2/3/10: Quartzsite, AZ-Preacher, Lex, & Val

Leaving the Oasis, we almost immediately had a ride into Niland. The folks running the Karma Kitchen were driving vanloads of people into town to sign up for "government cheese" and offered us a ride. In the van were some teenagers I had yet to see during my stay, and I found it rather odd to see these kids signing up for public services, but it didn't bother me in the least in fact I was happy for them! "Bleed em dry!"

I chuckled as I recognized that, so far, my metaphysical senses had begun the year subordinate to the political/social ones rather than overshadowing them, as was the case in '09. This was an interesting balance.



Chris and I made our way to the south end of town, and set up shop to see how we'd fare tandem-hitching on this state road. We figured if nothing came of it, we could catch the dollar-bus toward Brawley in an hour or two. I was just as curious to watch Chris as I was to see how we'd travel together-or if we'd even get a ride!

I had repeatedly heard how he "was in no hurry" now. After hearing him profess his love for Sit Down & Shut Up, and even his attempted hijacking of The Side Car, I wanted to see it for myself! I've told Chris (with annoying frequency) that I would love to see what happened to him if he wasn't always "running somewhere." Considering it was Wednesday and that he had originally wanted the starting gun to sound on Sunday, I was open-minded about the possibilities. This could be cool.

Niland

With that as a backdrop, we threw our thumbs in the air unsure of what to expect. I was amused at how easy it was to settle into hitching! It had been 5-months, but it was immediately an old hat. We didn't sit there too long before Christian pulled over on his way to El Centro. He was the perfect way to begin the trek toward Phoenix; he was very friendly and the conversation quickly turned to society and politics. Not long after he dropped us off in Brawley we would be in The Preacher's truck heading east toward Blythe... and the theme would become blinding.

Brawley, CA

The Preacher

The Preacher is from Texas, and yes, he IS a preacher. One who swears profusely and loves pot. He himself had just left the Slabs and was on his way to Quartzsite, Arizona before returning to Niland the next day. He quickly offered to take us all the way to Quartzsite instead of Blythe, and I began to wonder if we'd make Phoenix that afternoon. He had a small pickup with a cab, and Chris chose to ride in the back with his two dogs, who would provide entertainment themselves!

He professed to be a man of God, but I would categorize him as a borderline revolutionary: disgusted with everything Federal Government, Democrat AND Republican- and quite loud about it. He did little to conceal his disgust for law enforcement as we stopped at the Border Patrol checkpoint-- so they could look at us and ask if we were citizens. Here was someone as offended by this arbitrary "papers please" bullshit as me! It set off a firestorm of conversation that lasted all the way to Arizona. I got a kick out of this middle-aged redneck. He was another of the people I've met with regularity all over the country for nearly two-years. He was pissed off and no longer suffered official, disseminated bullshit. He has equal hatred for each political party and, like many more than some are comfortable in admitting, is ready to do something about it even if that "something" is just withdrawing his support.

As he laughingly pulled a handgun from beneath his seat immediately after passing thru Border Patrol, I thought about the distinctions between he and the hippies/ pacifists preaching peace, love, drum circles, and Communitarian Responsibility. If there's ever a vacuum, are these the factions competing to fill it? Smart money's on the one willing to fight for himself, even if that means slapping the wrong people from time to time. Sorry, hippies. In that world, you're prey.

I greatly enjoyed this ride thru the Imperial Dunes then across the Colorado River back into Arizona. I was glad it was Chris sequestered in the back and not me! When we finally detrucked in Quartzsite, Chris realized that this was the guy to whom Melissa had handed the bunker when she left. Small world.

Imperial Dunes, CA

Lex & Val

From there, it looked good for Phoenix. We had a few more hours of daylight, were at a very busy intersection, and considering the events of the day so far, (remember, it had begun at Slab City's Oasis Club) it seemed to be shaping up as one of the "memorable" ones.

Chris had made a curious decision however; one that seemed a bit out of character for him. Quartzsite happened to be the winter home of his friends, Lex & Val, whom he'd met on his walk and met up with in Boise last September. It appeared to me that he was again simply favoring the sprint at the expense of looking around. I didn't think much of it at first, after all they were his friends and it was his business. We tried both the exit ramp and the truckstop, but things were now more challenging.

