1/30: Slab City- Leonard & Salvation Mountain

Salvation Mountain

One of the first things to learn about "The Slabs" is its primitive clock. With no electricity beyond an occasional car-battery contraption or gas generator, there's little to do past sunset other than sit around a fire drinking beer. While I personally approve of such enriching activities, beer costs money- meaning people are usually in bed EARLY. In fact, Kevin claimed to be in bed often as early as 6 or 7, and up with the sun.

10/11: Santa Fe- Pondering 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)

Chris and I had a wonderful conversation in Michigan on June 1st about evil, and I offered that perhaps greed and power lust are its fundamental root. Money is inanimate , and so cannot itself be "evil." However, greed is wealth's (Mammon's) engine, and power it's club. The club's damage is NOT limited to its victims; those who swing it, regardless of the rationale and justification, are damaged even if the ego believes otherwise! The Camel Quote has become a favorite. To his credit, Andre was by far the most "aware" of the affluent people I have associated, which isn't saying much. But, with a little reflection, I began to see why the above quotation, attributed to Jesus, is so powerful in its hostility toward wealth. I firmly believe that, on both a micro and macro level, wealth and enlightenment are diametrically opposed. The wealthy can argue and rationalize if they like. This fact will not change.

After I returned home from house-sitting, spurred on by the conversations with Chris in Port Townsend and the writing I had done at Katie's, I decided to actually open my unused Bible to see what the "presented version" of Jesus himself had to say about it. Using the familiar quote above as a starting point in Matthew, I expected a whole lot of ambiguity and interpretable "parable" to be the result based on the typical rhetoric I have hear endlessly emanating from "Christians." What I found literally astounded me. As I've said before, I'm (intentionally) no Biblical scholar, but dammit I CAN read! Just a few of innumerable examples; Jesus was far from "ambiguous" when it came to wealth:

-"Go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor... and come and follow me." Matthew19:21

-"No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon." Matthew 6:24

-"For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" Matthew 16:26

-"But woe to you who are rich, for you are receiving your comfort in full." Luke 6:24

And, He seemed to despise hypocrites:

-"Beware of practicing your righteousness before men to be noticed by them; otherwise you have no reward with your Father who is in heaven." Matthew 6:1

-"So when you give to the poor, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be honored by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full." Matthew 6:2

Like Dennis, Andre was inadvertently providing something priceless in his own way: a naked glimpse at the struggle wealth creates for a man on a spiritual quest. At some level, he deserves a degree pity for his financial success. In this culture, it's unheard of to term of wealth as an "anchor," but that's the potential and likely spiritual sacrifice for a life of comfort, security, and power. It usually comes standard with a closed, sheltered existence barren of true experience & struggle needed for genuine empathy, compassion, and concern for others, as demonstrated perfectly by the rationalistic "debt is a state of mind" comment.

I believe I just answered my own earlier question regarding why it requires the sudden impending threat of mortality for many, particularly the affluent, to begin to take an interest in something beyond a materialism. It's simple: Why the hell would they? When a man has few "real" friends, is surrounded by those driven by self-interest, and an ego addicted to Mammon's Power, why would he desire to reflect inward? Without critical thought or conversation, and when surrounded by "yes men," it's easy to convince ourselves of whatever narrative we choose to author! It's a self-delusion that reminds me of Huxley's Soma from Brave New World; an opiate that seems to numb the human core and intellect in all of us. We've all been programmed to function on a consumerist, egoistic plane and they have succeeded, perhaps without having been taught the intellectual and emotional tools to truly empathize. It's a hard-sell to tell an externalized "successful" man to give up his king sized bed in favor of a futon! And, even for those who have internalized due to an inkling that "something's wrong," there's another foreboding quote strewn throughout Matthew: "Many are called. Few are chosen." I don't believe these words are necessarily meant to be taken literally, but it doesn't take much talent for abstraction to see the implication. When you arrive at this point, I believe "The Fates" are an egoistic, escapist mirage. Free will, ego, and intellect come into play when, and long after, you're "called." I believe that your own capacity, and more importantly decision to look internally with clear-eyes and then your own chosen, ensuing actions determine rather or not you're ultimately "chosen," however you choose to define it. I have a very different concepts of "called" and "chosen" than Christians of course, but I've come to highly suspect that the "language" used is irrelevant and inadequate. When you think about the barriers, for the wealthy, the path to self-actualization seems nearly impassible and perhaps even cruelly unfair.

