1/30/10: Slab City-Leonard & Salvation Mountain

Salvation Mountain

One of the first things to learn about "The Slabs" is its primitive clock. With no electricity beyond an occasional car-battery contraption or gas generator, there's little to do past sunset other than sit around a fire drinking beer. While I personally approve of such enriching activities, beer costs money- meaning people are usually in bed EARLY. In fact, Kevin claimed to be in bed often as early as 6 or 7, and up with the sun.

The Bunker

Adam, Melissa, and Jefe awoke early Saturday morning for a trip to the nearby hot springs. Even this is fascinating at Slab City. It apparently flows, preventing the water from stagnating and allowing the springs to be used as a 105-degree natural, communal bath tub! Other than paying $8 to rent a room in Niland for 30-minutes, or hopping in the nearby canal, this is the only way those not living in an RV can bathe. Jefe assumed that everyone jumped in the hot springs wearing their boxers. Jefe assumed wrong. Jefe was ambushed by a full frontal-nudity assault! It remains unclear as to whether he returned fire.

Chris and I awoke shortly after they returned. Adam & Melissa had since made their way to Salvation Mountain to begin toiling with Leonard and Chris wasn't far behind. Jefe and I took our time before walking over ourselves to see this obnoxious-religious-display yet world-famous piece of Americana. I had no intention whatsoever of volunteering my time to restore Leonard's art, yet couldn't articulate why. Something about all the volunteers just rubbed me the wrong way. Dedicating a couple hours out of one day to help out a decrepit old Slabber seemed like a decent thing to do, but there was something commercial about it; it smelled like the Red Cross to me. It wouldn't gel for a few more days; this was 2010's first "forest through the trees." Aww.

After finding Chris pushing a broom, we took our own separate little impromptu tours. I feel safe in saying that Jefe is not quite a Christian man. His visible reaction to this tribute to "God's Love" swung regularly between amazement and amusement! He had a mostly-silent permagrin on his face, and not due to receiving the Holy Spirit. I met Leonard briefly, and was rather surprised to get the same, "people just been loving me from all over the world" line we all heard in the movie. This struck me as a talking point, and rather than engage him personally I subconsciously chose to just watch him interact with the people around us.

I eventually saw what Leonard refers to as the "Into the Wild Room." This struck me as odd, disconnected, and quite a bit "Carthage." At the same time Sean Penn was filming his movie, filmmaker Ron LaMothe was shooting his Chris McCandless documentary, Call of the Wild. LaMothe took a much different approach, challenging many aspects and claims put forth in the book/ movie. One of the scenes in LaMothe's 2007 documentary (presumably before Penn's crew arrived) shows Leonard Knight having no personal recollection of Chris McCandless referring to him (11-years after the book was released) as, "that kid who went to Alaska and died in a van." Through the use of outtake footage, Penn's movie makes it appear as though Leonard had some sort of bonding experience with McCandless. Obviously, he didn't. Or, at least not enough of an impression to even remember him 14-years later.

What does this matter? It wouldn't in a world where horse-blind idealists were interested in critical thought. However, Leonard Knight- while appearing to be a half-crazed, uneducated, possibly learning impaired backwoods rube- has profited nicely from this inferred relationship. Like Alaska and the "Magic Bus," the story has sent flocks of McCandless Cultists into the Mojave Desert with Leonard as a primary attraction. Parched by a thirst for idealism, but drowning in Hollywood glitz, they gush at the old man as, someone who actually KNEW McCandless and is accessible.

But, not actually REMEMBERING McCandless, the idea that Leonard would build an "Into the Wild Room" into this project- his legacy; his ART- supposedly inspired by a vision from God, is baffling considering he likely never met the kid. Baffling that is... until you see the flow of traffic into the place! It's a bonafide tourist attraction with Largest Ball of Twine status! And, half of the attraction is Leonard himself! Because of his homeless, pauper image people steadily bring him food, water... and money. In fact, I personally saw all of these given, repeatedly, in the short hour I was there!

