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...

2/28/10: Watching the Wheels

People say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing,
Well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin,
When I say that I'm o.k. they look at me kind of strange,
Surely your not happy now you no longer play the game,

People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away,
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me,
When I tell that I'm doing Fine watching shadows on the wall,
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball?


I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll,
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go,

People asking questions lost in confusion,
Well I tell them there's no problem,
Only solutions,
Well they shake their heads and they look at me as if I've lost my mind,
I tell them there's no hurry...
I'm just sitting here doing time,

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll,
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go.


-Watching the Wheels
John Lennon

Once the bus finally got on the road, the ride was thankfully uneventful. After appearing utterly incompetent just a few days earlier, my nemesis driver pulled us into Albuquerque two-hours late on this Super Bowl Sunday, but still ahead of the approaching storm.

There was to be no word from Chris for nearly a week. The last I knew, he was 20-miles south of Tucson and struggling to get out of Arizona. About a week later, I learned that Chris had made it to El Paso Monday, then hit an epic wall. He remained stranded in El Paso for THREE NIGHTS! To me, this is astounding! In two years , I have never gone a full day without a ride...let alone two or three...across the river from Juarez-the most dangerous city in Mexico!

Naturally, he chose not to pontificate on the metaphysics after what had transpired in Phoenix, but he didn't need to. When I learned that the occupants of his latest lillypad had made a 1,000-mile round trip to "rescue" him, I had all I needed. Remember them signs? They're not always pleasant! When we chatted later there would be no mention of that!

Also, his rescue nearly wasn't. After driving 500-miles, his friends couldn't reach him because of his dead cell battery. In fairness, he apparently didn't know they were coming and thankfully they happened to spot him on the last pass before leaving. Hearing this sent me into hyper-observation mode; curious to see how this would affect him, and what the reality of Austin would hold.

As for me, the initial idea was to remain in Santa Fe just long enough to kick "The Crud", then either return to Slab City, or perhaps east to Florida for a bit of Spring Training, then Atlanta and Nashville to see friends.

What I hoped would be a week turned into three. Whatever it was would not let go! As March approached, I finally felt better, had found a Rideshare to Tampa, and made tentative "plans" (ha!) to leave the last week of February...

You've heard how "plans" and I get along, right?

2/6/10: Phoenix, AZ-Deja Vu

It was clear Saturday morning that I probably had contracted at least a mild case of bronchitis; my lungs were on fire. When I was young, I came down with something-bronchial about once every winter, but had avoided anything beyond chest colds for many years. My primary concern now was getting either Pneumonia or Swine Flu, which was making its rounds through Phoenix. Chris had given me some generic antibiotics, but in my eagerness to cut weight, I had deemed them unnecessary and mailed them home on Tuesday! If this WAS bronchitis, and I were to resume traveling from Phoenix, it would be Mucinex, rest, and simple hope that allied with my immune system.


Late in the afternoon, I received a call from Chris. Oscar had dropped him on the other side of Tucson, and Chris was already complaining that he wasn't making progress. No one appeared interested in stopping and he offered that he seemed destined to walk that night. While I sympathized, I was on the lookout for these "signs" we once talked so much about...and uninterested in spin. This sure as hell sounded like one, not just because of the circumstances, but also his tone.

As the day progressed, so did a sense of familiarity! It began to resemble Port Townsend, particularly at the end in September when my body trumped my ego's urge to keep going. I spent the afternoon updating and coming to the realization that Phoenix was done. There was no need for me to stick around just to "be sick." I was close enough to do that from home where I'd be better armed to fight this off. And, what was I going to do if I went back to Slab City with pneumonia? Cough, hack, and whine about it in the bivy? What, pray tell, would that prove? No, fuck that. My self esteem's fine! Despite my well-documented arrogance, I can handle humility and common sense!

This visit had also run its course as far as El Jefe was concerned. The bus was scheduled to leave Phoenix at midnight, so we had about an hour to hang out after he returned home from work. Start to finish, this had been a good visit and I hoped that Chris and I had left at least ideas, perspective, and encouragement with him. He probably would have let me recuperate there, but I wanted to bow out gracefully and thank him with my absence; let him have his space!

It slowly became clear what this Slab City excursion actually was, and it was NOT the beginning to 2010 as I had assumed. It was a preamble. The shaking loose old habits, crutches, and dormant mindsets. It acted as a rubbing-of-the eyes, and things felt a bit as though 2008 & 2009 themselves had collectively ended; that a whole new cycle had begun. Indeed.***

Who loves his metaphors?

Before I knew it I was at the shiny new bus station, and cursing Greyhound again. Naturally, the bus was 2-hours late before it even left, and guess what! It was the SAME driver as from Albuquerque to Phoenix with 10-days before! The very same who had left us sitting unattended for 2-hours at the closed Flagstaff terminal with NO explanation! WONDERFUL!

