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...

1/30/10: Slab City Limits

El Jefe had taken the time to closely observe things, and I was surprised to learn that he decided the place intrigued him enough to take the day off and hang around. That's quite a big deal for him, and nice that we'd be able to hang for another day. Saturday is also Chris's Phone Day: the day he catches up with everyone. Unfortunately, this one involved unexpected complications in Denver. Needing to focus on that, he took his leave of Leonard & Salvation Mountain. The three of us congregated at the bunker to see what the rest of the day held.

Slab City Critter

Jefe and I spent the next couple of hours exploring the desert and it quickly became apparent that he was connecting some fundamental dots. I felt for him in that I sensed the same excitement- mixed with frustration and anger- I had myself experienced a few years ago and wondered if this was the first instance of life "outside the Cave" becoming real for him. Was he re-defining Plato's shadows on the wall? One of my biggest struggles was this movement from Abstraction to Action, and of course mustering the courage and trust in myself to do it. We all struggle with that. A couple hours later, Chris was off the phone and, since we had actually spent no time INSIDE Slab City other than meeting up with Chris, we embarked on a quick truck-tour before heading to town to pick up the night's food. Even after seeing its expanse from atop Salvation Mountain, I was surprised at how large Slab City's square mile really is. I was also surprised at how sparsely occupied it felt. The last 20-years has seen a significant drop in snowbird migration, for whatever reason. Now, in spots it has the feel of an actual abandoned military base with the occasional RV or camper cropping up, rather than that of an RV park. Many people have a full yard (of dirt) to play with! Slab City's also not without its entrepreneurs. On the extreme eastern end is the Slab City Library. There's also a Christian Center, although the vast majority of residents are at best agnostic- with practitioners of Paganism quite nicely represented! The proprietor of the Christian Center was referred to us as the "Tokin' Christian."

Kevin told us about the Oasis Club on Friday night, and there were two stages for live music, the smaller of which we saw Friday. The larger stage, The Range is the one featured in Into the Wild and has their show every Saturday night.

In addition, there's even someone selling solar panels on site, several handymen, and other little signs advertising services. It struck me as what capitalism might have initially looked like and was probably intended to be: services provided based on a need rather than needs created by a desire to sell the service.

It all again made me picture what I imagine the old west to have been. Regulation? Ha! If you provided a shitty service or product, people talked and you ceased to do business. The only advertising was word-of-mouth and the occasional hand-painted sign. The only brand name signage was used to build something, or as firewood! All of this pushed me just an inch further upon a path I've been slowly slipping onto for awhile: that mankind was never meant to live in a SuperSociety. That we, and the planet, are better served organized into smaller groups; free of centralized control. It's an idea I've not tried to develop and of course raises as many questions as it answers, but it's interesting to think about. I can say for sure that nothing I saw during my stay at The Slabs discouraged the idea! Slab City was not Survival-of-the-Fittest/ Anarchist Hell. Far from it. There was one unspoken, implied law: Don't fuck with people. Justice will be swift and brutal. It reminded me of hockey in a strange way!

After our little tour, El Jefe, Chris, and I decided to get food, I thought, in Niland. Twenty-miles later, Jefe was pulling into Brawley, the largest town in the area, near the southern shores of the Salton Sea, and on the main east/ west route not named I-8 or I-10. Jefe, being a Supermarketeer, found the local Von's store where we loaded up on food and beer for the night. To Jefe's beer-snob chagrin, I decided on PBR as a tribute to Eric, who I thought would really enjoy Slab City!

Back at the Slabs, the idea was to return to the bunker, build a fire, and replay Friday night. Being shortly after sunset on Saturday, I suggested that we first head up to The Range to see if the music and crowd was better than the night before at the smaller stage. When we got there, Chris immediately vanished into his phone so Jefe and I sat on the recycled couch chatting and watching/ meeting people, including the guy who claimed to have started The Range, Builder Bill. According to Bill, he had started The Range just 7-years ago. Chris McCandless and his underage temptress apparently did NOT wow the crowd with their organic musical talent; at least not from this here stage. Foiled again! Is there NO honesty left in Hollywood?!?