The most memorable was a group of college-aged girls who looked upon Leonard with an awe typically reserved for rock stars. They said their hellos and immediately announced that they had brought him a load of canned food... enough so it would be more efficient to move the car, rather than carry it! I envisioned a dorm room viewing of Into the Wild followed by, "He actually knew Chris, and what he's doing is amaaaaaazing! We should take him Spam!" I saw several people pony up hard cash, and have since discovered that there's even a website saying, "Donations are accepted only if it comes from the heart." I'm going to add that line to my PayPal link. God Bless!

Someone later implied how much he suspects Leonard makes from the Mountain when he pointed out that he's been targeted by thieves over and over again, and that he's having to watch one person in particular even now. Thieves talk. Another Slabber made an interesting point when he implied that Leonard rakes in hundreds of dollars per day: if he's such a man of God, why no ministry or charitable foundation with the money? Why not do SOMETHING with it? To be fair, there was a not-so-subtle tone of jealousy in his voice but the common thread remains: Leonard is NOT hurting for money. That was driven home even as we left that day and a volunteer implored us to take water or food saying, "we have more than we know what to do with." I thought of that particular woman on my way out of the Slabs for good... hitching a ride in a van full of kids going to Niland to sign up for "government cheese."

Of course, there's a flip side to this story. I later learned that Imperial County AND the State of California both wanted to kick all the squatters off of the Slabs years ago. What prevented that from happening was 1.) Slabber's injecting money into Niland's quadriplegic, methhead-deathbed economy and, 2) the money Salvation Mountain tourists bring to Niland. I had assumed Niland viewed Slab City as a boyle on the community's ass. To the contrary. Slab City's residents spending money in town is literally the only thing keeping it afloat. The old military base still generates money!

I honestly don't know what to think of Leonard Knight or Salvation Mountain other than it's an impressive piece of art built by an impressively tenacious individual. I do respect the fact that he's invented a way of life for himself, and that obviously sprang from a vision that he likely couldn't himself explain.

These days, by most accounts the behind the scenes Leonard is ornery, cantankerous and, as one close associate put it, "just an asshole." This is a far cry from the gregarious, happy image presented for public consumption. It reminds me of dealing with the multiple personalities of media divas! I would have liked to have met Leonard 25-years ago before pop-culture and the folk art scene got wind of him. It occurs to me that the Bible's "Camel Verse" may indeed apply to more than just monetary wealth; perhaps it's yet another indictment of success and the ego as well?

Meeting Leonard did reinforce the idea that personal "greatness" is a concocted Crock o' Shit. I don't believe anyone is any "greater" than anyone else. The difference may lie in the willingness to get off one's ass and follow a vision, and not be crippled by fear. Maybe in that sense Leonard deserves their money; perhaps they pay him (and others like him) to compensate for what they're too afraid or too lazy to do themselves?

El Jefe Diablo Blasphemer?

I won't bother with more religious/ commercial connotations, although I did see a 1993 LA Times article referring to Leonard as John the Baptist in the Desert! Do you suppose that generated some money? If there's one thing I've learned from other hitchers and the few panhandlers I've chosen to engage, "God on Cardboard" is the money-magnet waved over the wallet of the self-professed self-righteous.

BONUS PRICELESS ADVICE! NEVER give ANYTHING to ANYONE invoking the words "God Bless", "Blessings", or "Homeless Vet!" They're buzz phrases, like politicians exploiting child safety or advertisers shouting "Two Day Event" or "Breaking News."

10/11/09: Pondering Camels

"It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" (Matthew 19:24)

In June, Chris and I had a conversation about evil, and I offered that greed and powerlust are its fundamental root. Money is inanimate and cannot be "evil." However, greed is wealth's (Mammon's) engine, and power it's club. The club's damage is NOT limited to its victims; those who swing it, regardless of the rationale and justification, are damaged even if the ego believes otherwise! The Camel Quote has become a personal  favorite.

To his credit, Andre was by far the most "aware" of the affluent people I have associated, which isn't saying much. But, with a little reflection I began to see why the above quotation, attributed to Jesus, is so powerful in its hostility toward wealth. I firmly believe that, on both a micro and macro level, wealth and enlightenment are diametrically opposed and usually mutually exclusive. The wealthy will argue and rationalize 'til Rapture, but I believe this to be a fact that will not change.