Obviously, I believe Andre is handicapped by his wealth, ego, and the bubble in which he lives. From the beginning of my stay at Andre's, I was keenly aware of the lair I inhabited, despite the fact I was greatly enjoying the benefits! Periodically, I would find myself observing how Andre interacted with people, and more importantly vice versa, looking for behavioral patterns. Several times, I witnessed people seemingly afraid to deal with him honestly, obviously afraid to anger him. Toward the end of our stay, there was even adolescent talk claiming someone close was "just using him." And, of course Andre's protective of what he has; everyone wants it! This could lead a person to believe they are in a position to judge another's "worthiness," or to believe they know what's "best" for another. I can understand that. However, wealth alone does not grant one the power to superficially judge with generalizations, and when judgment and power turn to control- as they ultimately must- that person is likely doomed.

I also believe Andre, even with his noble and (I believe) genuine ideas, still has an epic battle ahead of him. In the end, he's inadvertently stacked powerful cards against himself and, even though it's sacrilege in the "Age of Hope," I'm sadly pessimistic. If he's committed to succeeding, and I believe he is, he has in my opinion failed to see the obvious: That despite his best rhetoric and intentions, his identity is still completely anchored to his ego & assets. His ability to "work magic" is, literally, his ability to write a check. His ability to "be of maximum benefit" is tethered to his ability to write a check AND pointedly wrapped tightly within his ego. I find it ironic that rather than envy him, I PITY Andre. Not because of the spider bite or his uncertain future, but because I ask myself this: "If all of Andre's money were to vaporize tomorrow, who would he be? Who would he see himself as if he were unable to work Monetary Magic? How many "friends" would still be there?" Of course, this is a single perspective, and I'm sure that this last question will result in some other folks I met in Portland wondering, "Is that asshole talking about ME?!?!?" Please relax, and realize I am not interested in issuing petty judgment. But, I would counter that it may be useful to ask yourself, "Am I one of the circling vultures?"

In the event you've assumed this is arm-chair psychological conjecture, I know a bit about a ravaged "external identity." When the radio show ended in 2002, and I was no longer Todd "Thompson," most of my "friends" vanished like a fart in the wind leaving me sitting naked asking, "Why?" The answer was clear: the relationships I had built were mostly based on the vocational "radio persona" I had fabricated, and I was now forced to ask, "Now that I'm not Todd Thompson, who the fuck am I?" If you have to ask, then have trouble coming up with answers, you have a problem! The ones who remained unchanged remain treasured friends, and I can count them on one hand. These are not easy questions to ask, are even harder to answer, and impossible to investigate without a commitment to truth; that Inner Dialogue Andre has admitted so much trouble with. Andre, despite his wonderful complexities, is currently struggling as a confused personification of his wealth, with little clue of how to actually escape it. How to grow, free from the anchor.

The very first quote above also ties nicely to the question of Chris McCandless and what I believe was his Poverty Field Trip. Friar Chris has often taken exception to my McCandless critique because he closely identifies with McCandless's background, and has struggled with my indictment, often replying, "What's a rich kid supposed to do? Just give up?" My verbal answer had always been that I honestly don't know. Do what you can, and hope for the best. Subconsciously, however, there's always been a faint smell of hypocrisy to even asking that question, as though wealth is somehow entwined into your DNA and inseparable from your existence. I've always suspected that the philosophical answer was simplistic, and as stated above, would sound something like "Get the fuck rid of it or quit touting your fraudulent Pauper Papers."

