3/28- 31: A Weekend with Jack

The next to the last weekend in Santa Fe went as expected. Instant recall from September’s foray with Jack.

Jack is quite a character. He is now in his early 60’s and is an aging old- school hippie with long curly, graying hair. He still wears typically ripped black (always-black) denim jeans, and is lucky if he weighs 140. He is from the east coast originally, and still talks with what I define as a New York accent… complete with the New York attitude.

He was quite the activist, protesting the Viet Nam until some Pennsylvania rednecks fired some guns his way, got involved in the Civil Rights Movement, and even knew Jimi Hendrix, among others. Quite a remarkable history Jack has… great stories. He describes the 60’s in two ways: Pre 1965, and post- ’65. The “real 60’s” he implies happened before the Peace, Love, Dope era. He was involved in consciousness to some degree, and says it faded with mass- movement; when the hippies became pop- culture. Sound familiar, anyone?

Jack reminds me of the stereotypical troubled genius, and of Eric in a few ways, but is NOTHING like him beyond the fact that he likes to talk social issues. Jack knows his shit. He knows politics, finance, and sociology… with a depth and detail I have not seen since Michael Corbin. And, he can tie it all together. I was a bit skeptical in September, until I realized that many of the predictions he made have happened and our conversations have made me realize how hard of a “right turn” I have made ideologically.

His prediction for the future? Cataclysmic comes to mind. The future is never bright for a docile, compliant, unquestioning population, and history bears that out. It’s quite disturbinging how many of these so-called liberals, who were screaming about civil liberties not a year ago, have become “Political Chickenheads”, chanting, “Hope…Change...” in lockstep with their handlers. People get the government they deserve, and quite honestly, I am beginning to believe that it is over for you. When the government is trying to outlaw growing YOUR OWN FOOD complete with the Adam Sutlarian scare tactics, and the hottest topic is American fucking Idol? You deserve your cage, and so will the new generation of vassals bred not to think. For the rest of us? Well, we hear a lot from the Left about freedom FROM religion; what about freedom FROM government?

Although I suspect he would prefer another adjective, Jack is also a perfect case study in what has happened to the Baby Boomers, and how some of them exist in social Limbo; borderline hypocrisy. Sometime, in his own words, he realized that living his ideals was not going to sustain him into old age. As with my ex- landlord, Lawyer Bob, he talks lovingly about some aspects of the 1960’s, but was co-opted by a lust for money.

While Lawyer Bob openly flaunts his wealth (living in Christy Brinkley’s old home) , Jack loves to try to impress with offhanded commentary concerning how much rent he pays, what he paid for his truck, what a collectors piece is worth, etc., etc. He lives simply, but still loves verbally displaying his wealth as much as the person driving a Lexus does visually. Half the fun of knowing Jack is noticing his contradictions. He is very health conscious about the chemicals he puts into his body, which is VERY “Santa Fe”, but also still smokes pot…while deriding me for eating drinking Coke and smoking my Pall Malls.

Unfortunately, this move did not end on a positive note, and we each share some blame for this. Jack lacks people skills. I lack patience, especially now. I began to tire of his “interpersonal style”, and at the end of the day Tuesday, after the move was completed, I told him that he “was getting on my fucking nerves” and that I did not want to work more than 2-3 hours on Wednesday. This after a few rather loud displays of displeasure during the course of the day in response to his impatience and inability to convey direction.

Just like last year in the two weeks before I left, I have no tolerance for any perceived bullshit, and the fact that I was curious as to how Chris was coming along getting on the road Tuesday made it much worse. I tried to make it clear that I would still like to get together with him when Chris gets here, but I am not at all convinced that will happen!

Meanwhile, still no word from Chris about his departure since Sunday, and I was quite curious what was going on. We had a long conversation Sunday about the “departure philosophy” and how oftentimes the hardest thing to do on a voyage is... leave.

3/23- 27: April Looming

The Final week of March was a story of trial & error, decisions, waiting for things to play out, some surprises and a futile attempt to paint incomplete pictures.

Chris had begun to wrap things up in Denver. His last day at the coffee shop was on the 27th, and he had slowly begun the process of becoming homeless. As his last day approached, the trip began to move from something abstract to reality, much more so for him obviously, since he was due to leave on the 31st. There has been so much speculation over the months, now it is becoming real. This put our minds into high gear of course, and with the expected flooding of the Red River in North Dakota, we tinkered with the idea of scrapping the “east coast first” notion, heading toward Fargo and helping with sandbagging and cleanup efforts. Time would be of the essence however, and after a night of contemplation, we both came to the same conclusion: we would be rushing. North Dakota will wait its turn.

Somewhere around the 20th, I surprisingly got a call from Jack, who I had helped move shortly after returning last year. His lease was up with the end of March, and wanted me to help him again. He pays well, and has a lot of stuff, and again, came along at the right time! He needed to be out of his house by the 31st, so we penciled in Saturday- Tuesday to get him moved. Before we started, he asked me to stop by to “discuss some things”. There was a possibility of a business trip to California immediately after the move, in the first week of April. Jack is sort of an antiques dealer, and there were people in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Sacramento that he wanted to connect with, and needed someone simply to ride along and “help out”. Paid, of course. The thought of making money to take a road trip sounded good! At that point, he had yet to locate a place in Santa Fe, and was even contemplating returning to New Hampshire, and in that case, we talked about Chris and I riding all the way with him… again dramatically altering the plans we had (sort of) made.