After I returned home from house-sitting, spurred on by the conversations with Chris in Port Townsend and the writing I had done at Katie's, I decided to actually open my unused Bible to see what the "presented version" of Jesus himself had to say about it. Using the familiar quote above as a starting point in Matthew, I expected a whole lot of ambiguity and interpretable "parable"; typically "Christian" rhetoric. What I found  astounded me. As I've said before, I'm (intentionally) no Biblical scholar, but I CAN read! Just a few of innumerable examples; Jesus was far from "ambiguous" when it came to wealth. He was outright hostile:

-"Go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor... and come and follow me." Matthew19:21

-"No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon." Matthew 6:24

-"For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" Matthew 16:26

-"But woe to you who are rich, for you are receiving your comfort in full." Luke 6:24

And, He seemed to despise hypocrites:

-"Beware of practicing your righteousness before men to be noticed by them; otherwise you have no reward with your Father who is in heaven." Matthew 6:1

-"So when you give to the poor, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be honored by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full." Matthew 6:2

Like Dennis, Andre was inadvertently providing something priceless in his own way: a naked, unsolicitied glimpse at the struggle wealth creates for a man who's on a spiritual quest. At some level, he deserves a twisted degree pity for his financial triumphs. In this culture, it's unheard of to describe wealth as an "anchor," but that's the spiritual sacrifice of a life of comfort, security, and power. It usually comes standard with a closed, sheltered existence barren of the true experience/struggle needed for genuine empathy, compassion, and concern for others, as demonstrated perfectly by Andre's "debt is a state of mind" comment.

I believe I just answered my own earlier question regarding why it requires a sudden sense of self-mortality for many, particularly the affluent, to begin to take an interest in something beyond materialism. It's simple: Why would they? When a man has few "real" friends, is surrounded by those motivated by self-interest, and an ego addicted to Mammon's power, why would the typical tycoon reflect inward?

Without critical thought or conversation, and surrounded by "yes men," it's easy to convince ourselves of whatever narrative we choose to write! It's a self-delusion that reminds me of Huxley's "soma" from Brave New World; an opiate that numbs the spirit and intellect.

We've been programmed to function on a consumerist, egoistic plane. While the rich have succeeded on that plane, perhaps they've done so at the cost of sacrificing the intellectual and emotional tools needed to authentically empathize.

And, for those who have internalized these notions due to an inkling that "something's wrong," there's another foreboding quote found in Matthew: "Many are called. Few are chosen." As in classical mythology and with Joseph Campbell's "Call to Adventure", I don't believe these words are meant to be taken literally, but it doesn't take much talent for abstraction to see the implication.

When you arrive at this point, I believe, "The Fates" are an egoistic/escapist mirage. Free will, ego, and intellect come into play long after you're "called." I believe that your own capacity for and, more importantly, your decision to look internally, with uncomfortably clear-eyes, and then your actions determine whether or not you're "chosen," however you choose to define it.

I have a very different concepts of "called" and "chosen" than Christians of course, but I've come to suspect that the language is irrelevant. When you think about the barriers, for the wealthy, the path to self-actualization seems impassible and perhaps cruelly unfair. The have their reward in full.

Obviously, I believe Andre is handicapped by his wealth, ego, and the bubble in which he lives. From the beginning of my stay, I was keenly aware of the lair in which I dwelt, despite the fact I was greatly enjoying its benefits!

Periodically, I would find myself observing how Andre interacted with people, and more importantly vice versa, looking for patterns. Several times, I witnessed people seemingly afraid to deal with him honestly, afraid to upset him. Toward the end of our stay, there was even adolescent talk claiming someone close was "just using him." And, of course, Andre's protective of what he has because, of course, everyone wants it! This could lead a person to believe they are in a position to judge another's "worthiness" or to believe they know what's "best" for another. I can understand that, however, wealth alone does not grant one the moral superiority or lofty personal status required to judge by generalizations. And, when judgment and power turn to control...as they ultimately do...that person is likely doomed.

