3/19/10: Cambria, CA-What Would Jesus Sell?

Friday night was more of what I expected from this quick layover in Cambria, while it also introduced the theme for the immediate future. With Nick (’08) and Rael (Slab City), this was the never-before-seen opportunity of melding two of my distinctly separate experiences into a third, and I was curious to see what conversations, thoughts, and ideas spawned from the three of us.



Once the campsite was secured Rael & Karen vanished spending an hour or so “preparing burgers” while Nick and I got reacquainted over beer and tamales. After re-emerging from Spicoli’s Van, Karen socialized long enough to eat and was off to bed relatively early, probably eager for Saturday’s arrival after accommodating me and delaying her migration toward Monterey.

A priceless and entertaining scene presented itself when a young, charismatic, and informative ranger paid us a surprise visit. He spoke with (what sounded to me like) an Irish accent, and to my astonishment demanded Karen’s vehicle-paperwork claiming the license plate “didn’t match.” A fucking park ranger. What is HE doing running registrations? Is that not John & Ponch's domain? To Nick’s amusement, I asked exactly that. I wanted to know on what authority, as a park ranger, he “reconciled” the registrations of properly PARKED cars? He informed me, with a straight face and in all seriousness, that he “has more authority than the C.H.P.” It seems that park rangers are something akin to marshals out here, especially between Morro Bay and Big Sur/Monterey where there are far more parks than towns. Shit. Don't go Braveheart on me!

I wasn’t combative with Marshall McFife, but did editorialize enough to let him know that this arrangement seemed strange and more importantly could lead to confusion and needless confrontation from citizens (like…me) who fail to reflexively bow and behold the majesty and implied authority of a badge, costume, and gun.

I asked if it had to do with California’s deepening economic vortex-- one careening toward catastrophe. The skeleton crews and empty park kiosks were new compared to 2008. This was one thing, but I wanted to know: are things in such financial disarray that the state must consolidate "law enforcement" personnel to this extreme? Ranger McFife professionally tap-danced the specifics while patiently and politely answering my pesky questions. He wasn't power tripping; just doing his job. He grasped that fundamental distinction between "at-large enforcer" and the role of public servant. What a quaint concept! I'd heard there were enforcement officials like that. Then again, I had also heard of the "chupacabra".

Karen’s registration was fine. As he turned to leave, I jokingly asked if he knew Bono. He laughed, rolled his eyes, and went on about his business. Nick and Rael quickly reminded me that he had said he was Scottish, not Irish. I either amused or offended him! Whatever. I was buzzed and confused, and ...it was funny! Besides, here was yet another Scotsman taking an American's job! Where's the xenophobic outrage when it needs to distract folks from MY ignorance?

For the rest of the night, the beer flowed as I learned more about Rael after encouraging him to tell his story to Nick. Rael told of his job as the court’s “judgment enforcement officer” and how he ultimately realized who he’d become when, without emotion or feeling, he evicted an elderly woman from her home—for debts incurred by her granddaughter. Apparently, that granddaughter had taken advantage of her grandmother’s contractual naïveté and Rael was her material assassin.

To hear him tell it, it was a job (insert Nuremberg cliche' here); one that bought the house, boats, cars, and women. It was the pursuit of the American Dream, and considering he how he had earned and embraced the nickname “The Reaper”, an identity as well. He then recounted the liquidation of his house, truck, boats, etc., donating the money, and now here he was.


To this point, I had heard much about his adopted non-profit’s redeeming qualities (I already knew from hocking them on the radio). I heard, and was shown, how the Copper Spur tent is an ingenious piece of lightweight craftsmanship and told how Big Agnes provides “customer service” rivaling that of Jehovah Himself.

Rael's story was passionate, but mostly anecdotal. What plainly stood out, to me, was what I had NOT heard, including in his just-recited bio: nothing about the spiritual/ psychological fault lines. Those presumably running deep enough to create the explosive, life-changing tectonics needed to stagger, rattle, and roll someone from “Reaper” to “Camel.” Speaking from my own experience, this seemed entirely too... clean.

We skirted around the fringes of the biblical and moral implications of Matthew 19:24, “It’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.” Rael claimed to have been greatly affected by Jesus’ answer to the related question, “What’s a rich man to do?” Our Redeemer’s (paraphrased) reply in Matthew19:21: Sell your shit, give your money to the poor, and follow me. (Jesus... not Todd) Beyond sterility and taken at face value, this also laid an interesting intellectual foundation, forcing me to silently ask, “Who exactly are you following if your secondary focus, just beneath the glory of Guinness, is raising someone else's money and selling tents and clothes--rather than what you claim (in print) brought you here?” Personal glory and proxy capitalism. In Jesus' name. Amen. Just how he drew it up!

What would Jesus sell?

Using Randleman, NC and Pastor Snake's sermon as a reference, I offered that, to me, it seemed that if he truly believes he has been “called,” any desire and perceived “decision” to share his story, feelings, and experience, beyond the fluffy “people are nice and nature kicks ass!” fare, are irrelevant and egoistic in nature; it is his DUTY to birth that with which his “God” has inseminated him! Otherwise, I thought (again, to myself), he’s no more remarkable than any other of the innumerable glory-seekers looking to make a name for themselves through increasingly common and mundane “accomplishment of endurance.” Another Glory Quest camouflaged by “cause”?