This was a flashback to Fort Morgan ‘08. All these plans are ultimately useless. My initial idea last summer was to aim toward Nebraska, get adjusted, then head north and west toward Portland from there. I never got out of Colorado of course, as though my path was blocked by tornadoes. That led to no small amount of frustration as I tried and tried to “make it happen”. In the end, I wound up on the other side of the mountains and state, in Glenwood Springs, with a nice lesson that has managed to hold on in varying degrees: Plans are nice things to occupy your mind, but the reality will never look like I pictured!

After many trials, I finally answered the backpack question: It’s Elmo: flexibility over minimalization. It seems unlikely, at least for the first few weeks, that I will be able to have a load of less than 50 pounds with a full supply of water. I believe Booger would have been great over the warmer months, when I can get away with fewer clothes, but with the likelihood of repeating this cool- weather scenario in the fall, I decided on the higher volume pack with the better suspension system. I may be complaining in July about how EMPTY the pack is, but for now, it’s smart. I had grown rather attached to Booger, making the decision a bit harder than it should have been! That’s a funny thing about things like packs, shoes, tents etc., they become like family after awhile.

With the money from Jack coming, I also decided to get a higher end bivy, posting my military surplus on Craigslist. (Still available if you want it!) I could make it work, but the fact that it has no mosquito netting “bugs” me (ha!), especially going east. There are next to NO insects out here, at least of that variety, so last summer I was happy sleeping outside in just my sleeping bag. I only recall TWO mosquitoes the entire time I was gone. It is a different story out east, and there is a lot more rain to deal with. Plus… I can always return it!

As the last full week of March closed, things were continuing to shape up quite nicely in just about every way. Chris was closing his apartment out on Tuesday 4/1, and I was going to spend the last days of March padding my wallet. Nice!

Plato's Thamus & The Illusion of Wisdom

This is one of my favorites, again from Plato. It's found in the beginning of a fascinating book, Technopoly by Neal Postman. The book questions whether technology, or at least "too much technology" is a positive... and if man will (has?) become dependent to the point of haplessness. It may seem an odd entry for this particular space, but in reality this is one of the strings of thought that drive me. Victims of comfort; caged by fear.

The last line in this little story is particularly thought provoking. How many people are full of disjointed "information", and confuse (or advertise) this as "wisdom"? In reality, most are nothing simply well- trained parrots. Polly can squawk "E=MC2!" all month, that doesn't mean she knows a thing about relativity...

Enjoy a classic- comments welcome.

Source: Technopoly by Neil Postman, New York: Vintage Books, 1993, pp3-4.

You will find in Plato's Phaedrus a story about Thamus, the king of a great city of Upper Egypt. For people such as ourselves, who are inclined (in Thoreau's phrase) to be tools of our tools, few legends are more instructive than his. The story, as Socrates tells it to his friend Phaedrus, unfolds in the following way: Thamus once entertained the god Theuth, who was the inventor of many things, including number, calculation, geometry, astronomy, and writing. Theuth exhibited his inventions to King Thamus, claiming that they should be made widely known and available to Egyptians. Socrates continues:

Thamus inquired into the use of each of them, and as Theuth went through them expressed approval or disapproval, accordingly as he judged Theuth's claims to be well or ill- founded. It would take too long to go through all that Thamus is reported to have said for and against each of Theuth's inventions. But when it came to writing, Theuth declared, "Here is an accomplishment. my lord the king, which will improve both the wisdom and the memory of the Egyptians. I have discovered a sure receipt for memory and wisdom." To this, Thamus replied, "Theuth, my paragon of inventors, the discoverer of an art is not the best judge of the good or harm which will accrue to those who practice it. So it is in this; you, who are the father of writing, have out of fondness for your offspring attributed to it quite the opposite of its real function. Those who acquire it will cease to exercise their memory and become forgetful; they will rely on writing to bring things to their remembrance by external signs instead of by their own internal resources. What you have discovered is a receipt for recollection, not for memory. And as for wisdom, your pupils will have the reputation for it without the reality: they will receive a quantity of information without proper instruction, and in consequence be thought very knowledgeable when they are, for the most part, quite ignorant. And because they are filled with the conceit of wisdom instead of real wisdom they will be a burden to society.

3/10- 22: Meet Elmo

The pace of things, while not apparent on the surface, is quickly accelerating.

Upon my return from Denver, I discovered that the community medical clinic where I am having my dental work done is in the vortex of the state budget crisis. On March 1, they tripled the cost of crowns that are the finishing touches on a typical root canal. Since I need TWO of them, it's obvious I will not have these done; at least not to completion. They finished the filling work last week, so now I have to decide if I get the root canals done sans- crowns, or let them go until they actually start to hurt, which could be a month or a year. I have 2 appointments scheduled between now and 4/6… we’ll see. They're in the midst of staff/ hour cuts, and may possibly even close. In that light, my tooth problems seem marginal, eh?