I also believe Andre, even with his noble and (I believe) genuine ideas, still has an epic battle ahead of him. In the end, he's inadvertently stacked powerful cards against himself and, although it's sacrilege in the "Age of Hope", I'm sadly pessimistic. If he's committed to succeeding, and I believe he is, he has in my opinion failed to see the obvious: That despite his best rhetoric and intentions, his identity is still completely anchored to his ego & assets. His ability to "work magic" is, literally, his ability to write a check. His ability to "be of maximum benefit" is tethered to his ability to write a check AND wrapped tightly within his ego.

I find it ironic that rather than envy him, I pity Andre. Not because of the spider bite or his uncertain future, but because I ask myself this: "If all of Andre's money were to vaporize tomorrow, who would he be? How would he see himself if he were unable to work Monetary Magic? How many "friends" would still be there?" Of course, this is a single perspective, and I'm sure that this last question will result in some other folks I met in Portland wondering, "Is that asshole talking about ME?!?!?" Please relax, and realize I am not interested in rendering judgment. But, I would counter that it may be useful to ask yourself, "Am I one of the circling vultures?"

In the event you've assumed this is arm-chair psychological conjecture, I know a bit about a ravaged "external identity." When the radio show ended in 2002, and I was no longer Todd Thompson, most of my "friends" vanished like farts in the wind leaving me sitting emotionally naked asking why. The answer was clear: the relationships I had built were based on the shallow radio "persona" I had developed, and I was forced to ask, "Now that I'm not Todd Thompson, who the fuck am I?" If you need to ask, then have trouble coming up with answers, you have a problem!

The ones who remained unchanged remain treasured friends. I can literally count them on one hand. These are not easy questions to ask, are even harder to answer, and impossible to investigate without a commitment to truth; that inner dialogue Andre admitted having trouble with. Despite his wonderful complexities, Andre is struggling as a confused personification of his wealth, with little clue of how to escape it. How to cut free from a spiritual anchor.

The very first quote above also speaks nicely to the Chris McCandless question and what I believe was his Poverty Field Trip. Friar Chris has often taken exception to my McCandless critique because he closely identifies with McCandless's background. He has struggled with my indictment, often replying, "What's a rich kid supposed to do? Just give up?"

My reply had always been that I honestly don't know. Do what you can, and hope for the best. Subconsciously, however, there's always been a faint smell of hypocrisy to even asking that question, as though wealth is somehow entwined into your DNA and fused to your existence. I've suspected that the philosophical answer is simplistic, and as stated above, would sound something like "Get rid of it and legitimize your fraudulent Pauper Papers."

Of course that IS simplistic, and very few of us are prepared to sell all of our worldly possessions and sacrifice the security they provide! (Foreshadowing alert!) Frankly, I see nothing wrong with openly half-assing it, or openly doing nothing! To my knowledge, none of us are Saints nor aspiring to be. However, my blood pressure tends to rise when people are portrayed, or prop themselves as something they're not. Someone please tell Mr. Penn, Mr. Krakour, and the rest of the McCandless Cultists that McCandless burned his money knowing he was a phone call away from a family "line of credit" whenever he ever decided to bless his parents with his "forgiveness". Rather he used it is immaterial; he knew it was there. It would be much more impressive for someone raised poor to do the same, without a golden parachute just waiting to be deployed by phone.

To me, the shallow image of renouncing wealth, while never intending to do so, is condescending and nicely articulated by:

"Whenever you fast, do not put on a gloomy face as the hypocrites do, for they neglect their appearance so that they will be noticed by men when they are fasting. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full." Matthew 6:16

Again, it takes a little abstract thought to comprehend that "gloomy face" can mean many different things, from countenance to clothing and hygiene. Cleverly clinging the literal interpretation and employing rationalization? That could indicate something!

More often than not, I don't believe people rationalize on a conscious level; I don't think they sit in their chairs creating clever, conscious, fictitious narratives. I believe it's subconscious because, as The Sage pointed out later, it's challenging to confront the dark things residing within ourselves.

That observation cut to the heart of my internal, "I feel like a dick" discomfort. I know full well how difficult it is to confront ourselves. I reject the role of  Encouraging Sympathetic Voice because, from my experience, I find to be it a counterproductive haven.

This simple train-of-thought demanded an overdue investigation as to my evolving purpose. The answer was simple and (again) reinforced surprisingly from the Bible in quite an arrogant way!