If Rael’s muzzled his Inner Voice and hidden the very Splinter which triggered his epiphany-- in favor of corporate marketing and charitable fundraising-- hadn’t he simply just altered for whom he collected? Court or corporate interest: wasn’t he still serving Mammon? If he was altering his behavior for (no photos were to be seen of him smoking… anything!) and now found himself soliciting companies out of “wanting their gear,” had he simply done a rationalizing end-run around materialism?

“Ye cannot serve God and mammon.” (Matthew 6:24) Again, Jesus was not ambiguous in his hostility toward wealth. It seemed that rather than finding “acceptable” causes and oblique pursuits of wealth, He demands that “those who would be righteous” effort to separate completely from it AND its influence. In addition, there are also numerous verses regarding hypocrites, one of my favorites being, "Beware of practicing your righteousness before men to be noticed by them." (Matthew 6:1) Perhaps there's no connection, but regardless, Rael’s drastic actions and newspaper interviews coupled with his deafening "lack of voice" did NOT add up.

Beyond that, after 36-hours Rael struck me as optimistically driven, yet surprisingly demure, oddly guarded, and extremely tentative for a man who had gone to such extreme moral measures. He had the faint, familiar scent of a man slightly resembling those others who were cleverly co-opted by vested interest--and didn’t realize it.

Despite the rhetoric, based on what I had read, seen, and heard, Rael looked, through my eyes, a lot like The Extreme Traveling Salesman! Going door-to-door, park-to-park, and town-to-town soliciting donations for environmentalists, hocking sleeping bags and tents, while exploiting his world record and extreme environmental “awareness” as his sales pitch. How do you suppose His Redeemerness feels about His Word being used as an advertising campaign?

These were the subtle, embryonic, yet persistent indications of disconnect; a troubling and increasingly visible chasm between Rael’s adopted narrative and cold reality. Superficially, it seemed to me that he was in simple pursuit of finishing his walk, extending his record, pursuing a book deal… and the eternal Holy Buzz!

Karen noticeably exploited both Rael’s wants and needs, in all likelihood as a way of hedging her bets and positioning herself so as to benefit from Rael’s “sure-to-come” biographical glory! Karen’s pot was Rael’s, and so long as they traveled together-- so was her food. Karen is a wily, savvy, experienced, forward-thinking road dog, and she positioned these commodities like candy to a child! Before reading on, be sure you mentally note the preceding sentences. They are critically important, although to reiterate: on this night these insights were just nagging primeval instincts. I was engaged in trying to ignore them in favor of a benefit of the doubt after coming 1,000 miles to hang out with Rael! Have I mentioned yet that it’s 1,002-miles from home to Cambria?

While this was the first real foray into these important ideas, I was by now intimately familiar with and constantly observing Rael’s vocal and fanatical pro-Marijuana/ Cannabis stance! If Rael is “interested” in abstract theology and environmentalism, he’s absolutely obsessed with the pot cause. While he’s a bit hazy and hesitant to discuss practical philosophy, he’s confident, articulate, passionate, and precise when it comes to hemp; a wealth of information regarding prohibition and talked at-length about William Randolph Hearst’s role in criminalizing pot. When he got going, Rael reminded me a bit of the character telling of George Washington's love for pot in Dazed and Confused! But, to his credit, he had a firm grasp on the subject, and frankly made a great deal of sense.


He also ceaselessly spoke of what sounded to be Shangri La; the Promised Land of Mendocino and Humboldt Counties in northern California! It sounds as though this were where pot has been liberated; where ganja grows and flows free. Where hitchhikers are instantly picked up and presented a packed bowl for their ride! This... is Rael’s passion. This… is his “cause” and Karen’s eternal supply medicated and influenced nearly everything from the moment I arrived.

To repeat: I have no moral or ethical quarrel with, and am perfectly comfortable around pot— even having a bit myself! I fully agree with what's clearly the common sense path, full legalization, and I'm happy to see that momentum appears to have made it inevitable.

Karen's pot wasn’t the only thing that seemed endless—so did Nick’s Friday supply of beer! After meeting some neighboring campers in the wee hours of the morning, this remarkable night would come to a close. But first: some impressive foolishness on my part.

I had hit my four-month "smoke-free" mark four days earlier, but tonight it ended. It wasn't as though I was particularly craving a cigarette, it was more that I wanted to confront the cigarettes in order to prove that they no longer “owned” me. I took drags from Nick and Rael’s cigs early in the evening, and got nothing from it. After everyone had gone to bed, I grabbed one of Nick’s Marlboro's, sat alone by the fire, and smoked it. It hurt, tasted like ass, and immediately zapped my energy. There was none of the, “Ahhhhh! Nicotine!” I remembered from quitting before. I found myself hot-boxing the cigarette to get it over with rather than wanting to smoke it! How times have changed!

While this was asinine and not something I’d advise, it’s served a purpose. Before this, I had sporadic, mild cravings every two or three days. They’ve since stopped. It’s eliminated any residual “euphoric recall” and reinforced why I quit in the first place. It also helped me remove their mystique as something “all-powerful” that must be feared; avoided at all costs at the risk of my eternal soul! I’m not afraid of cigarettes anymore. I just downright don’t WANT them! There’s a very big difference!