Booger also now has an big brother who is trying to steal his glory. Meet Elmo. I picked him up at REI (partially out of boredom and...) because I became concerned that Booger may in fact be a bit small. After loading him with food, Booger weighed in at 52 pounds, a scant three pounds below his comfort rating. This was with a minimalist of warm clothing, and not including a full compliment of water.

Elmo is the same model I used last year, a Gregory Palisade, and nearly the same size as Blue. (Listed @ ci: Fucking Huge) Plus, his beefier suspension system rates at 70#. The last week has been packing, repacking, weighing, and trying out both packs. I need to decide by the end of the week what to do, but it’s looking more and more like Booger may be wiped on the backseat of oblivion…

The beautiful thing about REI is that they have a no- questions return/ exchange policy; even a year after purchase. I legitimately tried the “buy local” bullshit, which now comes complete with the desperate retailer- in- a- depression guilt- trip: ”We’re in this together, your tax dollars support the community!” After haggling at the “local” shop to finally get the “three days they would graciously give me to decide” on an Osprey Argon, I decided that I was getting the equivalent of "jack- shit" for having my tax dollars stay in the “community”. I would rather spend money where they practice, you know, customer service rather than “You OWE it to us!” salesmanship. Progressive Pretension again; these douche bags are their own worst enemy. I will not be too devastated when REI finally crushes them. They are on their own… like the rest of us.

Chris had some slight dental- drama of his own, being unable to get an appointment scheduled for his filling in Denver, so he set one here for April 7th. That makes things a bit more complete in the sense that we now have a hard- date for him to be in New Mexico. All that was know for sure prior to that was he was done at the coffee shop 3/27, and out of his apartment 3/31. Now we could begin the dialogue about when we could leave Santa Fe, and have it mean something. We tentatively set 4/11 as the latest we would be on the road, but as usual, the fates has shown the folly of “planning” …

Chris the Friar - An Introduction

The burning question in my head lately has been why I dropped out of film years ago. Not in a regretful way. I do miss aspects of that lifestyle and industry, and I was certainly doing well, but more in the same way one misses a city or town you moved away from. To go back would be returning to a ghost town in which the good aspects dissipate as soon as you arrive to the bad aspects you'd forgotten about. You'd just be starting all over again rather than returning anywhere.

I've moved often enough to know the reality of that. This Friary here that Todd likes to refer to is my 34th apartment since my first in 1994, and that's not including the tent I lived in for seven months or the other places I've sauntered off to for extended periods of time. The question of why I quit is more of an articulation I've been working on for my own reference rather than to spout it in some banal conversation about using my degree and expanding my ever questionable potential.

In the past I've answered this by saying any of the following:

- I was seeing my future start to be consumed by coddling to coke-addled producers.
- The bigger money sets looked like the fun had been stripped away that I enjoyed on small sets.
- I saw my entire life being consumed by film; whether working, networking, or just relaxing it was always movies and nothing else.
- Everyone in the industry seems to find themselves in the category of "back stabber" or "the betrayed".
- I had a fall out with a close friend that ended all my interest in the industry.

All of these are vague half-truths that really aren't actual reasons at all, but seemed good enough to start some spin off conversation that drifted away from that topic.

Today I was wandering around Denver and I finally hit a reason that seemed very true. I didn't have anything to say anymore at the time that wasn't already being said. My second year at SVA I had an amazing writing class and became quite good friends with the teacher, Joan. Through that class, amongst a lot of other writing I really am proud of, I managed to push out the main thing that had really been aching my brain. It was a very tight friendship/romantic obsession that completely disintegrated literally within the last hours of high school. It gnawed on me for 6 years afterward before I was fully able to reconcile it. Much of that had to do with the script I wrote; producing it, bringing the actors through the mindsets of the characters, and finally shooting it twice over two years with two different sets of actors seemed to do the trick.

Once all of that was done, so was I, and I steadily retired into the world of coffee shops and travel excursions to recoup. A year and a half after my last set I set off walking across the US as a way to grant me time to work out where to go next after film since it seemed better than languishing in coffee shops. I went through two girlfriends and a cat, traveled about 3,200 miles entirely on foot, and felt far more alive than I ever had before in my life.

As the West Coast approached, I saw the return to standard living as inevitable and mentally prepared myself for that. Debates raged in my head of whether or not I was escaping life or finally delving into it. Whether living on the road like I had been was a viable way to live or would I be dropping into avoidance if I tried to make that a permanent lifestyle. Over the interim in Denver I read On the Road and Into The Wild and didn't like the idea of becoming another Kerouac or McCandless. Kerouac just seemed like a completely self-absorbed asshole, irrespective of himself and everyone else, and McCandless seemed consumed by a disdain for his past and endlessly running from it. It was the latter I was most afraid of becoming since our lives seemed so much the same in many ways.

In the end I went back to Denver where I'd started nesting in my wintering phase of The Walk and tried to pick up where I'd left off with an idea to open a coffee shop of my own. At that point everyone told me I should turn that blog into a book, or get back into film with it in the form of a script. You'd think after an experience like that I'd have something to say, but it still all seemed very conventional. As a book I saw it optimally ending up as good bathroom reading after a full meal. I'd read other people's books on walking like Newman and Jenkins, as well as Krakauer, Kerouac, and Hunt who did have more impressive points than the simplicity of the journey. After all my touting of quitting film for self preservation the last thing I was going to do was exploit the one thing I was obnoxiously proud of to make myself feel "all growed up and careerful". It was an experience for me and the people who were reading along at the time only and I knew it... and that kinda sucked.

