out of Phoenix and agreed to take me to either Indio/Coachella, California or all the way to Slab City itself which is adjacent to the Salton Sea (the huge body of water in S. California that you can see on the map-and from space). The plan for Thursday: hang out after he got out of work. Friday morning: west along I-10 into California.

Jefe and I have an interesting history spanning all the way back to high school. He is one of the VERY few I have remained in regular, albeit intermittent, contact with since. It was on a drive from Des Moines to Phoenix to pay a visit to him in '98 that I acquired my  New Mexico Obsession. I had last seen him in July '05 after driving down from Denver. We had kept in only occasional contact until November, when we began to have regular conversations with scents of déjà vu: Jefe was asking himself very familiar questions. It was always a likely stop on any visit to the California desert, but regaining some of my Spidey Senses I realized that is all seemed to be pointing to Slab City via the Valley of the Sun for whatever reason. It was time to re-visit Phoenix.

There's something amusing about old, antiquated roles when I find myself reunited with old friends! It happened in Michigan last summer and on my '05 visit to Phoenix. This Thursday night was no different. In fact, we wound up at the same bar: The Dubliner. Several beers, vodka belts (a nod to Dennis), and impassioned, incomprehensible conversations later, I finally got to sleep (passed out?) around 5am...

1/27/10: 2010 Launch-Viva El Perro Sucio!

The ONLY reason Greyhound is still in business is because it's a monopoly. Every year, they find new and astounding ways to baffle me with what I believed to be futility. I've since realized that it's not "futility"; they just don't fucking care. They don't have to! Why has this company been granted National Bus Line status? More on this latest vulgar display to come...

To catch you up: The remainder of January was spent sporadically chatting with Chris and adjusting my "schedule of intentions" around a string of Pacific storms. Chris had made his way from Denver to Los Angeles to see family making this a prime opportunity to consolidate a few different ideas:

1) Getting together with him to see where we each were nearly a year after boarding the Veggie Bus
2) This is the prime time to pay a visit to Slab City-in the California desert
3) Seeing an old high school friend of mine friend who now lives in Phoenix

When Chris made his abrupt decision on when to go to LA, early in January, I figured it would be worth accelerating my "plans"  (ha!) by a couple weeks in order to accommodate the opportunity. Originally, it appeared as though 1/17 would be the [first?] 2010 departure date...until the storms began battering southern California & Arizona. Chris was buried with family beneath 5 FEET of snow in a cabin near Big Bear while the California and Arizona desert experienced flooding of biblical proportions; at least it seemed that way to them.

With the storms, Chris repeatedly delayed his departure east, which in turn allowed me to creep further toward, and then to, my original date: 1/27. In the end, it worked out perfectly. It would be 1/27 after all, and I was quite glad after seeing news footage that I was NOT in the desert during these storms. In fact, we would all see the effects of these storms first-hand later on.

After coordinating with El Jefe in Phoenix, and having a nice last week in Santa Fe, on January 27, I found myself on the way to Albuquerque to catch the 11:15pm bus for Glendale, AZ. My girlfriend and I had a nice conversation on the way, and it repeatedly struck me that leaving for Phoenix felt similar to departing for Devils Tower last August. We said our goodbyes, and I found myself on that metaphorical "on-ramp" again.

The bus boarded late and was 30-minutes behind to begin with. I was exhausted and fell asleep before the bus had even left the city sprawl.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up a few minutes later to see the bus back at the Albuquerque terminal! Just sitting there. No explanation. Nothing. Just baggage handlers acting like mechanics and checking something on the bus. After 30-45 minutes, the driver finally shared with us that the bus was getting no heat and that we may need to switch buses if it couldn't be fixed. Story: meet theme.

An hour later, we were still on that same bus. Still not moving. Still with no idea of what was going on. The bus was scheduled to arrive in Glendale, AZ at 7:45am, and El Jefe didn't work until 1:30 which gave a 5:45 window on an 8-hour ride, so I felt safe. Others, however, were not so lucky and quite pissed off that they were going to miss their connectors...and were not being told details.

At 2am we were finally herded like cattle aboard another bus and again on I-40 toward Flagstaff. I chose to remain awake this time to observe the ruckus if we were delayed again! Now over two-hours behind, and likely arriving at 9:45 rather than 7:45, I figured Jefe could sleep in a bit so (selfishly) this wasn't a complete clusterfuck.