 Despite that, this was a much better collection of people and talent than we had seen the night before, although we scarcely gave the other place a fair chance. Bill explained that the other stage was started by a pissed off former partner who thought Bill was a racist and shortchanged him on tips. Ahh, drama! Melissa made an appearance, the last I would see of her, as did someone we first heard about from her: the man who had recently set the world record for some kind of hike. It was still in progress and he'd stopped off at Slab City to take a break. Melissa referred to him as, "The Under Armor Guy" because of the fact he was sponsored. Although we didn't chat, we spotted him, and his fancy Under Armor sweatshirt.

I also saw for the first time what first struck me as a disturbing, warped, hippie-creature of epic proportion. It was dreadlocked and wearing a dress- although I'm certain it would have defined it a "kilt," or some other culturally enriched garment. I later found that he called himself "Moth", lived in a concrete water tower, and had supposedly been on MTV at one time or another, no doubt perpetrating random acts of douchebaggery to entertain and scar innocent, unsuspecting youth. I remain skeptical of the claim, but if you can tell me who he was, please do. From then on, the thought of having his special brand of nonsense spewed my way greatly outweighed moderate curiosity.

Also making her debut at The Range that night was an anorexic woman I would describe as "Slab City cute." She was selling beers out of a cooler and would resurface with a flourish a couple days later.

As 11:00 rolled around, El Jefe was itching to get back to Phoenix. He had to work Sunday, but obviously had enjoyed his time in the desert. He was jokingly elaborating on how he could just... stay... and was saying it with regularity and less "humor" in his voice each time! I couldn't quite get it across, but I felt both happy and pity for him. Happy that he was asking questions and looking at life through his own eyes rather than relying on the Institutional Filter. The pity came from the familiarity of what's coming: either submission or a fierce battle with ego and fear. Rather than head back out into the desert, I suggested that Chris and I actually set up camp INSIDE Slab City where we may be able to meet more Slabbers and get a better idea of the place. We retrieved our pallets from the bunker, found a spot, built a fire and that was that. Jefe took his leave from there, and Chris and I spent the next couple hours chatting.

Chris had Sunday circled as his departure day. He seemed quietly frantic to resume course to his new destination, San Antonio to see friends, despite adamantly professing (again) to be in "no hurry." Sound familiar? It did to me. Feeling like a broken record cruelly animated for the sole purpose of kicking a dead horse, I suggested just sitting down for a moment to see what happened here. During the 2+ days he'd spent at this spot, tonight was the only real time he had actually spent IN Slab City. He'd allowed the first two days, in my mind, to be hijacked by Leonard's agenda. "What else was here?" I asked.

One of my points of this jaunt had been to see where both he and I were these days, and by now I had spent nearly 24-hours having a silent, goodhearted laugh at Chris's expense. He had written just a week or two earlier how he believed in the Sit Down & Shut Up/ Side Car Analogy ideas; even (wrongly, in my recollection) staking claim that the Side Car as his creation- not that I'm keeping track, of course! Now, here was the familiar character... still unable to relax and unable to resist lunging for the metaphorical handlebar... from that very sidecar.

In the interest of fairness, letting go is difficult, as I've experienced and pointed out a hundred times. But, at some point I believe it must cease to be explained away. Like everything else it either becomes a priority and efforted into practice, or classified as "intellectual fluff" solely conceptualized and presented to impress the intellectual himself: mental masturbation.  

Abstraction to Action.

A recurring theme for this weekend, and the immediate future. We talked about most of this around the campfire that Saturday night, and it was a nice conversation. Yet, at this point, I was wondering as to Chris's role in this little desert-excursion beyond more than a quaint get together...