A snowstorm had closed I-40 east of Flagstaff, so there was yet another twist: my bus would instead be re-routed SOUTH on I-10 and through Tucson. That meant I would pass within yards of Chris, who I envisioned I would witness huffing down a frontage road in the middle of the night!

That never transpired, but there was one final piece of coincidental irony. One of the kids in the van going in to Niland to "sign up for government cheese" the day we left Slab City was on my bus and heading home to Virginia.

It far from earth-shattering but served as a useful, centering reminder: focus on the complete tapestry of the last ten days, not just the last 48-hours...

2/5/10: Phoenix, AZ-The Famous Final Scene

Thursday night's incessant sneezing turned into Friday morning's "Crud." I woke up with my throat killing me, and was collecting stuff in both my head and chest although other than that...I felt great!

When Chris had Oscared off Thursday, the idea was to connect Friday morning and figure out a time to meet at REI. After all, that was the flame to my Slab City Moth! The hipbelt on Chris's pack had gone to hell, and as mentioned, the rubber on the shoes Lynette had bought me had already begun separating from the leather, and I was going through the now-standard cycle of obsessing about weight and contemplating downsizing my backpack if they had a suitable model in stock. Yes, by the time we learned Chris was already there, it was obvious that hours of fun was to be had at REI! Literally.


By the time we left 2-hours later, I had my boots and Chris had his new pack. Even El Jefe had barely escaped buying one! Watching him go through the process reminded me of starting this process from scratch and having to learn everything about gear. I was actually a bit nostalgic for these days of discovery; the excitement and possibilities of "what if." Capture that, and you'll have Youth in a Bottle.

From there it was back to Jefe's for the afternoon where the three of us spent the next couple of hours chatting and philosophizing about some of the "why's" behind this way of life. It was nice, and Jefe seemed to eat it up; he was quite interested in what the two of us were doing. Physically, I was feeling progressively worse as the day went on.
Chris had set up another date with Oscar, which included a ride to Tucson (and toward San Antonio) sometime on Saturday. When Oscar called to let him know he was near, we shook hands, he walked off, and that was unceremoniously that. A slight, familiar-but-faded sense of missed opportunity hovered momentarily in the air, but I understood that what "could be" is quite different from what "should be", and most certainly is often completely foreign from "what is".

Jefe gave me an amused look as I snapped a photo of Chris walking off, but I clearly thought that this was probably it. The story had yet to be fully written but even then, immersed in the trees, I could see the forest well enough to understand what had happened over the past week.

Chris was off to his next mystical lillypad, and I was eager to hear how the events transpired on I-10 between Tucson & San Antonio, and then once he got there.

I still believe strongly in the things that he and I had supposedly agreed upon. Slab City, Quartzsite, and Phoenix had served to re-clarify and reinforce these things--the primary of which being that events tend to cooperate and work in unison FOR you if you're "on-track"; if you're synchronized, things just seem to "flow." These "coincidences" are strewn throughout this blog. I wanted to see what happened to Chris in the immediate future; to me, this would be an indicator if he was in fact tuned-in, or that he was pretending to resonate on a fabricated frequency...

2/4/10: Phoenix, AZ-Peasant Rage

ple·be·ian

adj.

1. Of or relating to the common people of ancient Rome: a plebeian magistrate.

2. Of, belonging to, or characteristic of commoners.

3. Unrefined or coarse in nature or manner; common or vulgar: plebeian tastes.

n.

1. One of the common people of ancient Rome.

2. A member of the lower classes.

3. A vulgar or coarse person.

---

the common people

---

plebeianism n.

plebeianly adv.

plebeian; pleb: In British, French, Irish, Australian, New Zealand and South African English pleb is a derogatory term for someone thought of as inferior, common or ignorant.




Lex and Val's legendary hospitality didn't end at their RV nor did our conversation's end with Wednesday. An eventful Thursday began with Val making breakfast and Lex continuing with his merciless shredding of an obsolete system, useless politicians, and a complicit, but increasingly restless society.

Most of Lex's rhetoric seemed to be directed toward Chris, which I found utterly amusing! Chris, to my knowledge, has little passion for politics and at last check, "held out 'hope' for Obama". Taking this into account, I found it odd that he was actually engaging Lex in these chats, although Lex did most of the talking and Chris plainly seemed to speak from Lex's established lead, offering nothing contradictory or original, other than proclaiming that Lex "should read Todd's blog." He was the congregation's "Amen!" to Reverend Lex's sermon.

For my part, I was again picking my spots and biting my tongue; generally comfortable within my familiar observer role; observing Chris as much as anything. He seemed to be enjoying the  experience; one whose pursuit seemed meaningless the night before. I also concluded that this Peasant Rage had taken phenomenon status over the last couple of days and was still trying to take its temperature and examine its source in Lex.

Keith

After Lex & John had left for work, we had another nice conversation with Val until their friend Keith arrived. Val had arranged for us to ride with him all the way to Phoenix as he was on his way to the airport to pick someone up.