3/19/10: Cambria, CA-Moonstones & Battlelines

I finally exhaled Thursday night and slept like a corpse. The Sierra Designs tarp shelter performed admirably on its first night of active duty, keeping the dew and Pacific moisture off me and the backpack while providing the privacy and space not offered in a bivy alone.

For the gearheads, the Origami is a lightweight, floor-less tarp shelter utilizing five equilateral triangles and a telescoping pole/walking stick/guy line as a center support. It looks like a little teepee. The Origami can be set up in countless configurations depending on terrain and doesn’t weigh much, so I envision it as both a compliment to the bivy and as a replacement for a full tent.

Weeks on the west coast (not to mention out east) meant that I would inevitably run into the kind of weather better ridden out in something other than just a sleeping bag cover, especially over two or three days! Further down the road, I believe that parts of Oregon’s Columbia River Gorge are actually designated a rain forest. Even if it’s not, the fact that it COULD be justifies the extra weight! Plus, in normal weather I can still partake of the bivy’s stealthiness. Even with the Origami AND the bivy I’m still 3-pounds lighter than with my original ‘08 tent! My first night beneath it convinced me it was a good call. Ask me again in July.

Inside the Origami

The first sounds heard on this contrasting, entertaining, and eventful Friday were, again, the early morning cackles of Karen. Stumbling out into the sun needing coffee, I was happy to see Melody hang around most of the morning before making her way north up Hwy. 1 toward San Francisco. I again marveled at how this random Craigslist Rideshare had gone so well and what an excellent kickoff to this new little adventure she was, not to mention the chemistry she found with Ray & Karen. After Melody left, it was to be seen just how this odd collection of diverging agendas, not to mention strong personalities, would mesh!

One of the high points of my first visit to Cambria in 2008 was meeting Nick. He is a local who was on an overnight bike tour of sorts and happened to peddle in to the Hike & Bike while I was mending blisters. We’d had excellent conversations and one of my top priorities was to make every effort to reconnect with him while I was in the area. To that end, we exchanged emails beginning when I arrived in California eventually arranging to meet at the campground Friday night. Nick would bring beer and camp with us for the night. These arrangements were made before I knew anything about Karen and were understandably NOT open to debate.

As you'll remember, somewhere along the way it was decided that Karen was taking Ray (and by extension—me) toward Monterey, and after Thursday’s fog, Friday’s sunshine lit a fire beneath her. She wanted to hit Highway 1 ASAP and since she had the vehicle, logically felt as though she were in charge.

After Melody’s departure, Captain Karen began setting schedules, or at least tried. She was not pleased, offended even, to hear that I, and therefore Ray, weren't going anywhere Friday. I was adamant about seeing my friend. Ray was in the middle and, since he had failed to mention Karen before I arrived, had little choice other than to meekly support me, although I strongly suspect he would have much preferred to vacate this spot where he had spent the last five days. If so, he never said it.

A quiet, unwelcome voice began slowly creeping in asking where all of this odd, seemingly out-of-place static from Karen came from. Ray described her role as a simple ride north, and was far from ambiguous about the fact that he was eager to move on, away from her! From what he'd said, I assumed Karen knew that we had made arrangements to travel together until Easter.

So…what the fuck? Based on this, my attitude was simply, "If you don’t like how things are playing out, hit the fucking road. You were never part of the equation!" Aren't I a gem?

Combined with her commentary the day before about what I could say and about whom, a possibly ominous tone was set. The savvy, observant, and seasoned TZX.com reader may be noticing glaring disconnects (Sit down!) and subtle hypocrisies (Shut Up!) about now.

Me? Completely disconnected with an acute case of tunnel vision, and Karen was perceived as impeding the light at the end of that tunnel. However, while I WAS a great deal disconnected, the tension wasn't borne only from a basic impatience. It had a great deal of help.

Ray, Karen, and I then decided to set off to Cambria for library/Internet time followed by lunch at Moonstone Beach. If you’re new, you'll need to understand that I am quite slow in the morning and don’t move quickly for anyone other than mother nature. This quietly infuriated Chris and I warned Ray about it well in advance. Being on Slab City time, this (or her newfound inconvenience?) bothered Karen and by now she was probing boundaries and trying to discover the best way to achieve her desired results from me.

Her initial tactic of choice: smartass comments accompanied (and supposedly diffused) by a smile. My response: smartass comments obnoxiously reminding her, with a smile, that she’s free to leave for Cambria, or anywhere else, at any time, but I WAS having coffee, I WAS brushing my teeth and was NOT keen on having my leash pulled in the meantime. I do sure hope my smile softened her metaphorical stool….

Once we left, the afternoon in Cambria was nice. We paid a visit to the familiar library where I suggested to Ray that we tried video blogging. California is visually stunning and simple pictures usually fail to do it justice. Filming and posting short blurbs from various familiar/ scenic places like Big Sur, Monterey, and the Golden Gate Bridge would make more frequent (albeit fluffy) updates possible, while personalizing & making the process much easier! I could use my phone to both record AND upload these videos initially to the blog and Facebook. From there? Who knows, but the ideas came in a flood; a flurry would last most of the afternoon and cause a quick piece of priceless, out-of-place mini-drama.

