2/3/10: Slab City-Ray's Camel

Wednesday's plan:

1- Chris and I awaken at 6am
2- Coffee at the Oasis Club
3- Catch one of the two early buses going south from Niland to Brawley
4- Hitch east to Blythe, CA and I-10 toward Phoenix

Surprisingly, it didn't stray far off course, with one colossal unforeseen exception. Ray was also up before the sun and joined us at the Oasis for coffee. I was surprised at how many Slabbers turned out, before remembering that most sacked out by 8 or 9! As had been the case since Sunday, the Oasis clenched on to us. Before I knew it, it was 9:00 and it would be at least midday before we caught a bus.



Moth eventually joined a few others congregated around a table having some surprisingly provocative conversations. I participated a little, choosing instead to mostly watch and listen.

I'm not typically impressed by those who consider themselves "progressives" (hippies), and I generally find anarchists ridiculous, especially when babbling about Utopian solutions that require organization or cooperation!

These folks, however, couldn't be characterized so conveniently- despite showing hints of both. There was an articulated, angry social consciousness lightly resonating through the Oasis that morning; something familiar. It was that "something" that I'd found from California to North Dakota to North Carolina, and had hoped to find in abundance at The Slabs. Here it was.

It's amazing what you find when you position yourself to see it. Slab City is NOT simply full of rubes on the run from statutory rape charges or hiding from child support. In fact, they are just as informed- and far more insightful than the generic CNN junky watching from his furnished cage. I would also wager that the typical "aware" Slabber's tendency toward defiance and independent critical thought had most likely made him incompatible with Dialectic Parrots simply squawking manufactured talking points.

In fact, that's exactly why many make their home in the desert. They could not be told what to think or who to be. The more I listened to these folks and chatted with Mike Bright, the more this trait became apparent.

With that, an exciting, yet troubling, theme quickly became apparent and continued for the foreseeable future; something I first (ignorantly) attributed to the locale: more tangible rage, frustration, and mocking ridicule directed at the government and its minions. And, in a far greater degree than last Fall. This would be the catalyst for some mini-drama later on.

As we were enjoying the atmosphere of the Oasis, Ray produced an article written about him for Chris to read. To this point, I hadn't been impressed with Ray's walk. It reminded me of Chris': achievement for ego's sake. It also reminded me of Gary and the King of Cliches Stephen Newman-- I'm keenly wary of "cause jockeys!" Take mental note of that for later.

Part of this was Ray's fault. He has a story; the details of which he'd failed, until now, to mention. One whose coincidence I would scarcely have believed and, once learned, commanded my immediate interest, and more importantly: respect. The regular reader knows that is no small thing!

When Chris had finished, he emphatically told me that I "needed" to read it.

In a nutshell, Ray spent many years as a Judgment Enforcement Officer; basically a repo-man for the courts. He would attempt to coerce payment, then seize property...even evicting people from their homes...because it was his job description.

"Just following orders; just a job." Exaggerated Nuremberg comparisons could be made, but he was good at it. He'd earned the nickname The Reaper. All considered, it's remarkable that I could muster ANY respect for him, but we also shared a favorite Bible verse and an affinity for 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

Remember that? At some point, Ray had a powerful epiphany as a direct result of this verse. However, he took the rare step of fully putting the entire story into context, thereby making it more than a superficial, abstract idea resulting in little more than eloquent lip service. In response to a question asking what the wealthy man's to do in order to become "righteous", Jesus is said to have replied, "Go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor... and come and follow me." Sound familiar?

That's exactly what Ray claimed he'd done. Yes, he sold nearly everything-and gone beyond. If I recall correctly, he signed his house over to a domestic violence shelter.  

He gave his house away. 

I read that he described it as "raising $100,000 before taking a step." To hear him tell it, he simply couldn't deal with what he had done in the name of "Mammon", and was in a sense paying penance. I found it remarkable that I had no idea Ray was religious in any way, and in fact I wonder after my own experience if "religious" is the applicable term. There was no preachiness about him; he played the role of a dude just doing what he does.