Our stay with Lex and Val was barely 12-hours, but left an impression on me. It was yet another smack in the face, and legitimized this overwhelming sense of familiarity. Something was most definitely afoot in the desert southwest! The same as it had been on the Pacific Coast and Idaho in 2008, in various places and particularly up north last year, and now everywhere I seemed to look in '10. There was no "warm up"; 2010 had kicked me in the mouth almost immediately, beginning with the conversation Chris and I had had Sunday night in the desert.

Rather than take the relatively sterile I-10 into Phoenix, Keith decided it would be easier to get the two of us where we needed to go if he took US-60, meaning we'd get to see 120-miles of rural Arizona. I was happy with that! Keith was in his 70's, retired, and from Flint, Michigan. He escaped Michigan's ridiculous winters in Arizona.

The three of us talked about many things and Keith, notably, never bothered with "what ya gonna do when you're done?". Instead, he offered a glimpse into his mindset when he told of joining the military out of school, and later being glad he didn't "rush off to pick a career." He said he had no idea what he wanted to do and would have "just fucked off" in college had he not gone out to "live a little" first. I found it remarkable that this 70-year old man contradicted the establishment in favor of, "Live First!" He held that mantra tight, which gives me hope for myself...and others!

Keith was this "theme's" final example. Keith has witnessed Michigan's economic starvation firsthand, and while not affected as badly as some he, too, harbors a special sort of rage-also directed squarely at the government. He is yet another who's abandoned "party" affiliation, and discarded political dialectics. He is, like many, disgusted with Obama and the rest of the Democrats attempting to market and sell what I've rebranded "Insurance Reform" and deceptively selling it as being primarily in the "people's" interest. Keith sees thru Iraq & Afghanistan, wonders why Guantanamo is still open, and has a particular hatred for The PATRIOT Act, sarcastically wondering why "Obama hasn't repealed it yet" in wonderfully obnoxious tones! Soon enough, the conversation turned to something brought up by Lex the night before while I was on the phone; a conversation I had missed but a topic I liked: Demonstration!

Coalition X: A Rant

We began speculating about a massive cross-country, March of the Unemployed converging on Washington at about the time of the mid-term elections with the goal of forcing revocation of the PATRIOT Act and to "raise awareness" as to how much rage is really out there. Even the ENRAGED are scarcely aware of how much ANGER is pulsating just beneath the surface of American society. Don't be mistaken: It's NOT directed at Barack Obama, Sarah Palin, Nancy Pelosi, or even that greasy bastard John Boehner. Not specifically. It's directed at ALL OF THEM, COLLECTIVELY. It's not just a particular political party, IT'S THE GOVERNMENT AS AN INSTITUTION that's losing the "consent" of the governed! Read your Constitution if you need that put into perspective.

God help the politicians if the Plebs ever realize how powerful they are. The system has unwittingly built the opposition Army, and this could be the foundation of what I call, for lack of a better name, Coalition X: where the binding ingredient has NOTHING to do with race, background, or religion. The singular common bond would be simply: poor. The economically manipulated and oppressed; the realization that the American Dream has become something that, as Carlin said, "you have to be asleep to believe." With millions unemployed & without hope of getting their jobs back, and pissed about it, WHY NOT ORGANIZE? What else are they gonna do with their time?!? Trust that they'll be rescued by a government "that threw them overboard thirty-fucking-years ago?" Send resumes to India?

The time's long past for a timid "regress of grievances"; let the towns police themselves. When the "policing" turns into Establishment Thugs overstepping bounds and trampling rights, as it will, we'd show it. We'll have "embedded journalists" and thousands of tiny little camera phones... most with immediate access to the Internet! The philosophy worked in India and Alabama in the last century. Of course, in my opinion, this is all "best-case" and supposes that the tired, muddy masses will organize. All indications are that they won't. Collectively, we're the animal afraid to escape the zoo because he'd have to fend for himself; unchained prisoners of dependency and fear.

We all loved the idea, and we spent a good amount of time dwelling on the embryonic details until it became painfully apparent how far Chris and I have moved in different directions. When he began to speak from his predictable, redundant, politically correct place about keeping an eye on people in case of looting, I went from beyond disgusted to disdain. A million people? (We think big!) "How exactly would you do that? Wanna hire the Hell's Angels and repeat Altamont?" Demonstrations should be a bit messy, and should inconvenience a few. Otherwise, why not just take out a billboard?

Admittedly, I probably didn't hear him clearly and surely wasn't treating him fairly. After his first few words, for whatever reason all I heard was Wendy's silly Port Townsend Proclamation claiming that in the event of Armageddon, "there'd be no need for guns in Port Townsend because the community would come together." I've never fully recovered from hearing that utopian notion presented with a straight face and without protest!

Since reconnecting with Chris in '08 I've taken a hard right turn. I'm obviously fed up with Agenda Monkeys, "progressives", and now Utopians in particular. But, in a vacuum Utopians would provide a valuable service: surrendering goods without a fight.

[See later: Lambs to Wolves (2017)]

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!