Once at Moonstone Beach, Karen made sandwiches and repeatedly packed their ever-present bowls (I had by now remembered why I quit smoking pot, so passed while they “medicated”) for lunch while Ray and I continued brainstorming video ideas. He told of a friend who runs a popular hiking website and had once offered him state-of-the-art, lightweight video equipment in exchange for trail and park footage. Supposedly, he already had offered Ray walking sticks with mini video cameras mounted in them! He had turned it down because he wasn’t sure he liked dealing with the technology. With me on hand however that would be NO problem.

As we explored the technical possibilities, Karen became surprisingly annoyed with all this talk of “he and I.” Out of the blue, she contorted her face and like a child blurted out, “Include me, dammit!”

Based on the conversations Ray & I 'd had, this seemed outright batshit. Was Karen coming to Yosemite? Sequoia? Why in the hell would I think to include her in anything beyond this unwanted ride north? Seriously. What the fuck? Much later, I learned that she was just referring to the conversations we were having, but my interpretation speaks well to the bizarre, unexpected environment I found myself in!

The sponsorship chats themselves were enlightening. Ray was already “sponsored” by major, companies like Big Agnes, Under Armor, and possibly others. His journey's premise was marketed & sold as a quest for Guinness Book Glory which would, coincidentally, raise buckets of cash for the an environmental organization. A worthy cause to be sure, but in 24-hours I had heard NOTHING about what I thought was the real foundation; what I had come to investigate: biblical camels and the corrupting influence of wealth!

I had tried a few times to engage Ray in these chats, but he reminded me of a poker player: reading me while holding his cards close to his chest. I found the need to “read me” laughable! It's not hard to find out—just ask! The conversations to this point were quick and shallow but I didn't think too much about it. It was odd to be part of Karen's Traveling Circus, but I assumed that once out on the road somewhere we’d have plenty of time for these things.

Moonstone Beach

I didn’t learn much about Ray, but I learned much about corporate sponsorship, how to get their goodies and what they expected in return. From environmentalists to Under Armor, all the way to Karen, I saw that many had lashed themselves to Ray’s backpack. All I wanted was insight and conversation, but many others seemed to have a vested interest in him and even restricted what he could do.

These constraints are fascinating, and I should clarify a few things before moving on—like why Ray was hitching and riding with Karen if he was setting a walking record! The record is already his, and based on a continuous line irrespective of time: the trail can be left as long as he returns to that exact point.

Not quite as impressive, eh? It’s even occurred to me that Gary Coleman could probably break Ray’s record with this loophole and 30-years of free time!

Perhaps to compensate for that, some of the restrictions are rather medieval. He’s not allowed to use a phone, although he obviously can utilize the Internet. That means that he’s not heard any of his family’s voice in a year. Also, he can accept but is not allowed to solicit assistance of any kind. He must rely on the kindness of perfect strangers…without engineering it! And, “they” supposedly send people out to tempt him; to actually try to entrap him!

As a result, one thing Ray has become passionate about, and something that runs common through him, Chris, and I is that the simple act of immersing yourself in the world—not someone else’s interpretation of it—shows that there are undeniably and infinitely more good people than bad.

Reading September-March over the last two years, I am myself proof that it’s easy to lose sight of this while sequestered away in the cave living this thing we’ve been sold as “life” plugged into and solely relying on electronic eyes to filter and present someone's pre=approved, skewed vision of the world to us. Electronic eyes presenting a vision powered by agenda…

After lunch we walked down to the rocks along Moonstone Beach, taking pictures and shooting video. By mid-afternoon they decided to return to San Simeon State Park. I was unsure of when Nick was arriving and liked the idea of relaxing and writing in my journal before he did.

Karen, however, didn't know this and wanted her afternoon RayTime to be private! She parked the van at a vista point adjacent to the park, and then commenced to perpetrate one of the elite displays of behavioral-retardation ever witnessed throughout the whole of human existence.

We were discussing how to meet up with Nick and also catch a view of the regular dolphin display that would occur in a few hours, at sunset,when Karen began blatantly hinting that Ray should stay and let me go back to the campground alone. I would have been happy to leave them alone frolicing in peace and privacy, but she proceeded to perform a clumsy verbal tap-dance; the kind you’d do in front of a two-year old! I was waiting for her to start to spell out the big words!

At first, I thought there was no way I was actually witnessing this level of extreme douchebaggery, and I believe it caught Ray off guard, too, because he didn’t seem to respond either. When he did, there was again seen the sheepish look of a chameleon lost somewhere in the middle; trapped trying to be all things to everyone.

With the calming benefit of hindsight, it's just laughable that a 60-something year-old woman would bother with charades. In the moment, it contributed greatly in defining our remaining time together. I rolled my eyes, muttered something obnoxious, and walked back to the campground wondering when it would end!

From this moment forward, all of my interactions with Karen would be seen through the prism of, “when do you go away?”. I implied that I would return to the vista to see the dolphins and watch the sunset, but I had no intention of doing so.

I started to become more acutely aware... and curious... about the peculiar fact that Ray made no effort to mediating these intensifying rifts between two of his friends that he was responsible for bringing together. A quiet little voice got a bit louder. I spent the next few hours writing, napping, and seething.