We considered hitching separately and things suddenly felt a lot like the Iowa 80. At some point, I asked Chris about his decision not to call his friends, who had made a point to tell him where they were and to look them up if he happened through. His reasoning was, "I don't know if they got my email" or something. It seemed ridiculous not to at least call and leave a message, and I told him so. I handed him my phone and he gave them a call. A short time later, Lex & Val were at the truck stop to presumably go for coffee or something. After chatting for a few minutes, we were reacquainted (I had met them both at Lynette's in Boise) and they whisked us off to the RV park where they spend their winters insisting that BOTH of us stay for the night, despite the fact that their son was also living there.

With their dog and cat, it was crowded! Even with this obvious inconvenience, their hospitality was the thing of legend! We were offered showers, which after a week at the Slabs I pounced on. Then began the conversations. Care to guess the topic? (Hint: It wasn't American Idol.)

I had heard much about Lex and Val from Chris over the last 2-years. Lex had spent years riding horses across the country to Idaho and spent his summers there. I learned this night that they escaped the communists in eastern Europe decades ago with Lex escaping a Russian concentration camp as a child in Czechoslovakia, finding his way to the US, and essentially being enslaved by people HERE as a result! Val had a similar experience escaping Romania. Now retirement age, these two delightful people have worked hard and paid their dues only to be rewarded for their service to society much the same as everyone else: with a smack to the face and a struggle to keep afloat. Enter-- the chat.

Even by my standards, Lex is passionate. He's not shy about telling you what he thinks and, like everyone else I seem to run into: PISSED! He told us several times that being "out there" we "see things as they really are." I absolutely agree with that and have tried to explain it to dozens of people- usually to no avail. He got it with no solicitation.

Again, the theme held serve. I was witnessing venomous dissent; another call to tear it down. The difference here was that these were NOT radicals living out in the desert. These were not gun-totin' ultra-conservative separatists up in Montana. Here was a couple who should be enjoying retirement who instead have their adult son living with them as all three struggle to keep it going.

Like many others I have encountered, they did everything they were told and expected to do. And, for what? That question has NEVER been sufficiently answered. The pattern was undeniable. The cacophony getting louder.

As I curled up on the floor of their little RV and dozed off, I was getting an idea of what was happening. The Plebeians are stirring. Stirring despite being ignored; stirring independently of the Patricians. Once outside the media/ social bubble, you'd need to be blind and deaf not to notice. It also seemed apparent, based on the past couple of years and these familiar moments of human synchronicity, that things were aligning. I even pointed out to Chris that we had seemingly "combined our experiences." I now know what these significant events and people look like; this Wednesday seemed FULL of them and Chris had been part of it. All we had to do was relax and let it gel. The problem with that? The "we" part...

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!

2/2/10: Slab City-Deaf, Dumb, and Blind

Since 2008, there have been surprisingly few significant slip-ups when it comes to following that "Voice." I've been fortunate enough to catch myself at the last moment, or rescued by serendipity and subtle nudges from others. This was not to be the case this week. Mistakes would be made. They were significant. They were valuable. They were mine. All mine. If, while at Slab City, I had been focused and not creating my own doubt-induced Quixotisms, the next several days would look far differently than they shall instead lay out before you!


Over the winter, I had slowly lost my footing atop my foundation and my grip on the compass. Self-doubt cast a cloud of confusion and cost me the ability to both listen to and trust myself. There had long been a sense of stirring; even before the fact Slab City felt to be the site of significance. Endings or beginnings; not ones necessarily pleasant. The aroma of both foreboding AND excitement emanated around this visit, but being rusty, barely tuned-in, and clinging to sadly antiquated thinking, I based my observations upon lazy, short-sighted, and familiar assumptions- rather than staying grounded in reality and observing the obvious: fundamentals had been altered and flimsy foundations crumbled beneath the dead-weight of ego and rationalization. The remnants would be hastily pasted together using even more verbal gymnastics only to be quickly brushed aside by a swift, obvious metaphorical smack in the face. I'll clarify these thick sentences in time. For now, suffice it to say that this first week of February was both: an ending and a beginning. To the details...