So that brings us back to what is the idea behind wondering why I skedaddled from a seemingly rising career in something I honestly did love doing? The honesty behind that question has been what interests me more than the actual answer itself. My fears have lied in what others have often accused me of which is a fear of success, fear of responsibility, and/or fear of commitment. These are good standard stereotypes to work from, like a handy tool for the soul.

A year ago I returned from a trip to Europe with a driving desire to make a commitment to settling in and finally set up my coffee shop and community center I've been plotting and planning internally since I was about five. This was when Todd and I reconnected and he started going on and on about his yearning to travel. My apartment, as many of you know, then became known as The Friary as he established it as a centralized nerve center to come and go from as he dragged up memories of my old Walk. Continually he'd berate me that I was fooling myself about settling in and that busting just under the surface was my desire to step out again and wander about some more.

Dangerous heart strings were these in which he'd tug. He was right to see that I did still have much more travel in me, but the need to do something with it rather than simply drift was the hesitation that continually frustrated his efforts. In addition to this I was finally digging in to Denver. I was finding the home I'd been after since the loss of film and my New York life I'd left behind almost a decade ago. My time of retirement was ending and I was finding the need to really do something again rather than simply putter away in coffee shops and float from city to city.

As Todd came and went last summer, and we had all of our geek out late night philosophizing over travel, a notion really did start coming together; not just with he and I, but with just about all of my friends and family. If you look over his posts from last summer you see him go on about this idea of synchronicity that we were mulling over. At first the idea was stuck on the coincidences that happened in travel. He had examples, I had examples, my grandfather used to talk about it all the time, and its often a universal nod of agreement among other rovers when it comes up in conversation as one of those weird things that seem to happen.

Toward the end of last year, though, it seemed as if everything was starting to tie together, and all of it was pointing blatantly toward exploring this idea more fully. I had been under heavy credit card debt the entire year and had decided not to make any 100% decisions until it was paid off. My roommate finally came through with three months back rent the day before New Years Eve which wiped that debt out. On my way home from dropping that off in the bank I finished the book I was reading on the bus so I popped into a book store on a whim. What I found was a book that, within the first few pages, solidified everything for me to being gung ho on jumping into a pack with a mission.

The book was Many Mansions, by Gina Cerminara, and it gave very good theories on a lot of this synchronicity stuff we'd been talking about, among a host of possible explanations to things I've long sought further reasoning for. These went from my Christian Science upbringing, that I'd fallen out of, and healings I'd experienced, to my spirit channeling great-grandmother whose "spirit regular" reappeared some 80 years later to my mother through a completely different medium (long story). The evidence for these theories are primarily based off Edgar Cayce's readings in the early part of the 20th century and the first chapters are aimed at giving credible reasons as to why we should listen to him at all. Take me for a cultist or a half-wit all you like, but from my experiences the book's theories held a lot of resonance with me.

These were the actual things I was interested in exploring, and setting off in a backpack to clear my head of outside concerns like rent and bills seemed like the perfect solution. The onset of this economic free fall actually encouraged me more that this was the perfect time to do this. Other things in my family were all coming together toward this venture, and suddenly last month friends I haven't heard from in fifteen to twenty years started showing up making a dotted line along the East Coast where Todd and I have been thinking of heading first.

From my end of it, the feeling of heading to the east is one of recollecting all the close old friends and reopen those lines of communication, before heading west again to begin the actual exploration. My parents in the northeast both seem like that rest-and-reflect turning point before heading west to Michigan and Todd's family, then finally to Washington where my sister is. Oddly, Todd, who has never met my sister, agrees with me that she seems like a significant part of this trip as well, but we don't really have any idea as to how.

The strange part of this whole endeavor is that once this angle of the trip appeared around New Years the idea that I was leaving Denver stopped feeling like I was leaving it. My resistance to Todd continually getting at me to give in and travel stemmed from the idea that I didn't want to give up this home I'd finally made again after years of feeling adrift. I've found a really close friend in my co-worker, Angela, among others who I've known over the years of coming and going since 2000, but mostly stopped seeing this stop as a stepping stone to somewhere else. Somehow, chucking my stuff in storage this time and saddling off once more for a completely undetermined amount of time feels only like a temporary excursion to look into something pressing, even though talk has gone from months into the years category.

We shall see, but I think this post has gone on long enough. So there you go, that's my introduction of myself.

3/9: Booger, Blue and a couple of Bivys

Like a boat, one of the most important things when backpacking is naming your pack. Chris had named his “Rommelton” and “Patches” during his cross- country, but I had neglected naming the Gregory I used last summer… seemingly content with “Heavy Fucker”. Ironically, my old Coleman external- frame even has a name: “Molly.” I bought her in Denver, just a few blocks from “Unsinkable” Molly Brown’s house, and she seems to stick around when everything else goes, just like Molly on the Titanic.