Of course that IS simplistic, and very few of us are prepared to sell all of our worldly possessions and sacrifice the security they provide! And, I honestly see nothing wrong with openly half-assing it, or openly doing nothing! To my knowledge, none of us are Saints nor aspiring to be. However, my blood pressure tends to rise when people are portrayed, or prop themselves as something they're not. Someone please tell Mr. Penn, Mr. Krakour, and the rest of the McCandless Cultists that Chris McCandless burned his money knowing he was a phone call away from a "line of credit" if he ever decided to bless his parents with his forgiveness. Rather he used it or not is immaterial; he knew it was there. To me, the shallow image of renouncing wealth, while never intending to do so, is condescending and nicely articulated by:

-"Whenever you fast, do not put on a gloomy face as the hypocrites do, for they neglect their appearance so that they will be noticed by men when they are fasting. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full." Matthew 6:16

Again, it takes abstract thought to comprehend that "gloomy face" can mean many different things, from countenance down to clothing and hygiene. If you're cleverly clinging the literal interpretation and employing it's companion rationalization, that could indicate something!

More often than not, I don't believe people use rationalization on a conscious level; I don't think they sit in their chairs at night creating clever, fictitious narratives to intentionally act as a comfortable, mental teet. I believe it's subconscious because, as The Sage pointed out later, it's challenging for nearly everyone to confront difficult things residing within themselves. That observation cut to the heart of my internal, "I feel like a dick" discomfort. I know full well how difficult it is, and I am not playing the role of the Encouraging Sympathetic Voice because from my experience I believe it's counterproductive. This simple train-of-thought demanded an investigation as to my evolving purpose; one long overdue.

It's answer was quite simple, and again, reinforced surprisingly from the Bible in quite an arrogant way! Somewhere, I seem to have successfully purged the need for personal approval, and no longer consider myself the protagonist in this presentation, therefore rather you "like" the messenger doesn't matter. I'm not trying to sell myself because, I don't matter much... and that's good! Besides, and here's the arrogant part, as I read thru Matthew, it became quite obvious that Jesus himself was sort of a... dick! His tone was that of a man obviously annoyed with the metaphorical blindness of people, intolerant of their rationale and hypocrisies, and I could completely identify with the man who entered the temple and violently overthrew the moneychangers table. Contrary to many descriptions of the "Price of Peace," tact and politeness seemed of little consequence to Him, even saying, "Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword." Perhaps that "sword" is to cut off the fat of doctrine, dogma, and self-deception. And, if blunt honesty is good enough for the Jeebus... it's good enough for me!

Overall, the impression that I got from my little mini-excursion into a small part of the Bible was that, if true, you Christians are in a whole lotta trouble when your Messiah returns! I repeatedly (and to Shalain's chagrin) asked, "Have Christians even read this fucking thing? Or, do they simply rely on someone else to tell them what's inside AND allow them to manipulate what it means? Ambiguity MY ASS!" I found very little resemblance between what little I managed to read, and the acts of Jesus Inc. I have 100 scripture examples I could share, but I'll spare you and close by simply saying that I've come to believe that the greatest blasphemy on Earth is that perpetrated by organized religion and what it and its followers have done to the concept of God. I would stand tall and say that to Yahweh's face, quite certain that he's agree.

How about you?

8/25: Crossing North Dakota- Lonnie & Will

The Prairie Fire helped, but I slept like a stone, and woke up early Tuesday feeling energized and still ecstatic that Manitoba was right up the road. I found coffee and a bench where I could charge my phone and again get my bearings. As I prepared to head west on US-2, I was mostly unfamiliar with this part of the country although I had HEARD of Minot and Williston. I saw on the map that I would eventually pass thru the towns of Michigan and Devil's Lake on the way toward Montana, and chuckled at the fun I could have with my Michigan Facebookers. I'll admit it: I'm an ass sometimes!