I awoke immediately feeling quite guilty about barking at Kari the night before! That was, thankfully, put to rest when I was assured that she was indeed acting... I'll translate to: "unsavory." My impressions confirmed, I immediately felt much better. Kari, in fact, made her way over to visit Rael. She was smitten! Refusing to speak to anyone but Rael; her defiant display and the fabricated tension were both inappropriately amusing! Kari then announced, loudly, that she was off to presumably seek her intrepid adventure in Los Angeles. I figured this was the last I'd see of her. I was OK with that.

As Tuesday got underway, Chris hankered to get his "still not in a hurry" move-on, despite what appeared to be a blossoming situation. I on the other hand was NOT eager to leave! Slab City and I liked each other, and I thought highly of most of the people I'd met. At the time, this was secondary to the sense that there were interesting possibilities afoot with Chris, and I wanted to see them through.

The last time we had traveled together, outside of a night in Idaho, was way back in July at the Iowa 80. This ended with the disclosure that I was, literally, dreaming of punching Chris in the mouth. I wondered, had anything really changed? In the 3-full days I had been in the desert, the only noticeable changes in Chris were his new VisionQuest Narrative (now not going to Mexico), and instead of heading west, toward Denver or Port Townsend, he was running east toward treasures surely buried near San Antonio. Sure, he had stayed a couple extra days, but the efforts felt contrived and the results had little tangible effect. Rather than the actual experience being the texture, they appeared to be held as incidental at best; secondary. Useful only if confirming and/ or conforming to the pre-scripted scenario. Nothing deviating from the Heroic Epic would be suffered for long!

Don Quixote lives! Call me Sancho.

Around midday, Rael joined Chris and I on the 3-mile hitch into Niland where the two of us would presumably begin hitching toward Phoenix. I rationalized it away by pointing out that I could exchange my boots at R.E.I. The rubber had already begun separating from the leather, which WAS ridiculous considering how little wear they had, but it could have waited... for weeks if not months. I was simply trying to convince myself that it was a "sign" that the dead dog could still hunt. Behold: The Power of Bullshit! Damn windmills. We had a ride into Niland before even leaving Slab City.

Our first stop was Niland's library which is funded by Imperial County. The county, like the rest of the state, is insolvent. I learned of the county's fiscal folly because Tuesday is one of the two days their little library was open. And, big news: it wasn't to be that way for long. Earlier, a TV news crew appeared in town asking how the library's March closing would affect locals. Niland is a decrepit, dusty, dirty little place on the shores of the largest engineering snafu (The Salton Sea) in history. It has nothing to speak of, other than meth and its proximity to Slab City. I felt for these people losing their little library. You could see a resignation in the fact that Niland's residents really don't matter to anyone. At least they have meth! And panhandlers. One, a particularly aggressive and annoying tweeker.

With Chris checking the Internet, Rael and I headed to the little diner for lunch, where we were pleasantly surprised to again see the unnamed, congenial hottie from the night before. Our plan was to get a "real meal" at the diner, which Rael did, but by now I was realizing how much money I'd wasted. I decided to apply a new found discipline by depriving myself... of food. My idiocy is astounding.

Back at the library after an orange juice, root beer, and splashing warm running water (woohoo!) over my head while cursing the fact I had hair, I learned that there was extensive public transit running through Imperial County. Really? They can't keep this dumpy little library open, but I can hop a southbound bus to Brawley or even all the way to the BORDER at El Centro... AND FOR A BUCK? Well, shit. To hell with hitching! We concluded that we'd be better served getting up and taking an early bus on Wednesday. I was feeling frequent, and now-familiar twinges of dismay about leaving, so staying another night set nicely with me and delayed dealing with that little conflict and in the end provided me the opportunity to rationalize it away with, "at least there's one more night here."

