8/23/09: Sioux Falls, SD

When Leslie confided to me at the Cabaret that she was seriously considering joining me for a week or so I was stunned; it came out of nowhere. At first, I thought she may be just batting around abstract fun-thoughts, but the look on her face quickly showed how serious she was. Immediately she began running down a laundry list of things she needed to do and, judging by the detail, she had been putting much thought into it. I was flattered by the trust. Considering that she had known me a scant 24-hours and would trust me enough to wander off to parts unknown was touching.

In the moment, I was excited for her. Through the conversations we'd had there had been an obvious budding connection, although I was clueless to where it was going. It began to seem to me that my simple presence and the exchanging of ideas had stirred something lurking just beneath her surface. To my recollection, I had not implied that my particular path was the one for her, but as we began to discuss the details, it became apparent that Brian's concept of mirroring had again been doing its silent work.

That now-frequently mentioned concept of synchronicity, serendipity as she prefers to call it, now came front and center. It was plain to both of us that there was something at play here. I could only assume that this was an instance where I was playing a supporting role in Leslie's drama. My feeling was that I was there to serve a purpose; not influence this particular decision one way or another regardless of my wants. All I could do was lay out a welcome mat, offer perspective, and answer questions.

Things felt decidedly different as we made sandwiches on the hood of the car outside the Cabaret. Events were now in an uncertain, exciting state of flux. We talked more, and I reiterated that I thought it would be great for her to tag along, but it was up to her. I loved that she was even considering it, and that she had the courage to explore the idea. In fact, I believe she would have agreed to go right then, but the problem was, understandably, going to be her family!

The road to Brookings and I-29 was quiet as Leslie re-immersed herself in thought trying to piece everything together. Bonnie wanted to get to Madison, Wisconsin to see a friend that night, so I told Leslie if she decided to come, I could ride along and we could both leave from Madison for a quick Wisconsin Wander. I liked the idea of adding Wisconsin and Minnesota to my list anyhow, and it would be relatively easy to pick up where I left off when she returned home. However, I needed to know by the time we reached Brookings about an hour later. If she went home, going any further with them would take me south, toward western Iowa. Not my intended direction!

Brookings arrived, and as we fueled up Leslie walked off talking on the phone. I began to scout the area for places to sleep, just in case this was it for me, and found the BP station quite suitable. All that was left was the verdict.

When she returned, Leslie said that she didn't think there was any way she could do this. She knew it was her decision to make in the end, but had enough respect for her mother not to. It's understandable for a mom to be a bit leery of her daughter spontaneously running off to travel--with a guy she picked up on the side of the road!

With that, things laid out nicely. We continued to talk about a reunion of sorts for the end of the year and I rode along to Sioux City anyhow, just to hang out another 45-minutes with my new friends. As we sped toward the reunion with I-90, it occurred to me that I would be talking about them in the same way I do the other stars of my travels. This had been two of the more incredible days to date, not to mention rides!

I was sad to be pulling in to the Flying J on the north end of Sioux Falls. The 30-or-so hours I had spent with them felt more like a week because of all that had happened, and that spoke volumes. We had as a group managed to hit Brian's "Flow." Leslie and Bonnie loaded me up with extra food and bug spray, we hugged, and they drove off toward their meetup in Madison. It was an empty feeling standing alone in the parking lot after all that had transpired. I immediately began the process of decompressing, adjusting to a new situation, and realizing I now had to formulate a plan. This Flying J, while nice, was not conducive to stealth camping. It was best to get moving.

After gathering my wits, I drew up a sign for Brookings; exactly where I had just come from. Not 20-minutes later, I was in the pickup with Patrick. He was a no-nonsense kind of guy who professed to hate talking politics. He hated it, until he figured out we had similar "fuck em all" views toward politicians! Then, that was all he wanted to talk about! A great way to get me going again.

Patrick dropped me at the same BP station that we were at just a couple hours earlier. It was getting late and I'd had a long day, so before long I was scouring the bushes between the northbound exit ramp and I-29. I was quickly discovering that I would need to adjust to the scarce vegetation of the plains! I settled beneath a bush in a spot that offered barely any concealment at all, and was soon falling asleep with the thought that this had been a day that I would never forget.

8/23/09: A Pilgrimage to Carthage, SD

We got an early jump on Sunday thanks to Mother Nature. Thunder woke me from a light sleep and, rather than continue sleeping and break camp in the impending rain, we chose to hit the road at 6am. Before running into Leslie & Bonnie, my intentions had been to go south from Spearfish to Deadwood, then further south thru the Black Hills and toward The Badlands. After hatching this little plan, I learned from Shelly that our father planned to be in the Hills at about the same time then on his way to Arizona. I loved the coincidence, but made no effort to connect with him in favor of leaving it to chance. How things have changed in 2- months! Bypassing Deadwood killed that possibility, but with no regrets. I have done enough. Plus, leaving the Black Hills unseen would give me something to see later.