I didn't know what to expect of US-2 as I walked to the well- placed light pole next to the busy divided highway. I drew up and hung my sign for Minot, and then began to update the website figuring I could get alot done if rides were scarce. I had no problem just killing the day here. This was a nice spot, and I thought that perhaps I would pay for yesterday's 300- mile sprint. Apparently my road- credit was still good. After less than an hour, I heard a man yelling at me from a semi behind me asking where I was going. When I yelled, "Minot!" he waved me over to the truck and I was again on my way. This time, surprisingly, in my third semi.

Lonnie was from Minnesota, looked to be somewhere in his late 40's, was driving all the way to Minot, then south to Bismarck the next morning. He had been driving the same route for years, and was on his way first to Devil's Lake to make two dropoffs, then Minot for the night. Initially, it seemed as though this would be one of the quieter rides ever. He was engrossed in his XM Old Time Radio Drama channel, and that was fine with me. I love that stuff too, and it would give me an opportunity to finish my updates and have a quick text- chat with Leslie, whom I had been chatting with periodically since Sunday. The ride all the way to Devil's Lake was pretty mundane, but things changed quickly once we resumed toward Minot.

Lonnie and I shared many personality traits! Our conversations began in earnest when I told him about how I had refused to kneel before Skippy, my last radio boss. He loved that, and began to tell stories of how he had repeatedly challenged and confronted supposed authority throughout his adult life, and had quit jobs rather than perform professional- fellatio. This ultimately sent us down my familiar path: sociology and politics. He was perhaps more of an anarchist than even I am. Lonnie hated everything about governmental interference, was apparently prepared for any sort of social upheaval, and seemed convinced it was coming. He also loved to bitch about politicians of all kinds and, of course, this made the last of this leg fly by! Toward the end of the ride, Lonnie showed a great degree of respect for what I was doing, and why. He too was disgusted by media and convinced that the world is nothing like the picture portrayed nightly on television. When we pulled into the dingy truckstop in Minot, 220 miles from where we started, I again had a new friend.

Minot had a much different feel than the towns further east. It appeared that I had arrived in a dirty, industrial town that may not be quite as hospitable as the others I had recently seen. I was now in what Joel had termed "West River," the area west of the Missouri River that was much more blue collar than the east. Lonnie had told me that the majority of the many trucks on the road were on their way to the western part of North Dakota. There had been a bit of an oil boom, which contributed to the fact that N. Dakota had been nearly untouched by the economic "crisis" and had the lowest unemployment rate in the country. He also gave me a piece of advice about my route, saying that if I continued on US-2 to avoid the Ft. Peck Indian Reservation. Apparently, whites weren't well received in this, as he described it, violent swath of land.

After 300 miles on Monday, and 220 already on Tuesday, in one ride, I was quite certain things were going to slow down. The other shoe HAD to drop, regardless of the traffic, right? Wrong. I had just gotten coffee, made my "Williston" sign, and had yet to even sit down when a young guy filling his Jeep Cherokee waved me over and invited me along. Will was driving from his home in Minnesota to Williston, where he worked in an oil field. He made the 300+ mile commute often and liked to have company. As we set off again on US-2, it began to dawn on me that three of my four rides had been from Minnesota, and that they had all stopped more out of habit than pity. Will was no exception. He told me that he had just talked to his wife, and that he had not mentioned picking me up because she hates him picking up hitchers. As I settled in, it seemed at first as though Will was just a quiet oil worker, but as we began to get comfortable with each other he proved to be, while soft- spoken and deliberate, a keen observer, extremely intelligent, and very insightful.

The first thing I noticed was his disdain for environmentalists. He had grown up near Duluth and told how environmental activists had contributed to the decimation of the ore industry in northern Minnesota. Lonnie had made similar remarks on the way to Minot, and now Will immediately echoed the sentiment that liberals, while a severe minority in the region, were raising legislative havoc because they were coming in from places like California, and Californicating. They were mobilized. I found the similar tones in consecutive conversations ironic, but not shocking. It also further cemented my theory that there is going to be a conservative backlash that will blindside self- defined progressives.