The three of us had begun the hitch back to the Slabs, and imagine our surprise when Kari zipped by us, on her way TO Slab City... hours after her supposed exit to the big city! "What happened to LA?" we asked between laughs. It never occurred to me that she could have at least given Rael a ride, but almost immediately after she and her horn-highlighted passive-aggression sped by, we got a ride back with Kevin. I like that Kevin.

Not surprisingly, Tuesday came to a close at the Oasis around another fire. Kari apparently had trouble navigating to both LA and the cigarette store! She would periodically show up, bum a cigarette, sit there long enough to supposedly keep up appearances... despite saying NOTHING other than, "give me a cigarette"... then vanishing until she needed another. I'm glad I quit smoking; another "go fuck yourself" would have likely found its way into conversation.

The three of us returned to Rael's spot, setting the clock for 6am. Wednesday would be even more eventful; one of those days that set tones which would resonate and rearrange things down the calendar...

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!

1/31/10: Slab City-Sitting Down

The Sit Down & Shut Up (SDSU) idea is simple to comprehend, and maddeningly difficult to follow. It's basically relinquishing control and trusting things to work out as they should, without our interference. It's also having faith that eventually hindsight will make things apparent. For me, these moments rarely seem obvious: forest thru the trees.

I first feebly tried articulating this idea after its practice led to a "standing-down" of sorts which led, directly, to meeting my brother, Mike. In many ways, the time between September and January was an extended period of "SDSU." I could not comprehend why I was returning home in September. I just knew that everything seemed to push me there. As is usual, looking back it seems glaringly obvious! Had I thrown a ego-tantrum and insisted on pushing forward to show off or "achieve" something, the remainder of 2009 would look much different.


I wasn't sure what to expect waking up Sunday. Chris had tinkered with the idea of remaining in Slab City for another day or two to check things out and give an opportunity for things to happen. To his credit, as Sunday began he seemed content to just... relax. That's exactly what we did-- reading, writing, and occasionally chatting. All day. We had quite a nice spot in the sun; so nice in fact that we never left! I wondered to myself if that was a good idea, but had a difficult time motivating myself to get off my butt!

Toward the end of the afternoon, we were given a little nudge- in the form of another Slabber. We were planted partially concealed between some bushes- directly across the road and in front of his spot. When he finally noticed us, he wandered over, with a buddy, and asked, "What the fuck's all this?" claiming he wanted to see who was set up in front of his RV- as though he owned the entire lot!

Chris's Spidey Senses also blared and it was time to leave our little nest. There's a not-so-fine line between anticipating the good in people and playing the part of prey.

Around dusk, we went overland through the desert, deciding to pay Kevin a visit. It was well after dark by the time we arrived to the sound of his dogs and a flashlight in the face wondering who was out here wandering around! Kevin offered to introduce us the next morning to some people who may offer insight into the destinations of the seemingly never-ending string freight trains. The tracks are on the near edge of Niland; too convenient to ignore completely. Chris and I found a spot in the desert between Kevin's camper and Salvation Mountain, built a small fire, and spent the next several hours chatting beneath a bright, ringed moon. I realized for the first time just how trying the last few months had been for Chris and how much they had challenged his ideas; just as they had for me.

1/30/10: Slab City Limits

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

Slab City Critter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abstraction to Action.

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

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."

1/29/10: Slab City, CA

El Jefe and I finally hit the road for California's Imperial Valley in the early afternoon. Five-hours later, after leaving Quartzsite, the Colorado River, Blythe, and 20-foot cacti behind, we were treated to a stunning I-10 descent into the Imperial Valley and Indio/ Coachella, before hugging the eastern shore of the Salton Sea to the scuttled settlement of Niland... home to Slab City.

The Imperial Valley from Above

The Salton Sea

Slab City is difficult to describe to someone with no frame of reference. It's nearly impossible to explain to the institutionalized. It was futile for me to tell Jefe what to expect, since I wasn't exactly sure myself beyond common basics. Slabbers often describe it as the "last free place in Amerika." They leave the term "free" intentionally ambiguous, but I quickly learned that it's "free" in both rent and state-of-mind. It's the real, unfiltered and raw freedom of The Jungle: with a definite sense of self-responsibility/ determination. The Zoo's caretakers are absent; there's no one to tend to you, your shit, or anything. There's no one to pay to do it, either. There are no utilities. No running water. No sanitation. No amenities of any kind... unless you consider empty concrete WWII-era training-bunkers an "amenity." In the Mojave they're a luxury; ones to be arranged for and reserved!