The sun was already sinking when I woke from my nap and noticed that a ranger had left a notice asking Ray to vacate his campsite! It was Friday night, and he had already spent six days—four longer than the Hike & Bike limit, although it wasn't like the hiking & biking hordes were lining up at the gate! The ranger even repossessed the wood I’d foraged the night before! The bastard!

Immediately after reading the notice, Nick arrived with a whole lot of beer! We quickly reacquainted then drove to the vista where Karen and Rael still lingered. I introduced everyone, showed them the eviction notice, and what proceeded to follow was some sort of absurd bartering session! The campground cost a ridiculous $35 per night. None of us were eager to pay it, and after being “forced” to stay an extra day Karen flatly refused to pay anything.

Immediately sensing this, I elevated Karen's status to Enemy Combatant. I was on the verge of suggesting that she take herself to a parking lot for the night, or better yet: to Monterey! It was a conversation that, until Nick sensed the tension and offered to pay $20 just to keep the peace, nearly became ugly.

Again-- Ray did nothing to arbitrate, instead silently standing idly by like a child watching the grownups fight! Karen and I continued to go at each other with progressively increasing venom, and when she mentioned the use of “her food," as though Ray and I were a charity case, I reminded her that I had plenty of my own food--having planned on an oatmeal diet ahead of time--and my own money to boot! I took pains to clarify that she was neither necessary nor a necessary crutch to lean on--just in case there was any confusion!

By the time Karen offered her AARP (?) card to get 50% off the campsite, I just wanted her to go away, even if it meant I'd have to pay extra for the blessing!

In the end, Nick's cooler head prevailed and we decided to utilize Karen’s senior-card and pay the extra vehicle fee. Nick gladly paid $20 (of the $22.50) and I felt terrible about that, especially because he also brought tamales and a truckload of beer!

Once calmed, Karen and I surprisingly both saw the humor in the Vista Drama. She commented that she thought she and I would eventually be friends; that we’re just too much alike. Two people who speak their minds and don’t concern themselves too much with frail egos or fragile feelings. I had to acknowledge the obvious, but was in no way convinced we’d ever be friends-- although was slowly realizing where the problem really lie.

At times, describing me as "slow" is a gross understatement!

3/18/10: Cambria, CA Revisited-Ray's Karen

Pulling into San Simeon Beach State Park, memories came rushing back. The nostalgia was thick  as I saw spots that have since scorched themselves into my psyche; places only seen in my own photographs for the last couple of years.

It had been less than two-years, but the Odyssey as I now know it began with Pat in San Luis Obispo, and literally took off after mending my blisters at this very place. Meeting Ray here seemed fitting as a kick-off to whatever adventures lie ahead in 2010. The few minutes before seeing Ray felt a great deal like "coming home."

Melody's driving endurance is astounding, so the Pacific arrived much sooner than expected. A full day or two sooner! San Simeon Beach S.P. has only a couple of "Hike & Bike" spots, so finding Ray was a breeze. As we drove in between 8 & 9am, we found him chatting with a pair of bicycle tourists. After a visible double-take he was obviously quite pleased to see me there on Thursday morning after telling him to expect me Friday, or even Saturday. I introduced Melody, and the three of us spent the next couple of hours chatting.

Refresher background: Ray had suggested in early March that I join him for a "hike up the coast." I was here on his explicit invite, and the only thing "planned" was Ray meeting his Slab City friend, Karen, in San Francisco for Easter--still 17-days away. Upon leaving New Mexico the day before, Highway 1 was to be a slow exercise in conversation and improvisation; taking our time navigating to San Francisco, then maybe into the Marin Headlands before Ray returned to his walk, either in Yosemite or Sequoia--after the weather broke. What was to happen after this was speculation. If we got along (and I could keep up), there was the possibility of continuing in tandem up the coast toward Oregon.

With all that, you can imagine my surprise when I learned that Karen was meeting Ray HERE, and she wanted to drive him all the way to San Francisco! Knowing this--even the day before--would have changed things.

Ray assured me that he had explained things to Karen; she knew I had come all this way to meet-up with him, that he and I were continuing on, and that "if we chose to ride" I was welcome to ride along. "Well, gee...that's good to know after a 1,002-mile trip!" He obliquely implied that we could let her continue on alone, but that Karen "was offering a free ride all the way to Monterey or San Francisco!" It was obvious what he wanted to do. It was pathetic that he felt timid about asserting it. I figured we would get it hashed out once Karen arrived later that day.

2010

2008

The ride from New Mexico (and the preceding days of inadequate sleep) quickly caught up with me. Both Melody and I were exhausted, so while she spread out her sleeping bag I set up my new Origami shelter on 2008's site and fell fast asleep. An hour later I heard Melody, Ray, and Karen chatting outside and went out to meet my apparent new travel buddy. I instantly recognized her as someone I met at the Oasis Club during my stay at The Slabs. Karen traveled/lived over the winter in a conversion van with her small, white poodle, Squirt, had just spent some or all of the winter at Slab City, and was now slowly meandering back to Ohio via friends in Monterey and San Francisco.