Mind you, neither Lonnie nor Will had any love for George Bush or Ronald Reagan; they each hated all politicians. Yet, they were disgusted by the short sighted, blind, often destructive idealism that comes from living a life of abstraction. The ore industry was one example, but Will recounted a half- dozen other examples of how liberal activists had tried (and failed, thankfully) to enact ridiculous legislation that would have simply crippled other elements of the economy; creating more problems than solutions.

One example Will gave was horses. There was apparently an attempt to legislate how much an owner could WORK a horse on any given day! Four hours! Beyond that, the animal rights activists wanted to dictate how, to whom, and I believe how often an owner could sell a horse. When a horse went lame, they would then demand, through legislation, the horse be taken to a vet to be "humanely disposed of," costing something like $250. Think about this for a second: if you can't sell a horse, yet can't feed it, what are you going to do? If this same horse is sick, you surely can't afford $250 to have it put it down. When you're prohibited from using a $1 bullet, your only alternatives are to let it starve or release it into the wild... to starve... which would surely throw PETA into a self- righteous tizzy over a situation that they themselves created via ill conceived legislation. To reiterate, thankfully none of these proposed ideas went anywhere, but you can see where their minds are. And where they are not.

I'm not able to recall all the details, and am sure I'm not doing it justice, but this was the crux of the conversation on his annoyance with short- sighted liberalism. Another example he provided was that in the oil fields, workers are prohibited, under threat of heavy fines, to disturb ANY bird nest on ANY piece of equipment where eggs or chicks are present. He then told a story of how they were forced to shut down a rig completely because a species of bird in the area of the rig had, as he put it, "stopped fucking." I wonder, do PETA members also bitch about the price of gas?

I am no fan of the oil industry and if you believe I'm defending them, you're either a tree hugger, or missing my point. Idealism has its place, but when it's guided by those refusing to leave books, statistical studies, or think tanks, it's doomed. When its engine is driven by the economic elite or trust fund babies, who have little idea what it's like to struggle to feed a family and have never experienced poverty beyond documentaries or a sheltered charity- adventure trip, it's doomed. When those who drive an ideology believe that a college indoctrination program alone has made them "wise," it's doomed, and destined to fall prey to the aforementioned backlash that I guarantee you is brewing just beneath the surface.

It's easy to tout high ideals when you have a security blanket, and have nothing tangible to lose by telling others how they must live. There is a reason that most conservative- minded people (nothing to do with Republicanism) come from the lower income brackets. When the job that could be lost due to activist or governmental influence is yours, and your children could go hungry as a result, you tend to care less about "birds fucking." History has shown that this makes even libertarian- minded independents susceptible to the influence of whack jobs like Limbaugh & Palin because politicians are professional exploiters of emotion, there is no other alternative. Liberals seem to think that the sword with which they vanquished John McCain, disgust, cannot be turnedon them. Get back to me in a few years; the next cycle is going to make the Bush years look like Camelot.

Chris McCandless has been a hot topic because of the trip to Carthage, and it's interesting to note that people in Alaska view him as a complete douchebag; an arrogant fool who had no idea what he was getting into and deserved his fate. I have never gotten past that he came from a wealthy background, and had to know in the back of his mind that it was waiting for him when he decided to unplug from this adopted lifestyle. If you have the safety net of family wealth waiting when you return, you are likely on nothing more than a fucking field trip under the guise of living noble, pretentious ideals; imposing your "fierce moral code." I wonder, if McCandless' father had been an oil worker put out of work by "birds not fucking," rather than a NASA engineer, would he would have thought twice about burning his money? Would he have sent his trust fund off to OXFAM to be gobbled up by the bureaucracy?

Will and I plainly hit it off well, and I was sure to tell him how I appreciated his glimpse around the corner at another side. It was nice to get perspective from someone who was fair and had a clear understanding of the factors, and repercussions, involved. Conversations like these with Will and Lonnie reminded me a great deal of my chats with Eric while maintaining foreclosed houses around Denver, and further nudged me toward the conclusion that governmental legislation is not the answer to these abstract ethical questions- and that I LOVE the people up here!