Reading thru Matthew, it became clear that Jesus was sort of...a dick! His tone was that of a man annoyed with metaphorical blindness and willful ignorance, intolerant of rationalizations and hypocrisies. I could identify with the man who entered the temple and violently overthrew the moneychangers table! Contrary to characterizations as the "Price of Peace", tact and non-confrontational politeness seemed of little concern to Him, even saying, "Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword." Perhaps that "sword" is to slice off the fat of doctrine, dogma, and self-deception. And, if blunt honesty is good enough for your Jeebus, it's good enough for me!

Overall, the impression that I got from my tiny foray into a miniscule portion of the Bible was that, if true, most Christians are in a lotta trouble when their Messiah returns! I repeatedly (and to Laina's chagrin) asked, "Do Christians even read this fucking thing? Or, do they simply rely on someone else to interpret what's inside AND believe whatever they're told it means?" 

Ambiguity toward wealth? MY ASS! I found little resemblance between what I managed to read, and the acts of Jesus, Inc. I have more scripture examples I could share, but I'll close by simply saying that I've come to believe that the greatest blasphemy on Earth is perpetrated by organized religion and what it has done to the concept of God. I would stand tall and say that to Yahweh's face, quite certain that he's agree.

How about you?

8/25/09: Crossing North Dakota

The Prairie Fire helped. I slept like a stone and woke up early Tuesday feeling energized and still ecstatic that Manitoba was right up the road.

I found coffee and a bench where I could charge my phone and again get my bearings. As I prepared to head west on US-2, I was mostly unfamiliar with this part of the country although I had HEARD of Minot and Williston. I saw on the map that I would eventually pass thru the towns of Michigan and Devil's Lake on the way toward Montana, and chuckled at the fun I could have with my Michigan Facebookers. I'll admit it: I'm an ass sometimes!

I didn't know what to expect of US-2 as I walked to the well- placed light pole next to the busy divided highway. I drew up and hung my sign for Minot, and then began to update the website figuring I could get a lot done if rides were scarce. I'd have no problem just killing the day here. This was a nice spot and I thought that perhaps I would pay for yesterday's 300-mile sprint.

Apparently my road credit was still good. After less than an hour, I heard a man yelling from a semi behind me asking where I was going. When I yelled, "Minot!" he waved me over to the truck and I was again on my way. This time, surprisingly, in my third semi.

Lonnie was from Minnesota, looked to be somewhere in his late 40's, was driving all the way to Minot, then south to Bismarck the next morning. He had been driving the same route for years, and was on his way first to Devil's Lake to make two dropoffs then to Minot for the night. Initially, it seemed as though this would be one of the quieter rides ever. He was engrossed in his XM's Old Time Radio Drama channel, and that was fine with me. I love that stuff too, and it would give me an opportunity to finish my updates and have a quick text chat with Leslie, whom I had been chatting with periodically since Sunday. The ride all the way to Devil's Lake was pretty mundane, but things changed quickly once we resumed toward Minot.

Lonnie and I shared many personality traits! Our conversations began in earnest when I told him about how I had refused to kneel before Skippy, my last radio boss. He loved that, and began to tell stories of how he had repeatedly challenged and confronted supposed authority throughout his adult life, and had quit jobs rather than perform professional fellatio. This sent us down my familiar path: sociology and politics. He was perhaps more of an anarchist than even I am. Lonnie hated everything about governmental interference, was apparently prepared for any sort of social upheaval, and seemed convinced it was coming. He also loved to bitch about politicians of all kinds and, of course, this made the last of this leg fly by!

Toward the end of the ride, Lonnie showed a great degree of respect for what I was doing, and why. He too was disgusted by media and convinced that the world is nothing like the picture portrayed nightly on television. When we pulled into the dingy truckstop in Minot, 220 miles from where we started, I again had a new friend.

Minot had a much different feel than the towns further east. It appeared that I had arrived in a dirty, industrial town that may not be quite as hospitable as the others I had recently seen. I was now in what Joel had termed "West River," the area west of the Missouri River that was much more blue collar than the east. Lonnie had told me that the majority of the many trucks on the road were on their way to the western part of North Dakota. There had been a bit of an oil boom, which contributed to N. Dakota being nearly untouched by the economic "crisis" and having the lowest unemployment rate in the country. He also gave me a piece of advice about my route, saying that if I continued on US-2 to avoid the Ft. Peck Indian Reservation. Apparently, whites weren't well received in this, as he described it, violent swath of land.