If possible, his humility may have been to a fault in the sense that I nearly missed his fundamental foundation. The "world record" and sponsors took center public stage whereas, to me, triggers are far more impressive. It's just one man's opinion and observation, but I believe these "triggers" run directly to my oft-mentioned Splinter in the Mind, The Voice, Nosce Te Ipsum, Vitam Impendere Vero, and many other ideas that I've "ranted" about here and other places.

After Andre and the aforementioned winter struggles, this coincidence was staggering. I wanted to pick his skull, exchange ideas, and decipher what exactly he hoped to find... if he even knew himself.

I wondered about the events of synchronicity that he may have experienced. I wondered if he had thought about the notion of being driven by a vision to a place still to be determined. I wanted to investigate that curious, familiar blend of ego and spirituality!

Before me was a guy who had taken the difficult step of an honest, brutally difficult inventory; he would likely be equipped to offer honest insights free from a comfortable Quixotic reality!

What did I do? I made sure he had a link to my Pondering Camels post and suggested that he read up on Andre. After all, Chris and I had a bus to catch!

Obviously, on an ordinary day I would have let Chris resume alone while remaining in Niland. I didn't. I ignored further exposure to another of these timely, significant people like Leslie, Andre, Pastor Snake, etc. in favor of predictably rehashing and reliving the past. I robbed myself of the possibility of meeting other Slabbers who may have turned into valued new friends in favor of recycled conversations and rationalizations; repeated results.

Of course, at the time I was having my own rationalization field-day. "Hey, this could be different than before. Maybe the conversations will bear fruit again!"


Before having too much fun at my expense, despite originally calling this decision a mistake I don't believe that it was. Wednesday morning was the first of a double-fisted event; the "beginning" I had sensed coming a month before--yet beyond the traditional meeting of a person with similar views and guided by a vision or The Voice. Ultimately, it would serve as a reminder of who I was, and what the hell I was doing!

In order to further bust out of this funk of self-doubt, I needed to experience the second half: the "ending" to this "beginning." As usual, I'd require reflection time to piece it together, and would have it forced upon me in the same way as Port Townsend. And, as usual, I would happen right in front of me, despite my blindness and egoistic objections!

As Chris and I left Ray, The Oasis, and Slab City behind, Shakespeare's famous line from The Tempest rumbled quietly in my subconscious: What's past IS indeed prologue!

2/1/10: Slab City-The Oasis Club

Chris and I intended to meet Kevin early, but our late night made for a late morning. We hung around our spot in the desert before seeing Kevin return and making our way to his camper to say hi and start the day.


Kevin's a rare entity: one that should talk more! He's a wealth of information. This Monday morning: what type of vehicle one can acquire cheaply, gets decent gas mileage, and has sufficient space for a full-winter Slabbing or living inside while moving from place-to-place. During our stay, Kevin playfully suggested, several times, that we take one of his two remaining pit bull mix puppies. He had 4-other dogs who double as security for both people and coyotes... the later of which are heard every night. Kevin also had possibly the largest domestic cat I have ever seen, weighing in at 29-pounds, and serving as Head Mouser.

Kevin Eubank RIP: 12/11

I use the term "domestic" loosely. This cat apparently was seen fighting free from an owl, while being carried 20' in the air! He's confident that this "cat" has had its own run-ins with coyotes; it's totally unimpressed with any of his much larger dogs. Dogs are everywhere at Slab City. Many of the residents just let them breed, meaning there is an abundance of puppies-- who tend to all look the same! As with Kevin, they use dogs as companions, coyote defense, and as an alarm system.
Slab City's "Skate Park" held a congregation of eclectic people, some of whom Kevin thought would be able to instruct us on hopping one of the frequent freight trains rumbling through Niland. One of these "authorities" turned out to be the shifty little redneck who scoped us out the day before! He was quite surprised to see us again, especially with Kevin, and answered the few questions we had. His lasting nugget of wisdom: get off the train when it stops. There were a few others there who would chime in occasionally while playing X-Box or PS3 out of a van.