Coming in, I knew that primarily RVers occupy this abandoned Navy base in the winter months, biding time until the weather up north becomes tolerable... and the desert turns into a 120-degree summer furnace. I also expected a large degree of old-west lawlessness and was prepared to find everything from Rainbow types to fugitives on the run. The opportunity to see this mix of half-million dollar RV's & Mickey & Mallory Knox greatly appealed to me! I was curious to see if a collection of people could coexist in an unregulated, unmonitored environment. Or, whether the "regulated monitoring"/ expectations & separateness would prove to be the source of the any "expected clash." Was the common thread here something other than collecting wealth? Was wealth even a factor at the "Last free place in Amerika?" How, or would people organize themselves? What would this relatively primal, organic community look like?

I received a text from Chris late Thursday afternoon saying he had already arrived, met some people, and was helping Leonard Knight repair Salvation Mountain which was damaged in the storms of the week before. Leonard's at least in his late 70's, has been a Slabber since 1984, and become a kind of face of Slab City because of his now-famous tribute to "God's Love" standing as the unofficial gateway. He and his "Mountain" have been in various documentaries, and Chris and I were introduced to him the same as most folks over the past few years: Into the Wild. Since Jefe and I arrived later than expected, we'd have to wait until Saturday to meet Leonard and see his folk art icon.

Jefe and I met Chris at a small music stage, and after people watching while politely enduring some really bad music, Chris guided Jefe's truck out in to the desert and a bunkers occupied by Adam & Melissa. This would be Friday's camp. Chris had met them at Salvation Mountain and if memory serves, they recruited him to help clean/ repair while he was there. In typical Chris fashion, he now obviously felt an odd sense of obligation to Leonard although to my knowledge Salvation Mountain, particularly its disrepair, had nothing to do with his visit to The Slabs. After having just written my diatribe on the Red Cross, this reeked of...something!

Adam & Melissa were from the LA area, and interesting characters; Adam and I even shared a C-grade celebrity acquaintance who switched to TV/ film after we worked in radio together. We were joined around the cozy fire by Kevin: one of the more interesting characters I've met to date and one who would recur throughout my stay. Kevin lived south of Gallup, New Mexico and was at The Slabs to essentially use his role within Social Service's to provide a buffer from the state, and to help Leonard- who by most accounts was moving deeper into the Southern Hemisphere of Sanity- after starting only near the Tropic of Capricorn! As Kevin described it, they were providing team "assisted living" to Leonard so he could stay and continue working on his Mountain. There were several people who appeared to play a role, with Kevin acting as Leonard's "right hand" until Leonard "got sick of him" after 3-months... which happened like clockwork. Kevin now operated behind the scenes helping whoever was now awaiting their own 3-month termination!



Kevin is one of those interesting road dogs that you meet every so often, but are all too rare. He reminded me a great deal of Don Dufner and Alex Sardine in that he has a McGuyveresque quality about him; he could seemingly make and DO anything! At first I found him annoying because he seemed to think himself as The Perpetual Authority. The problem with my initial assessment was... that... he... apparently... is! He had insight on sailing etc. and was a historian on the Salton Sea area, which is a fascinating story in and of itself even separate of The Slabs.

Jefe was interesting to watch as well. He was battling conflicting ideas surrounding the now-familiar-to-the-reader conflict between safety/ security & freedom. He seemed to enjoy sitting out in the desert's dirt, and I believe began to see and understand that... yes, people DO actually do this in varying degrees. As we went to bed, there was some question as to whether he would stay another day, or head back to the comforts of civilization.

The brightest full moon of the year illuminated the desert floor as El Jefe sacked out in the truck while Chris and I continued to re-acquaint after not seeing each other since 9/19; four-plus months had passed since Port Townsend. While interesting changes had taken place with each of us, some things will never change...

Flash-free Moon Shadows