I awoke periodically through the night to the sight of slick roads due to a moderate snowstorm in Arizona. At 6:45, I discovered to my utter dismay that we were still an hour EAST of Flagstaff! I called Jefe to let him know, and resigned myself to fate. A couple hours late isn't so bad as long as nothing else happened.

As long as "nothing else happened?" Ha! This is El Perrito Sucio!

The driver emphatically told everyone that we would be in Flagstaff NO LONGER than 5-minutes. Forty-five minutes later the driver had vanished and the passengers were something a bit south of restless. To complicate matters, Flagstaff had received the same 5-FEET of snow as Big Bear thus the terminal was closed out of fears the roof may collapse from the snow's weight!

An hour after arriving, a woman intending to board in Flagstaff instantly became the target of wrath when some especially abrasive passengers assumed we were being held up by HER for some reason. Despite her gladly joining the chorus of frustration, and even laying on the bus's horn to hurry things up, she was understandably upset by how other passengers treated her and decided to find other means by which to travel.

Shortly after she left, the bus driver returned to admonish the mob insisting she had nothing to do with the delay. When he didn't respond to my query, "Then, what the fuck IS the delay?", I politely offered that perhaps the loss of her patronage was then HIS fault, not the fault of passengers who had been abandoned then ignored for FOUR hours on this supposed 8-hour ride.

Did he think we'd go Hymn Time Country Style? Reenact episodes of Gilligan's Island? It was closer to Mutiny on the Bounty.

Near 9:00 (two hours after this "5-minute" stop began), I became concerned. If this went on much longer, I was in real danger of missing my ride. Thankfully, the driver came out to confirm another rumor: that he was awaiting a fax from Greyhound; one clearing him to continue on to Phoenix, presumably due to driver time-limitations. A few minutes later, the fax had come and we were mercifully on our way south mocking the bus driver, and organizing to be sure that no one on that bus paid for the ride.

Somewhere near Sedona

Despite my concerns, things worked out fine. The bus arrived in Glendale with enough time for Jefe to pick me up AND get to work, leaving me at his house to contemplate what came next...

9/19-9/21/09: Greyhound-Portland, San Diego, Santa Fe

The ferry ride to Seattle was surreal. When I called Shalain and gave the all-clear to purchase the ticket, it finally hit me that this intense phase had ended, and it a couple days I'd be back in familiar surroundings, being mauled by my cats. Nagging regrets lingered, but I was OK with it. I was mentally spent, needed a break, and would see some interesting (and new) parts of the country on the way.

Wendie's predictions were in fact accurate. I got to see some of the city, albeit from the backseat of a cab, and was surprised at how much I actually liked it, reminding me a little of both San Francisco and Denver. The $8 cab got me to Seattle's shithole Greyhound terminal with 45-minutes to spare, and before I knew it I was nestling into a window seat on a nearly abandoned 1:15 bus and riding right back down I-5 toward Portland. I had honestly hoped that I would meet some interesting people, but all that was offered was another backpacker... with a demeanor that made me want to beat him. Rather than petty violence, I settled for my Mp3 player. Following stops in Tacoma and Olympia, I found myself back in Portland for a 90-minute service layover.

Portland felt much different from this vantage point! As I crossed the Willamette into the western section of downtown, I gazed at the river and laughed out loud at the realization that only a week ago, I was boating beneath this same bridge with Andre. Now, I was re-entering the city less a conquering vagabond- via the least glamorous mode of travel I could think of other than the back of a patrol car! It was quite odd! Despite my time there, this was the first I'd seen of the bus station, and was rather impressed: it was the Taj Mahal compared to Seattle! Clean. Modern. Didn't smell like pee. I considered calling some of my new friends while I was there, but it felt like overkill. What was we going to do with an hour? I settled for a short walk, a pack of cigarettes, and putting a charge on my phone. Leaving Portland on I-5 south took me within sight of the Oregon Yacht Club, and Andre's house. I hopped across the aisle to take one last look at the floating home, the Master Craft, and the spot that had held so much intensity the previous week. Believe it or not, it was more nostalgic than August when I retraced the route I had traveled in Idaho more than a year ago.