Before Chris had decided to use the Kelty, he was tinkering with an army surplus pack he dubbed “Che.” I liked that! While not willing to go with the obvious “Fidel”, at least for the pack, I had tentatively decided on “Raul.” With Chris now using “Ol’ Blue” (the Kelty), I needed a new name.

When I bought my new pack I thought the

coloring would be quite a bit darker than it actually is; it is in fact blatantly snot- green. Snot- green marketed as “bamboo.”

Snot…

Booger!

Now, rarely do I crack myself up. However, I confess when I saw the

“Revenge of the Nerds”character in my head I nearly drove off Colfax. “Booger” it is. “Booger” & "Ol’ Blue.”

After being up late, we slept late. We had a vague idea of places to do the overnight test and decided just to drive somewhere rather than the original “plan” of loading up and walking. Time was now NOT on our side, and we both know we can walk.

Cherry Creek State Park is actually IN Denver, but you would never know it once you get there. I know from my “bike tour” that there are plenty of places to stealth inside, and that we would not be hassled… at all. The temperature was 30- degrees cooler than Sunday hovering around 40 and windy too. As I told Chris, I really have NOTHING to prove to myself by needlessly freezing by ass off. Considering there was snow in the forecast, at least with the car, I could take extra clothes if needed! If you are unfamiliar with how I feel about the cold… hang around for a while.

With that in mind, we finally got out of the house at around 1:00 or so, went to Chris’s bank, then to King Sooper’s to get some experimental food… including jars of baby food.

Yes. Baby food.

It is CHEAP and full of all the nutrients that these little monkeys need to sprout efficiently. Big monkeys can use it too… We also combined ideas, with Chris suggesting Hamburger Helper, of course without the hamburger. The plan was to return to The Friary to Ziploc some oatmeal, which is apparently going to be our staple. AND we were eager to try out a brass, alcohol- stove that my friend Steve had sent from Michigan. I had NO idea how to use it-- until we fired it up Sunday night. HOLY CRAP! It boiled a pot of water in something like two- minutes! AND alcohol is a HELL of a lot cheaper than fuel canisters for my MSR Whisperlite. Steve ol’ pal… you saved us a ton of money. Thanks!

You would realize our geekitude had you seen our reaction to that little piece of burning brass. Thank God, there is no physical evidence of it.

After King Sooper's, it was off to his coffee shop to caffeine up when my phone rang. It was the dentist.

I had asked them to put me on the cancellation list hoping to expedite the appointments I needed for fillings and root canals. Even getting ONE squeezed in would potentially get me on the road 2- 3 weeks quicker. I knew that there was a slight chance I would have to bug out of Denver early, but it was worth that risk and the hassle if it happened.

It happened.

If I wanted that appointment, I had to be in Santa Fe by 4:30 the next day (Tuesday). I snatched it up. That instantly changed things. Not only the Denver trip but also the overall timescale. As I contemplated the possibilities, it seemed more and more plausible that rather than late April, or May… I may indeed be on the road close to the beginning of next month. There is nothing to base that on, other than one canceled appointment, but I mentioned that I still had a rather strong feeling that I would be out there… soon.

Time for a revision of the immediate; overnight now was not feasible.... FIELD TRIP! I suggested that we head out of the city and go east… trying to avoid my nemesis: COLD! I hate the cold, remember? Chris was pretty set on getting into the mountains though, and honestly that sounded good to me too since I had not been up there in a couple years.

We quickly decided to head to one of my favorite spots, near Guanella Pass of US-285. Shalain and I had been camping there, and I love the seclusion. There is a campground to park the car… and nothing else but Three Mile Creek.

It was close to 3:00 when we got on the road toward Bailey, and it’s about 80- miles one way. With daylight savings however, we had an extra hour to play with, and plenty of time if it was just a dry- run.It felt great to get up that way again, and Chris enjoyed getting out of the urban sprawl into the mountains that have been calling him.

We found the campground, gathered our packs, and headed up the dirt road that connects 285 with I-70 and Georgetown 25- miles to the north. That was a remarkable feeling. Long overdue. It was as though all was right in the universe again; the pack was on and I was out in the woods looking for a place to sleep. There was that distinct and familiar sense of honest perspective. It was also the first steps Chris and I had taken together, despite the common interest and our own experiences. I still find it ironic that this was also a true test- drive for the new two- person dynamic!

It was probably in the low- mid 30’s at the higher elevation, and there was still snow where the shadows fall in late afternoon. Suddenly, the cold didn’t bother me… odd, eh?!? We began to revive our stealth camping senses again, and checked out places that we “would possibly use” if we were actually out there. One was a rocky overhang that was almost like a cave into the ridge… that would shield us from falling rock. Others had obviously had the same idea judging by the tin cans and smoke- stained rock.

After perhaps another hundred yards we found a little clearing next to the river that was also beneath road level, thanks to the river. No way would ANYONE see us there unless we built a bonfire. That was not on the agenda.

As we began to climb down, I failed to notice some ice from prior snowmelt, and fell on my ass and, more importantly, my wrist. A friendly reminder that "Yes, Todd, you need to pay attention to what the hell you’re doing! Remember?” The funny thing? My ass or wrist wasn’t my tumbling- concern; getting Booger dirty was! Pathetic.