After 300 miles on Monday, and 220 in this one ride already on Tuesday, I was quite certain things were going to slow down. The other shoe HAD to drop, regardless of the traffic, right? Wrong. I had just gotten coffee, made my "Williston" sign, and had yet to even sit down when a young guy filling his Jeep Cherokee waved me over and invited me along. Will was driving from his home in Minnesota to Williston, where he worked in an oil field. He made the 300+ mile commute often and liked to have company. As we set off again on US-2, it dawned on me that three of my four rides had been from Minnesota and that they had all stopped more out of habit than pity. Will was no exception. He said he had just talked to his wife and that he had not mentioned picking me up because she hates him picking up hitchers. At first, it seemed that Will was just a quiet oil worker, but as we began to get comfortable with each other he proved to be, while soft-spoken and deliberate, a keen observer, extremely intelligent, and very insightful.

The first thing I noticed was his disdain for environmentalists. He had grown up near Duluth and told how environmental activists had contributed to the decimation of the ore industry in northern Minnesota. Lonnie had made similar remarks on the way to Minot, and now Will immediately echoed the sentiment that liberals, while a severe minority in the region, were raising legislative havoc because they were coming in from places like California, and Californicating. They were mobilized. I found the similar tones in consecutive conversations ironic, but not shocking. It also further cemented my feeling that there is going to be a conservative backlash that will blindside progressives.

Mind you, neither Lonnie nor Will had any love for George Bush or Ronald Reagan; they both hated all politicians. Yet, they were disgusted by the short sighted, blind, often destructive idealism that comes from living a life of abstraction. The ore industry was one example, but Will recounted a half-dozen other examples of how liberal activists had tried (and failed) to enact ridiculous legislation that would have simply crippled other elements of the economy; creating more problems than solutions.

One example Will gave was horses. There was apparently an attempt to legislate how much an owner could WORK a horse on any given day! Four hours! Beyond that, the animal rights activists wanted to dictate how, to whom, and I believe how often, an owner could sell a horse. When a horse went lame, they would then demand, through legislation, the horse be taken to a vet to be "humanely disposed of," costing something like $250.

Think about this for a second: if you can't sell a horse, yet can't feed it, what are you going to do? If this same horse is sick, you surely can't afford $250 to have it put it down. When you're prohibited from using a $1 bullet, your only alternatives are to let it starve or release it into the wild... to starve... which would surely throw PETA into a self-righteous tizzy over a situation that they themselves created via ill-conceived legislation. To reiterate, thankfully none of these proposed ideas went anywhere, but you can see where their minds are. And where they are not.

I'm not able to recall all the details, and am sure I'm not doing it justice, but this was the crux of the conversation on his annoyance with short sighted liberalism. Another example he provided was that in the oil fields, workers are prohibited, under threat of heavy fines, to disturb ANY bird nest on ANY piece of equipment where eggs or chicks are present. He then told a story of how they were forced to shut down a rig completely because a species of bird in the area of the rig had, as he put it, "stopped fucking." I wonder, do PETA members also bitch about the price of gas?

I am no fan of the oil industry and if you believe I'm defending them, you're either a tree hugger, or missing my point. Or, perhaps I'm not being clear. That happens. Idealism has its place, but when it's guided by those refusing to leave books, statistical studies, or think tanks; refusing to leave their Bubbles of Theoretical Abstraction, it's doomed. When its engine is driven by the economic elite or trust fund babies, who have little idea what it's like to struggle to feed a family and have never experienced poverty beyond documentaries or a sheltered charity adventure trip, it's doomed. When those who drive an ideology believe that a college indoctrination program alone has made them "wise," it's doomed and destined to fall prey to the aforementioned conservative backlash that I guarantee you is brewing just beneath the surface.