There are a few things about Karen that jump out, especially in this relatively "normal" setting, at least relative to Slab City. Karen is in her 60's, resides in Cincinnati, is a self-described Relic of the 60's, and VERY attached to Ray-- initially, at least, to the point of creepiness. She seemed obsessed with spending time with and caring for him as though he were a stray puppy! Karen mentioned Ray's apparent intention to write a book often enough that it soon appeared that she was making sure she had her own chapter, complete with "guidelines" about what Ray could, and couldn't, write! I had to chuckle when he mentioned my blog and Karen offhandedly said, "Oh, YOOOOOU'RE a writer TOOOOOO?!?" Too? Ha! Poor Karen! Sadly, this was neither the last, nor least, of her misconceptions.

Within 5-minutes, Karen & I clashed--mildly-- when she asked if I had met Moth during my time at The Slabs. I told her yes, and that I thought he was a douchebag. Karen promptly and with a healthy dose of indignation informed me that I "couldn't talk about her friend like that." My reply was that I didn't "give a fuck whose friend Moth was, he was a douchebag" (she didn't argue that particular point at all!). I made it quite clear that I would speak freely...in any terms I choose...without a permission slip. Mr. Congeniality!

I didn't tell Karen to go fuck herself, but in a related story...

I then found that Karen is extremely close with Kari, the anorexic, cigarette bumming, part-time beer peddler from Slab City whom I had told to go fuck herself! I withheld that particular anecdote and offered no indication that I knew Kari, while at the same time learning that I had apparently dodged a large caliber bullet: She had almost arranged to meet Karen and Ray right here...at San Simeon!

Karen also commented that Kari "sadly" thinks of Ray "only as a brother." After hearing him consistently disparage Kari, I found it peculiar that he still had any sort of relationship with her--let alone an interest that anyone could even mistake as romantic! Perhaps she was kidding, but hearing his emphatic professions to the contrary, the entire Kari-exchange (and watching Ray walk its tightrope) provided insight that would prove invaluable with time & retrospection.

After chatting with Karen for a bit, I noticed a developing pattern with the people I had met at Slab City. Nearly everyone there has a dog, and it appears that many adopt their pet's method of establishing dominance and dominion: bark first, bark loudly, and hope they back down!

Just by it's very nature, I'm surprised to say that I doubt I would get along well at Slab City for long. I'll bark back, and look you in the eye while doing it. Many of those that Slab City attracts seem to readily profess a commitment to living an "authentic life," but too few appreciate direct, unfiltered, blunt honesty in return.

Like many, in fact, they will protect their personal narrative more than nearly anything. A genuine commitment to honesty is NOT just that which is "delivered by you"; it means you demand it from others in return.**

Obviously, this is a hypocrisy NOT limited to Slabbers, and would become increasingly clear as time went on. Despite the overwhelming majority providing lip-service and claiming to expect it, it would appear that (to quote Nicholson), "You can't handle the truth!" Fortunately, the truth doesn't care.
For her part, Melody was a treat and I could not have asked for a better thousand-mile Rideshare! She knows the difference between living and speculating; I'd define her as a Professional Liver-of-Life. She's seemingly spent time everywhere, including hitching in Central America and Australia. She's a wealth of information and ideas, realistic, and Melody does NOT suffer herself to be mired in the muck miring the Moonbeamers on Utopia Road. She was a much-needed breath of fresh air: a nice balance of idealism and realism, while not succumbing to simple cynicism. And, I love the fact that she once taught "at risk" kids their rights so not to be left at the mercy of "overzealous" law enforcement! I have kept in touch with her, and have a strong suspicion that I've not seen the last of her, especially since Boise/Portland seems to be an annual event!

Seal Vista

In her perfected non-committal way, Melody hung out long enough to catch the vibe from Ray, Karen, & I and I was happy to hear that she decided to stick around and hang out Thursday night. The four of us spent the rest of the afternoon trying to avoid Thursday's relentless nuisance: fog.

Karen proved herself to be the excellent tour guide, leading all of us into Cambria to see Nitt Witt Ridge. Finding the name clever, I had taken a picture of the sign in 2008 but hadn't realized exactly what it was: a house built into a hill that consisted SOLELY of scavenged and donated materials! It's been designated a landmark, and more than once while looking it over did it remind me of a practical Salvation Mountain.

Through Karen, I was shown the actual main section of Cambria-- a part I hadn't even realized was there! We toured a local mansion, then headed to the Elephant Seal Vista a ways past Hearst Castle and just a bit beyond where Florian & Veronika picked me up in 2008. Since it consisted of more than oatmeal and Raman noodles, I deferred dinner to Melody, Ray, and Karen's expertise while collecting wood and building a fire.

Nitt Witt Ridge, Cambria CA

Despite its peculiar moments with Karen & Ray, Thursday turned out enjoyable and when I chatted with my girlfriend that evening, I told her that things just "felt right" and as though I were on-track. I was enjoying myself to the point that I actually decided to join the others and smoked pot for the first time in 9-years. I've never been opposed or uncomfortable around it. Most of my friends growing up and during my radio days smoked. In fact, it probably would have kept me out of a lot of trouble had I chosen it over alcohol! The problem, quite simply, has always been that it puts me to sleep. I literally would end up in the fetal position curled up in the corner--conscious--but unable to move for an hour or so!

There was to be none of that this evening, but it would be COLD! Pacific air is sometimes like opening a freezer. Ray and I struggled to keep the fire going as we finally got the opportunity to chat about things before heading off to bed. Those things? Sports...of all things.