Back on I-90 and thru Sturgis, we stopped off in Rapid City for Leslie to pick up buffalo meat for her mother as a thank you gesture for the use of her car. I already felt good vibes from South Dakota, and they got better. As we would ask about places that were open on an early Sunday morning, it seemed everyone was eager to help.

Further east past The Badlands, we all settled in for the long ride across South Dakota and the conversations continued. It's rare to ride with someone and have so much in common. None of the conversation was forced, or worse: bogged down by uncomfortable silence. Some rides reach this point after 10- minutes!

Our chats were at times intense, and always three- sided. Bonnie continued to show herself as someone who is passionate about making a difference with her life, and on a quest to find the best means to that end. As we debated the merits of different ways to proceed, I naturally encouraged an avoidance of institution.

Whenever organized charity is invoked, my mind snaps back to my volunteer trip to New Orleans in 2005 following Katrina. This was the beginning of my personal exodus from Kamp Liberal. I saw the corruption and resulting ineffectiveness of organizations like the Red Cross, while at the same time seeing first hand the cancerous infestation of personal, dogma- driven agenda into relief work. Rather than concentrating on the task at hand, many (not all) of these "Progressives" were chiefly interested in pounding their chests in self- righteousness; proclaiming themselves noble carriers of the Evolutionary Torch. "I'm volunteering in New Orleans AND I'm a vegetarian (lesbian, socialist, PETA member, Democrat, environmentalist, pot head...) too!" It was repulsive, and a harsh lesson in how factionalism will manipulate any situation to promote dogma and further agenda. The Red Cross is The National Charity, and has exploited our sympathies borne out of tragedies like 9/11 & Katrina.

This is not out of humanity, but to turn a profit while in turn offering little tangible help. Don't believe me? Turn off the TV and go see for yourself. No one I talked to anywhere near New Orleans in the weeks following Katrina had any respect for FEMA or the Red Cross, despite the propaganda.

I continued to express my belief that the way to have the greatest effect is as an individual; quit talking and see with your own eyes where you can help. If you want to get involved, writing a check is literally the very least you can do. It usually offers only the illusion of help; a substitute for actual involvement. "Charity" is oftentimes big business, and donated money is used to grease its machine; a blatant oxymoron.

With this as our soundtrack, our goal was Mitchell, home of the Corn Palace and a small town where we would begin plotting our route north to Carthage and Chris McCandless' bar. We stopped for a quick, impromptu bath in what turned out to be a lake apparently created by damming the Missouri River. Then, it seemed that we each retreated into our own thoughts, listening to music and watching the countryside. Leslie in particular seemed deep in thought, and I would occasionally catch her intently looking at me in the mirror. I wasn't sure what she was thinking, but would find out in Carthage.

Carthage is barely a town, with a grand total of something like 187 people. When we stopped for pictures at the city limit sign, there was a sense of accomplishment. I had conceptualized coming here for a beer well before leaving in 2008, and here I was.

The Cabaret was featured in Into the Wild, and Sean Penn had brought the cast and crew to South Dakota to film. McCandless was picked up by a local, Wayne Westerburg, while hitching in the area and found work on his farm. They became good friends, and McCandless spent a significant amount of time here, even returning to earn money prior to his fatal trip to Alaska in 1992. My draw to Carthage had never been clear, beyond thinking it would be neat to have a beer as a sort of toast to his memory.

The Cabaret is exactly as it's seen in the movie, and by far the busiest place it town! Walking in, the first thing that struck me was how they embrace the media- created tether to Chris McCandless. I was curious rather the locals would resent Into the Wild Pilgrims, but the first thing seen is a sign for a beer special called "The Into the Wild!" Inside, it's a typical dark, small town bar except that it's quite nice, clean, and frequented by older folks on Sunday afternoons. It struck us as a place that is probably packed on weekends; the only place to go!

We settled in and ordered our $1.50 beers, and I periodically found myself lost in the realization that I was seeing, and on some level had experienced, a few of the same things as McCandless. Life on the road has had its priceless rewards; Leslie & Bonnie were an at- the- table reminder of this! Also, I could see how McCandless could become attached to this isolated little town and its friendly people. It seemed there was no bullshit to be found, just real, friendly, authentic people.

I quickly snooped around the Cabaret's empty nooks and crannies, taking it all in. There were pictures of Vince Vaughan, Sean Penn, and Emile Hirsh posing from various locations around the bar as well as original memorabilia from "Alex" McCandless including a newspaper article. I decided against buying the Cabaret's Into the Wild t- shirt, but seeing it answered my question about how they felt about their most famous patron. He was drawing people, like me, from afar and making them money. I believe Bonnie asked a very poignant question: How would he feel about that?

Our stay in Carthage was brief, just long enough to drink a few cheap beers and ultimately discover part of what Leslie was pondering through the South Dakota farmland.

She wanted to come with me...