It's easy to tout high ideals when you have a security blanket and nothing tangible to lose by telling others how they must live. There is a reason that most conservative minded people (nothing to do with Republicanism) come from the lower income brackets. When the job that could be lost due to activist or governmental influence is yours, and your children could go hungry as a result, you tend to care less about "birds fucking." History has shown that this makes even libertarian minded independents susceptible to the influence of whack jobs like Limbaugh & Palin because politicians are professional exploiters of emotion. And what's their alternative? There is no other alternative. Liberals seem to think that the sword with which they vanquished John McCain, disgust, cannot be turned on them. Get back to me in a few years; the next cycle is going to make the Bush years look like Camelot.

Chris McCandless has been a hot topic because of the trip to Carthage, and it's interesting to note that people in Alaska view him as a complete douchebag; an arrogant fool who had no idea what he was getting into and deserved his fate. I have never gotten past that he came from a wealthy background, and had to know in the back of his mind that wealth was waiting for him when he decided to unplug from this adopted lifestyle. If you have the safety net of family wealth waiting when you return, you are likely on nothing more than a fucking field trip under the guise of living noble, pretentious ideals; imposing your "fierce moral code." I wonder, if McCandless' father had been an oil worker put out of work by "birds not fucking," rather than a NASA engineer, would he would have thought twice about burning his money? Would he have sent his trust fund off to OXFAM to be gobbled up by the bureaucracy?

Was that a rant? I think not. Not quite. No alert required.

Will and I plainly hit it off well, and I was sure to tell him how I appreciated his glimpse around the corner at another side. It was nice to get perspective from someone who was fair and had a clear understanding of the different factors, and repercussions, involved. Conversations like these with Will and Lonnie reminded me a great deal of my chats with Eric while maintaining foreclosed houses around Denver, and further nudged me toward the conclusion that governmental legislation is not the answer to these abstract ethical questions- and that I LOVE the people up here!

Will dropped me on the far east end of Williston at what he described as the best truckstop in town. It was teeming with oil related traffic, and had a 24-hour restaurant where I could treat myself to a bottomless cup of coffee while I continued to update. As I walked in, a man of native descent got up from dinner with his family and offered to buy me dinner. I was a bit taken aback by both the gesture, and the look of empathy on his face. He seemed deeply concerned and I immediately wondered, "Do I smell like pee?"

I thanked him and accepted because I had not had a full meal in quite a while. A mushroom swiss burger sounded damn good indeed! Moments after I sat down and ordered, when he went to pay his bill, I stepped over to say thanks again and shake his hand. When I did, he handed me $10... on top of my food. When I responded with a puzzled look, he told me that his brother had been a hitchhiker...and had been hit by a car. This was his way of honoring him. I wasn't going to take that away from him out of arrogance or fake pride. Did I need the money? Not really. And it obviously meant a great deal for him to do this. I didn't realize it, but this was only the beginning.  A theme was set for my time in Williston and beyond.

I settled in to the booth and spent the next several hours drinking coffee, writing, and chatting with the waitresses and drunk customers who came in after their bar closed. A quick peek showed that there was next to no place to hide, so I resolved to stay awake as long as I could and be productive. Several pots of coffee later, I was on the edge of overdosing on caffeine and exhausted. I wandered across the adjacent Walmart parking lot and found some high grass in which to nap for an hour or two until the sun came up.

At least I was guaranteed an early start on what turned out to be a bizarre Wednesday...

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...

8/18 Nashville- McCandless

Yet another day of unbearable excitement, the kind that makes for compelling travel- writing. I left Kim's house.

WooHoo!!

We transferred home- base from Kim's to Rich's place in Goodlettsville (NE of Nashville). They both had to work, so I hung out with McCarty and did more 'research' on Chris McCandless, looking for more detailed information that may indicate, as I've long suspected, that there is more (or less) to that story than that peddled by Jon Krakour. Always seems to be the case.

I did not realize it at the time, but it happened to be the day, August 18, that they estimate he died. Of simple starvation. There are aspects of this story that, when you think about them, simply do not add up.