Will dropped me on the far east- end of Williston at what he described as the best truckstop in town. It was teeming with oil- related traffic, and had a 24- hour restaurant where I could treat myself to a bottomless cup of coffee while I continued to update. As I walked in, a man of native descent got up from dinner with his family, and offered to buy me dinner. I was a bit taken aback by both the gesture, and the look of empathy on his face. He seemed deeply concerned, and I immediately wondered, "Do I smell like pee?" I thanked him and accepted because I had not had a full meal in quite a while. A mushroom- swiss burger sounded damn good indeed! Moments after I sat down and ordered, when he went to pay his bill, I stepped over to say thanks again and shake his hand. When I did, he handed me $10... on top of my food. When I responded with a puzzled look, he told me that his brother had been a hitchhiker... and been hit by a car. This was his way of honoring him. I wasn't going to take that away from him out of arrogance or fake pride; it obviously meant a great deal for him to do this. I didn't realize it, but this set a theme for my time in Williston and beyond.

I settled in to the booth and spent the next several hours drinking coffee, writing, and chatting with the waitresses and drunk customers who came in after their bar closed. A quick peek showed that there was next to no place to hide, so I resolved to stay awake as long as I could and be productive. Several pots of coffee later, I was on the edge of overdosing on caffeine and exhausted. I wandered across the adjacent Wal Mart parking lot and found some high grass in which to nap for an hour or two until the sun came up. At least I was guaranteed an early start on what turned out to be a bizarre Wednesday...

8/23: A Pilgrimage to Carthage, SD

We got an early jump on Sunday thanks to Mother Nature. Thunder woke me from a light sleep and, rather than continue sleeping and break camp in the impending rain, we chose to hit the road at 6am. Before running into Leslie & Bonnie, my intentions had been to go south from Spearfish to Deadwood, then further south thru the Black Hills and toward The Badlands. After hatching this little plan, I learned from Shelly that our father planned to be in the Hills at about the same time then on his way to Arizona. I loved the coincidence, but made no effort to connect with him in favor of leaving it to chance. How things have changed in 2- months! Bypassing Deadwood killed that possibility, but with no regrets. I have done enough. Plus, leaving the Black Hills unseen would give me something to see later.

Back on I-90 and thru Sturgis, we stopped off in Rapid City for Leslie to pick up buffalo meat for her mother as a thank you gesture for the use of her car. I already felt good vibes from South Dakota, and they got better. As we would ask about places that were open on an early Sunday morning, it seemed everyone was eager to help.

Further east past The Badlands, we all settled in for the long ride across South Dakota and the conversations continued. It's rare to ride with someone and have so much in common. None of the conversation was forced, or worse: bogged down by uncomfortable silence. Some rides reach this point after 10- minutes!

Our chats were at times intense, and always three- sided. Bonnie continued to show herself as someone who is passionate about making a difference with her life, and on a quest to find the best means to that end. As we debated the merits of different ways to proceed, I naturally encouraged an avoidance of institution.

Whenever organized charity is invoked, my mind snaps back to my volunteer trip to New Orleans in 2005 following Katrina. This was the beginning of my personal exodus from Kamp Liberal. I saw the corruption and resulting ineffectiveness of organizations like the Red Cross, while at the same time seeing first hand the cancerous infestation of personal, dogma- driven agenda into relief work. Rather than concentrating on the task at hand, many (not all) of these "Progressives" were chiefly interested in pounding their chests in self- righteousness; proclaiming themselves noble carriers of the Evolutionary Torch. "I'm volunteering in New Orleans AND I'm a vegetarian (lesbian, socialist, PETA member, Democrat, environmentalist, pot head...) too!" It was repulsive, and a harsh lesson in how factionalism will manipulate any situation to promote dogma and further agenda. The Red Cross is The National Charity, and has exploited our sympathies borne out of tragedies like 9/11 & Katrina.