From there, it was fun and games. We dug out the bivys & sleeping bags to test what kind of clearing

and spacing we would need as compared to a tent. We also got back in the habit of getting pictures, and were ultimately, it seems to me, just ENJOYING OURSELVES. After I climbed inside the bivy (who needs a name, but I refuse to say, "I got inside Fidel.” just seems… wrong), a sense of joy came over me. I believe I may have had a goofy permagrin plastered to my face, and judging by the pictures, I was right. It was a sense of “home.” Hard to explain that. We contemplated experimenting with Chris’s 8x10 tarp, but in the end, we were sort of simply ( & usefully) playing around. We had taken our little red wagons to the park. When it began to get dark, we took our toys and went home.

Booger and Blue both performed well, and the bivys were just fine. After actually getting it dirty, I all but decided to keep it rather than spend the money on the Alpine. I have mosquito netting, and so does Chris. As long as there are no leaks, it will be fine. That is my thought process… today anyhow.

Then it was back to the car and back to Denver… quite happy about things, both of us. I chuckled at the rush of energy I got just by leaving the city. I also realized that this little excursion made this… REAL. We have been talking and planning … just talking and planning… for months, in all its incarnations. Now it was no longer abstract. It was happening, and goddammit, it was GOOD!

We watched the BBC documentary “Century of the Self” which is about the psychology of advertising and propaganda (and should be seen by everyone!) when we got back, and then it was off to couch. I set the alarm for 8:00 to get back to Santa Fe.

Quite an interesting, productive 48- hours.

3/8: Spring Training- Denver

I did indeed make the trip to Denver Saturday.

We decided that it would be worthwhile for me to arrive Saturday night so we could then go to a “Post- Petroleum” survivalist class Sunday morning. I had nothing going on until my next dental appointment 10- days out, so I planned on staying in Denver through the week so we could work on business cards, the blog, and also get with Eric. The thought began to set on the drive up I-25 that things are REALLY going to change VERY soon, and this would most- likely be my last off- handed trip to Denver. Chris is leaving The Friary on 4/1... and that as they say, is that. He's homeless, and we're underway. That little Capital Hill apartment has seen it's share... that's for sure.

As usual, Chris & I sat up until 2am or so chatting… THEN remembered that Daylight Savings was moving the clocks ahead an hour, making for a short night’s sleep.

We were up and to the class, which was held in a parking lot in an industrial/ Mad Max- ish part of town, by 10:00. The instructor, Robert, was showing how to make and use fire bows, which I believe is a Native American technique for building fires. You shape the wood pieces, tie string around the bow and use it to create friction, ultimately building a fire without any sort of combustible fuel. Useful! That’s also required learning for some Marine survival training. While I never got it actually burning, it was easier than I had imagined… we at least managed to get some smoke.

There were only three of us there, a 20- something girl named Layla in addition to Chris and me, so we had a good opportunity to bat ideas around. Robert mentioned possibly taking a “field- trip” into the mountains to focus on hunting & fishing, which obviously appealed to us. Anything to cut food expenses. These classes are held every Sunday, and it seemed like a great idea to stick around long enough, if possible, to get another one in before my March 17^th dental appointment in Santa Fe.

Robert is an interesting person who has a distinct “edge” about him. I sensed that we would get along quite well, to a point, but that we’d likely clash eventually. We are alike in many ways; the same ways that may make our differences clash, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. He is planning to hit the road himself in the spring, and I would be interested to see what happens to him.

The weather was incredible, near 70 and sunny by the time we were done with the class at 2:00. REI was nearby and I wanted to see if the Denver Flagship’s shoe- selection was any better than Santa Fe’s, and Chris wanted to wrap up a few loose ends of his own. I am considering buying the O.R. Alpine Bivy that Chris has, and had borrowed last summer.

My military surplus bivy is a bit… creepy. It has no bug- netting, and after the spider- den in North Carolina, and considering we are going east where there actually ARE mosquitoes, I think it might be wise to consider it. There are pros and cons to each, and after 20- minutes of making no decisional progress, I decided to stick with what I have until after Monday night’s overnight field- test.

Chris wound up with a magnesium/ flint combo and mosquito netting, and I discovered that REI was finally stocking the shoe- inserts I had bought last year in San Francisco. That pissed me off! Where the hell were they 2 months ago… before I spent $40 trying to replicate the fucking things? I bought them anyhow… of course complaining the whole time. The shoe selection was rather pathetic—at least compared to what I expected.

Chris had to work at 4:30, and I was exhausted despite the weather. We got back to The Friary, had some oatmeal and I crashed right after he left. I’d hoped to spend some time continuing the “getting to know you” process with my sister, Michelle, via IM and getting a hold of Eric. But I slept for four hours! When I finally woke up at 9:00, I was quite perturbed. I also figured I would now be up all night...

To save time, I unpacked everything I had brought from New Mexico, mostly clothes and

tools, so that we could do a brainstorm and decide what we needed and did not. This is a rather important process obviously, and we had been talking about doing this since early winter. Once he got home, it went very well, and Chris decided to take the Kelty backpack that I had bought on eBay. It actually is quite a good pack… and huge! Vern Troyer could hitch a ride!