Wanting to charge my cell phone, Kevin fatefully directed Chris and I down the street to the Oasis Club: described as Slab City's "social club", where people look first when someone's not "home", and where Kevin said members can charge their electronics. The Oasis raises money by charging members $20/ year, which seems quite cheap, considering. Since I wasn't a member, Kevin said if I offered the owner a couple bucks, I should be fine. Mike was the proprietor. He initially came off as an ornery old coot, but he agreed to set my phone up on his electrical contraption; one using car batteries to funnel D.C. power into an electrical strip. I have no idea how it worked. But, the phone slowly charged giving me the opportunity to meet and chat with the interesting characters coming and going from the Oasis, one of which was a friendly old Dakotan wearing a cowboy hat, flannel shirt... and dress slacks, socks, and shoes. I would later recognize him as another extra from Into the Wild.

The anorexic bartender, Kari, also reappeared, much to the delight of the older male contingency; one obviously starved for female companionship! The baby-boomer response reminded me of my days as a carnie; how a person's allure is at times relative to the beholder's normal surroundings!

It's like Eddie Murphy's routine about the starving man and a Saltine: "This is the best cracker ever! This must be a fucking Ritz!" She temporarily vanished saying next to nothing but would reappear later-not coincidentally it appeared when the beer and cigarettes arrived!

The initial phone charge turned into an all day event. I was meeting people, having a good time, and Kevin stuck around for quite awhile talking boats with another Slabber wanting to sail for far off lands.

Late in the day, another young lady paid a visit from "civilization", and she was far beyond "Slab City Cute." Out-of-place gorgeous, in fact! I have since forgotten her name, but everyone knew her. I learned later that she had been an extended resident of The Slabs, had brought her RV, and was staying the night with boyfriend in tow. She was in her early 20's and fascinated me in that she was disgustingly comfortable wherever she was; she could obviously adapt to any setting. She took up a collection for beer soon after arriving, and with some of my money in tow, headed to town for Natural Light: The Official "Beer" of Slab City.

Despite his initial prickliness, Mike warmed up when I made good on the "couple bucks" to charge the phone. He promptly returned it, and began asking questions about where I had come from and what I was doing. It turned out that Mike and I had much in common, particularly political/social frustration and anger. He is from Silver City, New Mexico, was a teacher, and unplugged out of disgust. He proudly could not be told what to do or how to live, and although he never explicitly said so, I suspect holds little respect for those who can. We didn't chat enough, but I enjoyed the time that we did.

The sun fell, the fire started, the beer arrived... and, "coincidentally" so did Kari! I offered her a couple of my beers and settled in to my seat for the evening.

People came then went and we were joined by "Under Armour Guy", whose name turned out to be Ray, and who would become one of the biggest players & influences in my travels. About all I knew about him at the time was that he had set the world record for the longest continuous hike. But, he was far from done, and supposedly looking for far more than simple glory or his name in a book. He has an ultimate goal of 13,000 miles, is raising money for a non-profit, and planned to be out until mid-2011.

Chris, always looking to share the glory of his own walk, took to Ray immediately. The similarities were striking, not only in experiences, but especially regarding these supposed "predators" we call people. Ray, like Chris and I, had his faith in people bolstered by actual contact with them, rather than relying on hearsay and the media to shape/confirm his worldview. As the night went on, and everyone else but Kari went to bed, the three of us got along quite well.

Kari and I, on the other hand? Not so much. Even with the passage of hours and chugging of various people's beers, she remained creepy-quiet; when she did speak, it was usually to demand someone's cigarettes, or that fresh wood be brought for the fire.

As I was digging into my backpack, she said something since forgotten, but indicating she felt WAYYY too comfortable with me. And I had apparently had enough of her. Her last obnoxious comment was reflexively met with something to the effect of, "You need to just shut the fuck up." Ray had a horrified look on his face, probably expecting the apocalypse, while Chris was, by now, far from shocked. Kari replied with a timid, nearly inaudible, "You... didn't... just say that" to which I suggested that perhaps she had "misjudged" who she was fucking with. Apparently, Kari was unaware that she held no special status with me despite having her vagina coveted by the rest of Slab City! I knew next to nothing about her, so the whole thing just reminded me of Timmy!

Ray invited us to camp with him, so shortly after the 'Growl n' Hiss', we made our way toward his nearby spot. We discussed geeking out over gear the next morning while I felt shitty about sniping at Kari, wondering if I had barked a bit too loud...



Who? Me? NEVER!