It is quite suspicious that Krakour would fail to mention in the book that McCandless DID have a map, instead of cleverly saying "... if he had had a good map." Alternatively, Sean Penn failing to fully- disclose his employment history on the road. Penn conveniently omitted how long he actually worked at McDonald's in Bullhead City, AZ (not Burger King), and glossed over the fact that he worked with Westerberg long enough to earn $1,000 AFTER he'd met 'Ron Franz', and immediately before he set off for Alaska.

These are NOT minor details or meaningless omissions. McCandless has reached Anti- Capitalist Cult Status in no- small part because Krakour and Penn "took the liberty of bullshitting you.”

The fact strikes me that there are legions of kids whose ideas are coming from his "story". They are burning their money and social security cards, and chopping up their credit cards (not a bad thing). Then they are trying to live on dandelions because they are trying to emulate what amounts to a fairytale.

The full story would indicate that he failed at living sans- cash. Why else would he have worked so much, if as Emile Hirsh says in the movie, he "didn't need money"? Is making Quarter Pounders THAT satisfying? A question Penn chose not to address when he almost deleted one of the more interesting aspects of the book: Bullhead City. Did McCandless conclude that living without money was either impossible, or just not worth it?

I wonder if he experienced a bit of the frustration I did, and in the end concluded that it best to "invert" the system. Working just enough to provide necessities, while eliminating the 'illusory' necessities (comforts) as time went by.

Maybe he got to the point where he was frustrated by a lack of ability to be as self- sufficient as he would like, and decided Alaska was the place to go to get that knowledge. Or die trying.

Believe me, this is NOT just idle speculation for speculation's sake, although we obviously will never have any way of knowing. I have experienced similar thoughts and frustrations, and find it maddening that these 'entertainers' intentionally ignored them, needlessly corrupted a story that would have been just as remarkable on its own, then marketed it (Krakaur) as fact. Creating the mythical- superhero living out the Heroic Epic helps sales.

I doubt McCandless had any preconceived ideas about becoming a poster child for anything. He did what he did because he felt it was the thing for him. I have never seen the actual journal entries published-- anywhere, and know of no one who has. Why? What I do know is that, if my thoughts are correct, it could have served as a better example than propping the kid up as some sort of superhero, whose Kryptonite happened to be bad roots. This is why I've tried to include as much of the not- so- flattering reality as I could!

Hero worship and idolization is folly. For whatever reason, we seem to need examples of people who do amazing, almost impossible things. We need to look up to people who accomplish things we believe we could never do, then deify them as means to an excuse as to why WE should not even try. "Only ‘Saints & Superheroes' accomplish anything worthwhile."

Santa Clausification.

I've been guilty of this as much as anyone, but the more I learn about these prestigious pedestal- occupants, the more I see that, with few exceptions, they belong right down here with the rest of us. We all have doubts, faults, neuroses, hypocrisies, and skeletons in the closet. No one out there is superhuman. HOWEVER, if that is true, then we all have the SAME capacity to accomplish 'great things' anyone else has.

Why do we never hear about our idol's shortcomings? Struggles in the beginnings of whatever the endeavor of choice? Why are we so 'crushed' when we do? Why do we never hear about King's depression? Plagued by self- doubt and needing members of his staff to push and encourage him; remind him that he WAS indeed right? Martin Luther King Jr.? DOUBTED HIMSELF?? Wow.

I cannot get past this. Why? Is it because if we take away their perceived 'superpowers', we are left with the stark reality that we too are capable, and perhaps that injects uncomfortable senses of responsibility, to ourselves, that would be more comfortable to avoid?

Heroes are fabrications. In my not- so- humble opinion, we should view them as examples of ourselves, complete with OUR faults, but the ability to transcend them. I doubt that most even thought about transcending shortcomings. Most, I suspect, are driven by something they simply 'must' do. They probably had no choice but to follow it. Is that superhuman- courage? Or something else?

Who knows, but do me a favor? Consider pulling your heroes back from their pedestals. Try being your own.

That was pretty much my day. Not much for singing happy- songs, but interesting nonetheless!

I decided to go to a Tennessee Health Care Campaign meeting with Kim on Tuesday evening, so I would be staying until at least Wednesday. I really wanted to see what exactly was going on at a grassroots level, but not optimistic that I will come away happy. I hope there is something more than "progressive", idealistic chit- chat and something that resembles courage; or at least a little anger!