After a few hours (and a huge mess), we had the

packs ready to go. It felt good to go thru that process

again… and for real! We got to bed around 2 or 3, with no

real plan for the next day… figuring we’d wing it.

3/6: Spring Thaw

My, how things change! The last time I checked in, there was talk about a river trip, Europe, Africa...

Since then, there have been a couple trips to Denver, and probably a dozen long conversations about where and how we're going. As it turned out, the ideas of December were actually the product of not having a clear vision. That vision didn't take long to come, and yes... obliterated those of Indiana Jones.

I'll let Chris explain his end for himself his specifics, but our ideas and individual focus seem to dovetail nicely.

For me, this seems to be a continuation and expansion of last year. As I go back and re- read some of my posts from "Running...", and then reconcile them with what's happened over the last six months, it seems apparent that my focus hasn't changed much, and certain aspects have intensified; particularly my interest in synchronicity, and the ability to sort of tune in to that personal "mechanical resonance" (apologies to Tesla!) that we all seem to posses if we can only eliminate the static. The last four months have been pretty powerful in that regard, as Chris can attest.

So, here's the updated "plan", and trust me... that's a VERY loosely used term. We have four destinations in mind. Nashville (hi Kim!), North Carolina, Massachusetts, and Michigan. Then? West. Probably toward Seattle via the U.P of Michigan, and the northern tier of states. From there maybe Oregon and California. Maybe India! We had batted around the ideas of New Orleans, Florida, and the entire eastern seaboard to New England... but neither can think of a GOOD reason to bother with Florida, plus North Carolina's enough "Southern Hospitality" for me. If I never see Mississippi again, I'll be fine.

We had set a target date of April 1st to leave, but that appears to be on the verge of being pushed back due to DENTAL WORK, of all things. I need two root- canals... and four fillings, after having a tooth pulled in January. If I can get my appointments expedited, it'll be sooner, but there's a possibility that the start, for me at least, could be pushed back into May... just like '08. To be continued...

Personally, the rest of the winter has been spent selling stuff like the rest of my bike gear, my computer, a fancy- ass cell phone, and also struggling to find a backpack and shoes. This sounds an awful lot like LAST March, except that this year, I've had success selling this stuff! It's pathetic how little I own now.

I've also been connecting with a sister I've never met, and re- connecting with two that I haven't seen in 12- years. That's all been over the last couple of weeks, and has been one of the most intense, and rewarding times that I can remember. This is the foundation of the Michigan- leg of the trip... plus my 20- year reunion is this year. How is that possible? I'm only 29.

After a long, drawn- out drama trying to buy a backpack on eBay, I decided to just go new and picked up a Gregory Baltoro 70L @ REI this week, and have also settled on some boots (Asolo). In the end I would REALLY rather not worry about a pack after I leave here, and if anything goes wrong, I can have it replaced, even a year from now. Seems worth the investment. If anyone needs a Kelty Red Cloud 5,600 with a HOLE IN THE BOTTOM, I know where you can get one real cheap...

It appears that I'm Denver bound one more time, this weekend, so we can go on a test- run perhaps Monday, make some final decisions on gear, and also initiate some other ideas. Look for those soon.

Every winter, I hibernate to some degree... and this year has been no exception. However, things have really accelerated over the last few weeks... right on cue. There should be lots to talk about this month...

The Ministry of Standards & Practices

Santa Fe

This would fall into the “back-story” file, if there were such a thing. I wrote this back in 2007 after exploring the idea over a long period in my personal journal. As Chris and I begin to seriously gear up it seems to merit publication now, with some additions and many edits, because it seems to be a recurring theme when I try to explain my ideas behind this “radical lifestyle” and where they have come from.

These are just some of my thoughts on the foundation of the battle that we inevitably rage with fear, expectation, and the fundamental concept of living “our own” lives, and the source of such an insane conflict. The Hydra I have termed The Ministry of Standards and Practices. The Ministry does include the institutions we’ve come to “know & love” of course, but it also includes our families, friends… anyone with whom approval and praise comes a sense of identity. One of the first questions people always ask when they meet you is “What do you do?” as if that’s who you are! People often feel either pride or shame when they answer that question; the Ministry at work. That belief that your identity depends on your job, car, house, bank account or a person's approval other than your own is delusional since no one can “make you" feel anything. Last time I checked, all of these things emanated from within. The Ministry can only function when we believe in that externalization of identity, happiness, and success.

The majority of this was written a couple of years ago, and some ideas have expanded, but this is a good start, if you can stomach the poor writing!

July 16, 2007

A funny thing keeps happening. I keep seeing what I thought were my ideas pop up in other places; conclusions I've come to, alone, through my personal writing and meditations, that I find later have already been written. Thoreau and his views on government & self- reliance. Rousseau on higher 'education' (indoctrination). Chomsky and the media.

I'm tooting my own horn a bit, but it would appear that I'm on the right track toward something if minds infinitely greater than mine have already drawn the same conclusions. I can’t stress enough how important I believe it is to come to OUR OWN regardless of what someone else thinks, writes, or preaches. If all we are doing is taking in and nodding, what does that make us? A follower of someone else's dogma; a solitary sheep in one of a thousand related herds.