8/22/09: Spearfish, SD- Leslie & Bonnie

Things were odd as I awoke Saturday morning to a very different Lori than was on display the night before. She was quietly subdued as she and Chris made breakfast and coffee while I repacked. We had some small talk as I ate their delicious potato & egg concoction, and soon I was waving goodbye and heading for a shower. I told them I'd stop back that night if I was still there, and was prepared to accept their offer of a ride to Rapid City if I hadn't left by Sunday.

A member of KOA's Golf Kart Militia noticed my pack, and gave me a brief, sKornful inkwisition about where I had slept, thinking I had hijacked a tent sight. Nothing came of it, but it did set the tone for the remainder of my stay. It was time to leave, and I had a distinct feeling that things were about to change.

I spent a few hours relaxing outside the Trading Post before learning that there was a restaurant a half mile up the road; one I had failed noticing when Harry dropped me off. That was all that was needed to push me down the road. I had no idea what exactly I was doing, I just knew it was time.

A quick 15-minutes later, I found myself at the intersection of Route 24 looking at the restaurant. I had gotten water before leaving, so I planned to sit at the corner just to see what happened. As I was crossing the road, a small SUV passed me with a pretty young woman hanging half way out the window flashing me the thumbs-up. When I returned the gesture and smiled, they unexpectedly pulled over and my new friend-in-thumb asked me if I needed a ride. A simple "Yeah!" later she had hopped out, and I was finally on my way toward Sundance.

I had to laugh. I had sat at Devils Tower for 72- hours with nothing. After 15-minutes walking, on nothing more than intuition, I was off. The pattern was still intact, but at the time, had no idea as to the extent. As I settled in, all I could see ahead was a half-hour hop back to I-90.

The thumb-flashing passenger was a Leslie. She was a short 21- year old who, even at first sight, flowed with raw energy. And, she was absolutely stunning. She has the looks that steals your breath for a moment. Leslie is the last kind of ride you expect to get, but as it turns out, there is nothing ordinary about her.

Driving the car was Bonnie. She struck me at first as the typical Santa Fe/Boulder progressive. Bonnie would hate the idea, but her general ideology was written all over her in pretty simple language. What I've called "being different-just like everyone else." I would learn later that, while accurate on a base level, it was an unfair assessment to make in a split second. She had a lot going on beyond typical, dictated agenda.

Leslie and Bonnie are from Chicago and were on their way home from an abbreviated road trip. They had intended to go all the way to Montana, but things had come up and Bonnie needed to be back by Monday. One of the first things we talked about was how we all had common spiritual views. There was an excellent, instant rapport, and as I told them more about my travels they invited me along to Spearfish as they tried to find a microbrewery they were told about. I was none too sad to be leaving Wyoming, especially like this! This ride had all the early indications of something remarkable, and I again laughed. I had cautiously felt it coming.

The conversations continued uninterrupted into South Dakota, and the energy in the truck was addicting. Bonnie was familiar with Chris McCandless, and when I mentioned I was considering going to Carthage SD to have a beer at the bar featured in Into the Wild, my original hop to Sundance, then skip to Spearfish suddenly jumped into a pilgrimage across South Dakota.

When we pulled into the Crow Peak Brewery in Spearfish, I had permagrin. My mind's eye traveled back to Devils Tower, and I could see the perfect progression of events laid out as though they were planned. Some say that the elderly sometimes say they same things when looking back over their lives. All coincidence? Ha!

Our pit stop at Crow Peak quickly became a night out. Leslie challenged a couple to a chugging contest while, at the same time talking the bartender into offering a t-shirt to the winner. Quite persuasive, this Leslie! I figured my shady past would be of some benefit here, so I signed up as a ringer to ensure Leslie got her shirt. It was the least I could do, after all! It was no contest. I won easily. Leslie: happy. Life: good.

Dean was one of the non- participating bystanders and had taken the picture of the contest for me. He and his wife were from Wisconsin, and the three of us were soon chatting politics and sociology. It was an excellent conversation, and I was beginning to realize how much I was going to enjoy these Northerners. Relatively speaking, there seemed to be an abundance of common sense borne from living life, rather than just reading about it then later simply swapping spit in a self-labeled Salon. Theme alert!

Obviously, continuing on toward Carthage Saturday night was out of the question. To add a perfect exclamation point to the day, our bartender actually offered to let us camp AT the brewery! We didn't even need to re-park.

Bonnie and I sat up for quite a while chatting about philosophy and metaphysics before going to bed. It was then that I realized that she herself was on quite a quest. Bonnie has passion for real change, but seemed at first to think it's an institutional issue rather than individual; that the solutions are "out there." (See the Dragon Parable) She seemed to be slightly hindered by ideological dogma, but also had the Splinter in the Mind that leads, inevitably, to critical/original questioning. This way, your organic ideas are accessorized by philosophy. Most people, even those who call themselves highly educated, are vice versa. Thus, recyclers of others thoughts. Parrots. Authentic, self-awareness is not an easy process, but Bonnie has begun it. She would periodically tune-in as we chatted, and when she did, she would shine.

I was exhausted by the time I climbed into the bivy. Leslie set the alarm early; all of South Dakota and Carthage lie ahead for Sunday. A least in theory...