This is not out of humanity, but to turn a profit while in turn offering little tangible help. Don't believe me? Turn off the TV and go see for yourself. No one I talked to anywhere near New Orleans in the weeks following Katrina had any respect for FEMA or the Red Cross, despite the propaganda.

I continued to express my belief that the way to have the greatest effect is as an individual; quit talking and see with your own eyes where you can help. If you want to get involved, writing a check is literally the very least you can do. It usually offers only the illusion of help; a substitute for actual involvement. "Charity" is oftentimes big business, and donated money is used to grease its machine; a blatant oxymoron.

With this as our soundtrack, our goal was Mitchell, home of the Corn Palace and a small town where we would begin plotting our route north to Carthage and Chris McCandless' bar. We stopped for a quick, impromptu bath in what turned out to be a lake apparently created by damming the Missouri River. Then, it seemed that we each retreated into our own thoughts, listening to music and watching the countryside. Leslie in particular seemed deep in thought, and I would occasionally catch her intently looking at me in the mirror. I wasn't sure what she was thinking, but would find out in Carthage.

Carthage is barely a town, with a grand total of something like 187 people. When we stopped for pictures at the city limit sign, there was a sense of accomplishment. I had conceptualized coming here for a beer well long before leaving in 2008, and here I was.

The Cabaret was featured in Into the Wild, and Sean Penn had brought the cast and crew to South Dakota to film. McCandless was picked up by a local, Wayne Westerburg, while hitching in the area and found work on his farm. They became good friends, and McCandless spent a significant amount of time here, even returning to earn money prior to his fatal trip to Alaska in 1992. My draw to Carthage had never been clear, beyond thinking it would be neat to have a beer as a sort of toast to his memory.

The Cabaret is exactly as it's seen in the movie, and by far the busiest place it town! Walking in, the first thing that struck me was how they embrace the media- created tether to Chris McCandless. I was curious rather the locals would resent Into the Wild Pilgrims, but the first thing seen is a sign for a beer special called "The Into the Wild!" Inside, it's a typical dark, small town bar except that it's quite nice, clean, and frequented by older folks on Sunday afternoons. It struck us as a place that is probably packed on weekends; the only place to go!

We settled in and ordered our $1.50 beers, and I periodically found myself lost in the realization that I was seeing, and on some level had experienced, a few of the same things as McCandless. Life on the road has had its priceless rewards; Leslie & Bonnie were an at- the- table reminder of this! Also, I could see how McCandless could become attached to this isolated little town and its friendly people. It seemed there was no bullshit to be found, just real, friendly, authentic people.

I quickly snooped around the Cabaret's empty nooks and crannies, taking it all in. There were pictures of Vince Vaughan, Sean Penn, and Emile Hirsh posing from various locations around the bar as well as original memorabilia from "Alex" McCandless including a newspaper article. I decided against buying the Cabaret's Into the Wild t- shirt, but seeing it answered my question about how they felt about their most famous patron. He was drawing people, like me, from afar and making them money. I believe Bonnie asked a very poignant question: How would he feel about that?

Our stay in Carthage was brief, just long enough to drink a few cheap beers and ultimately discover part of what Leslie was pondering through the South Dakota farmland.
She wanted to come with me...

8/18 Nashville- McCandless

Yet another day of unbearable excitement, the kind that makes for compelling travel- writing. I left Kim's house.

WooHoo!!

We transferred home- base from Kim's to Rich's place in Goodlettsville (NE of Nashville). They both had to work, so I hung out with McCarty and did more 'research' on Chris McCandless, looking for more detailed information that may indicate, as I've long suspected, that there is more (or less) to that story than that peddled by Jon Krakour. Always seems to be the case.

I did not realize it at the time, but it happened to be the day, August 18, that they estimate he died. Of simple starvation. There are aspects of this story that, when you think about them, simply do not add up.