The sun sinks early out west, and soon enough I was sleeping the rest of the birthday away. Aside from a quick stop in Eugene, the rest of the night... and most of the trip to LA... was the standard Greyhound experience. We passed into California and I remember hearing an announcement for Redding but didn't bother to open my eyes, let alone get off the bus. Sacramento was my first transfer, early Sunday morning, and being spoiled by the empty vessel ended abruptly with this over packed Los Angeles express!

Central California is nothing to fawn over, however once you get near LA and begin crossing the mountains, it becomes quite gorgeous. The western side of the California mountains (the areas that will be swallowed by the Pacific) have always exceeded my curiously low expectations... with the exception of the Los Angeles cesspool. As we passed through Hollywood, I began to see familiar, iconic sights and signs... like the Capitol Records building and Melrose Place. Now, that's some culture!

The 3-hour Los Angeles layover was the part of this bus trip I was dreading! The last time I bused through LA, I was 14, and we had our luggage stolen from the downtown terminal. I naturally assumed (since it was Greyhound) that little had changed and we were headed back to the same spot. I was pleased when we bypassed downtown altogether and pulled into what can only be described as a "compound" on the south side of the city. The terminal is the most secure I have EVER seen, complete with cameras, fencing, razor wire, automated bus gates, and a security checkpoint that is closer to airports than Greyhound... which generally has NO security whatsoever. The LA station was quite nice after all!

The highlight of the ride same in San Diego and was a nice elixir for the mental upset I had experienced about ending this early. I finally got to meet my friend Amber. I had called after leaving LA, told her my bus was stopping for a short time, and that if she was free it would be great if she stopped in to the bus station so we could finally meet face-to-face. Amber happened to be downtown having dinner, and walked in shortly after the bus arrived. It was nice to see an actual face, and we quickly discussed possible, theoretical travel ideas down the road. I was curious to see if the vibe was the same in person as it had been via Couchsurfing and email. Indeed it was, and the possibilities of someday traveling with her seemed encouraging. San Diego and I seemed to agree with each other. It was one of the last cities that I hadn't seen, and wanted to. Although I didn't get a chance to explore, I liked what I saw and want to return. Soon!

Sunday ended on an interesting note in Calexico, California which, as you can no doubt guess by the name, is ON the Mexican border. I assumed we would get within a mile or two, but the stop was literally within sight and a stone's throw of the checkpoint. Looking for ways to entertain myself, I took a small amount of joy in that I had essentially gone ocean-to-ocean and border-to-border since April. This little side trip was also practical & useful because it was quite close to the Salton Sea, Niland, CA: Slab City. Chris and I have discussed The Slabs numerous times as a possible joint-destination over the winter and this gave me a chance to see the landscape first hand for the first time. I was also privy to numerous Border Patrol ID checks. Along I-8 and I-10 close to the border, Border Patrol would stop the bus, come aboard, and demand immigration papers/ID. They also pull random luggage from beneath the bus and let their dogs go to work. In addition, the highway was blanketed with Border Patrol SUVs shining spotlights into the desert hunting illegals. It was a bizarre experience, but in retrospect should have been expected.

Soon after Tucson finally came New Mexico, and Las Cruces for my final transfer and the last 200-miles up I-25 to Albuquerque. I slept the entire way, but only after learning my father was nearby in Alamagordo on vacation with his RV. I found it putridly ironic that someone I had never met before would meet up with me (Amber), but my own father wasn't approachable. It was a quick, bitter realization, but an important one. I believe that book finally closed for good when I came up with a new moniker for him: Ward. As in Cleaver. Daddy of the Year!

From Albuquerque, I caught the New Mexico Rail Runner commuter train for the last 60+ miles to Santa Fe. This was the first time I had ridden it and highly recommend it to anyone traveling from Albuquerque to Santa Fe. Greyhound had appeared to eliminate their stop in Santa Fe, but I was happy to wait the extra hour to take the train! We later discovered that the bus still stops here, but there are no schedules listed on their website. That's fine, maybe having to take the train to Albuquerque will keep me off Greyhound and out of Denver?

I finally arrived home at around 6:30pm on Monday, 52-hours and a world away from Seattle. What happens next was anyone's guess but along with quiet, yet frantic decompression, the preparation began almost immediately.