** Theme alert

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

6/19/08: San Simeon-Big Sur, CA: Florian

A day of contradictions. Maybe the most intense day of the trip as far as the extremes go.

I was up and sadly leaving my little piece of $2 camping Nirvana at about 11:30, loaded up with water and tea and back on Hwy. 1. I had learned from my neighbors the night before there would be a place in the next town, San Simeon, to get water etc., so I didn't fully top off and felt remarkably light as I left.

What a great walk the first few miles were! I stopped off at a Vista Point to rest my feet, and tend to the re-developing blisters. Such a beautiful place! The squirrels and birds are quite bold here. They'll literally climb on top of you to get peanuts. I got a picture of a squirrel doing exactly that, and actually reaching his front paws up to take the nut from my fingers. I dig squirrels. Sue me.

 I sat there for a good hour (not in a hurry, remember?) and got back at it. William Randolph Hearst's Castle was a few more miles further up the road, and is right across from W.R. Hearst State Beach, complete with a sign proclaiming him a 'Great Patriot'. I plopped down in the shade up against a fence, smoked, chugged water, and gazed from a distance upon the most extreme, blatant, and disgustingly obvious self-congratulatory display of Capitalism and the pursuit of wealth I could ever imagine. Hearst Castle. I really loved the irony of looking at this thing while sitting in the dirt beneath a tree next to my backpack, and called Karim to let him know.

For those that don't know, Citizen Kane was based not-so-loosely on WR Hearst. He was a newspaper giant in the early 20th Century. I couln't help but think how this man had built this Tribute to Greed by collecting five or ten cents at a time, mostly from working class people. I could envision someone locking themselves up in this cage and while dying crying 'Rosebud'...to no one.

I sat there for 45-minutes or so, then went inside the park and filled my water. Everything this time. I knew I was heading into the middle of nothingness, this would be my last chance to fill up and it was obvious that eventually the thumb would need to come out.

Onward I went, my feet feeling worse by the step under the increased weight of another full boca bottle combined with the heat of the asphalt beneath the afternoon sun. I went another couple of miles and began fizzling out. I plopped down on the side of the road in a section that was coming out of a curve. I quickly realized the ignorance of this and moved on. Shortly thereafter I felt something in my left foot...the same place I was feeling discomfort earlier in the week before I had removed the inserts. I had re-inserted them before I'd left but this was different. It felt like something was stinging or biting me inside the boot! I stopped, found nothing and realized the tendinitis had returned. Grrr!!!

I began looking for places to bed down for the night, found a good spot that seemingly had been used before for either sleeping or hiking and resolved to keep trying to catch a ride until dark. If I got nothing, I'd sleep there.

I sat down back on the road, put on my Mp3 player, and sat in virtual isolation. Highway 1 traffic is pretty steady early in the day, but I'd noticed that it quickly and steadily fades around 6 or 7 pm;  trickling down to next to nothing on the northbound side... since most people (except for me) travel it going south. Oddly enough though, with my feet blazing with blisters and other various pains and next to no hope of a ride, I felt oddly at ease. An intense calm came over me. I realized that I'd seen and expected this simple vision for a few years. Here it was. I had plenty of water and food, and was learning to just 'trust it'. Things work out. A nice moment of clarity.

After an hour or so with no ride, I decided to walk a bit further to see if there were better spots to camp, ignoring the lesson I thought I'd learned in Cambria. I was just compelled to keep going. The sun was much lower, so the heat from the road had diminished making things a bit easier. I got back into a nice rhythm, and spied a lone pine tree wayyyy up the road where the coast cut north. I thought that would be a wonderful place to catch the sunset so I thought I'd do my best to get there racing the sun.

Walking was notably easier at this point than I expected it to be, and made pretty good time. I got to my lone pine tree which turned out to be another Vista Point and, since I had gotten no rides with my thumb out the whole way there, I resigned myself to crawling beneath this lone pine and sleeping, despite the 'no camping' signs that were posted all over the place.

I wasn't 'camping' I told myself; I was 'resting'. Prophetic and a bit of unknown foreshadowing for later in the trip!

Turns out it didn't matter.

I had walked 30 ft. into the Vista when I spied an RV on the horizon. Against all logic, I had a split second vision of this being significant. No one ever believes me when I talk about these things, but they're real! I told myself, I'll try ONE MORE time to get a ride, and if it doesn't work, screw it. I'll sleep beneath the tree.

Yep.

They stopped.

Inside was a German couple from Munich along with their 4 year- old son. Florian asked me where I was going, and I said as far north as I could. He said they were just going to the next campground, but I could ride if I wanted to. I figured at worst I'd have a decent place to sleep, so I eagerly took it.

His wife, Veronika, let me in and we headed up the coast as the sun was dropping beneath the Pacific horizon. Their son, Paul, just stared at what he must have thought was a strange road-creature that just climbed aboard! He was funny.

Florian offered me a Miller, which may have been the best tasting beer I've ever had after being in the unusually hot sun all day! We continued on, enjoyed the increasingly intense landscape, and got to know each other.

What a nice family. So happy and they just seem to enjoy each other! They had rented the RV in San Francisco and driven down to Death Valley and were now heading up Hwy 1 back to San Francisco to catch a flight to Seattle on Tuesday.