I've been paying attention for the last couple of years at how and why people are kept inside the norms of thought and behavior, and who reaps the benefits. How we're kept with the flock. Where do these 'norms' and accepted codes of behavior and thought come from? It would seem that there is an insidious little sub- system to keep us in line and protect itself from those who would question its legitimacy. The Ministry of Standards and Practices.

I had a conversation with Brian Hardgroove of Public Enemy the other day, and we touched on, what I believe, is the most despicable of these 'checks and balances': “education” In particular, the way schools teach us to only obey authority; never question it … deserved it or not. To accept whatever ‘authority’ disseminates as empirical truth, rather it is or not. It shows us, from the most impressionable age, how the system works and places us where “it” has decided we belong: as subordinates striving to be well- adjusted cogs in the machine. We needed to 'do well' so we could get 'good jobs' which is, of course, how they defined “success” for us. To school by 8am, a mid- day break, home when they tell us. Sound familiar?

Think about that for a second. Is that “education” or “engineering”? If your goal is to engineer obedient workers who are not intellectually equipped to challenge your authority… well, that would explain lower testing requirements wouldn’t it? Would explain a lot actually!

The purpose of this REQUIRED education program is to make us more useful to the entrenched economic system, and to keep the agreed upon dialogue in place. Questions will NOT be tolerated! We are programmed to believe that our entire motivation in life should be striving to become the bigger, better, more useful (and better-rewarded) cog. Obedient, unquestioning workers whose reward depends on how well you play their game. Then, our kids are sent home to play video games, or watch TV, which further cements these images of contrived success… never even hinting that there may be more, or that their idea of happiness may have nothing to do with being that cog. It’s Jack Nicholson in “One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest”: lobotomized for convenience.

This… is simple mental slavery.

The vast majority of people, while sensing a deep- seeded twinge of recognition, have now short- circuited. Like a computer whose current programming can’t run new software, that sort of thinking runs counter to the indoctrination. It WILL cause internal conflict and ultimately require a redefinition of these fundamentals that we have long- ago accepted as “truth”.

That’s not easy. It’s daunting, uncomfortable… frightening. It requires stepping out of comfort zones, trusting ourselves, and embracing the uncertain. The alternative? The lobotomy of Escapism. Allowing television and the rest of the media reinforce these false, transient images of success and happiness, telling you that careerism and consumerism will make everything all better… “Don’t worry about that deep- thinking stuff; this is EASIER and more comfortable! All you need is MORE! Just commit your life to us, and we PROMISE will make you happy… eventually!” Sounds a lot like religion, and that’s no coincidence.

As religion requires blind faith, mental slavery requires blind acceptance. A total belief that there is NOTHING beyond the metaphorical city walls; beyond The Matrix. Simple questioning and challenging the Party Line will create doubt, encourage critical thought, and in the end corrupt the system. The indoctrination process begun in school and enforced in the media and at the dinner table is in place to prevent that. If you question the Ministry's legitimacy, you are a 'radical', or a 'subversive'. These critical thoughts are to be squashed at conception. This creates self- doubt. Self- doubt turns to fear. Fear to submission. What if you were encouraged to explore the possibility that maybe--- just maybe--- you were right? To free your mind?

Why is asking, "Is there something more?" then pursuing it so dangerous? The Ministry has associated it with being a subversive, lazy, anti- social, or in its extreme… criminal. It also tells us that everything “out there” is frightening, harmful, and wants to kill us! “Stay in your cages for your own protection! Watch TV, you’ll see! Thank God we have these electronic eyes to tell us how bad everything out there is! Bring me another bag of Chee-tos!” Fear breeds need, and they love to remind us why we need them. And we eat it up. It’s easier. It is cancerous.

Inside each one of us, there is a voice. It's your common sense, destiny, God, the universe. Call it whatever you like, but its there-- no matter how deeply you have buried it. It is scratching and clawing to get out. I'm convinced that this is the major cause of anxiety and depression. KNOWING something's wrong, but just cannot quite grasp it or understand it, and have no road map to follow. The Splinter in the Mind that causes the mental infections flare.

Until a few years ago, I was prone to bouts of depression that would at times last for months, for NO reason, even when everything seemed that they “should” be GREAT. It finally got to the point that I could go no further down that road, and gave in. I finally surrendered to REALLY looking into myself; trying to discover where that alarm was coming from. Nothing heroic, the status quo had simply become unbearable. It was in fact blessing.

I discovered that my conflict came from doing what “they” expected me to do, rather than what I was meant to do. I had no idea what that was yet, but I was quite certain that getting a “job” I hated just to pay bills because I was expected to was NEVER going to make me happy. I had tried to fit my square ass in that round hole long enough, and I was done. “They” could go straight to Hell. All of them. It was a profound leap of faith to accept that, but not in something external; faith in myself.

Each of us have a voice. Call it whatever you want. God, consciousness, the universe, intuition... Casper... But it's there for a reason. It's the only authority that ultimately matters, and the only opinion that counts. Quit silencing yourself in favor of the expectations and demands of others... and see what happens. If you feel even a twinge of familiarity, you owe it to yourself -- it is your DUTY as a conscious human being to explore it.

It's there for a reason....