It turned out that, fortunately (for me anyhow), all the campgrounds were full. Florian kept driving and driving until he finally found Pfeiffer-Big Sur State Park. It said the only openings were for 'self contained' campers and he needed to 'dump' the RV.

That was one of the funniest things ever, especially if you've seen the movie RV! They had used the wrong paper in the toilet and he had to unclog the septic system. When he did, all hell broke loose! He was doused in the chemical that disintegrates the...'waste'. I speak a little German, and caught him saying 'I have shit on my face!' I hated to laugh at him. I couldn't help it! He was good natured about the whole thing and able to see the humor in wearing 'liquid shit'! I'll never forget that!

He found an open campsite, pulled in and settled down for the night. Veronika and Paul went to bed rather quickly, and he offered me the RV's couch to sleep on. Florian and I sat by the fire talking while he tried to BBQ chicken and a pepper steak for me to eat. He's not the most experienced of BBQers so it took forever, and in the meantime he put 'Snatch' on his laptop for us to watch while I fought to stay awake. Funny little movie, and when the food finally finished I gorged myself!

Warm food: Gooooood!

We had a few more beers a a couple glasses of champagne, and I went to sleep contemplating how things just seem to work themselves out. They invited me along to ride toward Santa Cruz on Friday, and, since my feet were shredded, I gladly accepted. Quite an eventful day, and I had made some new friends.

6/18/08: Highway 1-San Simeon State Park Day 2

Wednesday

At $2 a day? Hell yeah I'll stay another! Nick got up at about the same time the sun turned my tent into a sauna and pushed me out. We exchanged info, I got a picture, and he was off on the 50 mile ride home. A good guy; glad he was there.

Nothing much else to mention other than the fact I took my first shower since the day I left Santa Fe. To me anyhow, that was a MAJOR development. Another bike tourist came thru and stayed, an older guy who I tried to chat up but seemed to me to be an old paranoid hippie. The rest of the day was spent tending to my feet, collecting firewood from the unused campsites and the beach, rather than paying the Wood Nazi $or a bundle! I charged my cell phone at his little setup, and he went on and on telling me how the wood was brought in by a contractor and that's why it was so expensive. Typical. I wanted to laugh at him and ask why exactly I should be expected to pay for something I can just walk around and pick up. I let it go.

The full moon rose at about 10:00 while I was tending my fire, and it was AMAZING! I even got my little point- and- click to get some photos of it.

I chatted briefly with the neighbors about the abundance of law enforcement driving thru the campground (Well, 2 cars- I needed a conversation starter) and went to sleep.

6/17/08: Highway 1-San Simeon Beach, Cambria CA

I woke up at what appears to be my new usual time: 8:30. I slept well but woke up still pissed off at myself for my field-folly and losing SOG. I made a cup of nasty coffee then got up to answer nature’s call. I took about 4 steps to the other side of the bush, and guess what I saw…

SOG!

I had slept literally just 10 feet from it! There was NO way I should have found that thing. Considering where it could have been lost AND my aimless wanderings and inability to find my original trails, it should have been gone. I know some people think life is full of silly coincidences. I’m not one of them. Remember when I said that when I met Pat, I wasn’t making a conscious decision? The same thing happened with my meandering path back to the SOG reunion...and would recur later in the week.

A great start to the day.

I got out of Cambria pretty much as expected, after charging my cell phone and taking my time getting out of town. My feet were bugging me quite a bit with blisters after wandering around in the fields the night before with feet soaked by the river the night before, so I set the modest goal of getting to the Hike & Bike supposedly a couple miles up the road. I wasn't really sure rather to trust the info and some people had said that many of these handy little outposts were shut down, so I packed extra water making the pack heavier and bugging the blisters even more. Just a nuisance really, but a constant one!

It occurred to me as I started out that I was FINALLY getting on to Hwy 1. I wasn't going to hitch; just walk no matter how long it took. The scenery and sounds/smells of the ocean right off the road was hypnotic. I stopped several times to take pictures and just enjoy it. The weather on the California Coast is surprisingly cool. Low-mid 70's for the most part because of the north-to-south currents bringing colder water from Alaska as cooling things. This is especially true in the evening and at night. It's as though there's a natural air conditioner!

Eventually, I had gotten far enough that when I 'crossed the bridge' the guy had told me about, the right turn was into a State Park. I initially thought the guy was an idiot for not simply saying there's a park up there and sure that there would indeed be NO Hike & Bike, but to my pleasant surprise there WAS one there. For $2 a night! Two fricking dollars! Plus there were showers and access to the ocean. I was quite pleased.

I set up camp enjoying the fact that I wasn't stumbling thru a field to do it nor was I hiding from anyone!

Shortly after I was settled in, a bike tourist came in and began setting up his camp. We got to chatting and I learned that he was from Arroyo Grande, which is 50 miles south, a bit past San Luis Obispo. His name is Nick, and it turned out we had a lot in common. He had recently decided to quit his job with a map company because he simply hated the 9-5 life. When he tried to resign, the owner asked him if he just wanted to do it 6-months out of the year- giving him spring/summer off. Good for him! So, he's off until October and was at San Simeon on an overnight bike trip. I built a nice fire from the extra wood people had left lying around, and we just chatted and watched the nearly full moon until midnight or so. A VERY enjoyable night.