It is quite suspicious that Krakour would fail to mention in the book that McCandless DID have a map, instead of cleverly saying "... if he had had a good map." Alternatively, Sean Penn failing to fully- disclose his employment history on the road. Penn conveniently omitted how long he actually worked at McDonald's in Bullhead City, AZ (not Burger King), and glossed over the fact that he worked with Westerberg long enough to earn $1,000 AFTER he'd met 'Ron Franz', and immediately before he set off for Alaska.

These are NOT minor details or meaningless omissions. McCandless has reached Anti- Capitalist Cult Status in no- small part because Krakour and Penn "took the liberty of bullshitting you.”

The fact strikes me that there are legions of kids whose ideas are coming from his "story". They are burning their money and social security cards, and chopping up their credit cards (not a bad thing). Then they are trying to live on dandelions because they are trying to emulate what amounts to a fairytale.

The full story would indicate that he failed at living sans- cash. Why else would he have worked so much, if as Emile Hirsh says in the movie, he "didn't need money"? Is making Quarter Pounders THAT satisfying? A question Penn chose not to address when he almost deleted one of the more interesting aspects of the book: Bullhead City. Did McCandless conclude that living without money was either impossible, or just not worth it?

I wonder if he experienced a bit of the frustration I did, and in the end concluded that it best to "invert" the system. Working just enough to provide necessities, while eliminating the 'illusory' necessities (comforts) as time went by.

Maybe he got to the point where he was frustrated by a lack of ability to be as self- sufficient as he would like, and decided Alaska was the place to go to get that knowledge. Or die trying.

Believe me, this is NOT just idle speculation for speculation's sake, although we obviously will never have any way of knowing. I have experienced similar thoughts and frustrations, and find it maddening that these 'entertainers' intentionally ignored them, needlessly corrupted a story that would have been just as remarkable on its own, then marketed it (Krakaur) as fact. Creating the mythical- superhero living out the Heroic Epic helps sales.

I doubt McCandless had any preconceived ideas about becoming a poster child for anything. He did what he did because he felt it was the thing for him. I have never seen the actual journal entries published-- anywhere, and know of no one who has. Why? What I do know is that, if my thoughts are correct, it could have served as a better example than propping the kid up as some sort of superhero, whose Kryptonite happened to be bad roots. This is why I've tried to include as much of the not- so- flattering reality as I could!

Hero worship and idolization is folly. For whatever reason, we seem to need examples of people who do amazing, almost impossible things. We need to look up to people who accomplish things we believe we could never do, then deify them as means to an excuse as to why WE should not even try. "Only ‘Saints & Superheroes' accomplish anything worthwhile."

Santa Clausification.

I've been guilty of this as much as anyone, but the more I learn about these prestigious pedestal- occupants, the more I see that, with few exceptions, they belong right down here with the rest of us. We all have doubts, faults, neuroses, hypocrisies, and skeletons in the closet. No one out there is superhuman. HOWEVER, if that is true, then we all have the SAME capacity to accomplish 'great things' anyone else has.

Why do we never hear about our idol's shortcomings? Struggles in the beginnings of whatever the endeavor of choice? Why are we so 'crushed' when we do? Why do we never hear about King's depression? Plagued by self- doubt and needing members of his staff to push and encourage him; remind him that he WAS indeed right? Martin Luther King Jr.? DOUBTED HIMSELF?? Wow.

I cannot get past this. Why? Is it because if we take away their perceived 'superpowers', we are left with the stark reality that we too are capable, and perhaps that injects uncomfortable senses of responsibility, to ourselves, that would be more comfortable to avoid?

Heroes are fabrications. In my not- so- humble opinion, we should view them as examples of ourselves, complete with OUR faults, but the ability to transcend them. I doubt that most even thought about transcending shortcomings. Most, I suspect, are driven by something they simply 'must' do. They probably had no choice but to follow it. Is that superhuman- courage? Or something else?

Who knows, but do me a favor? Consider pulling your heroes back from their pedestals. Try being your own.

That was pretty much my day. Not much for singing happy- songs, but interesting nonetheless!

I decided to go to a Tennessee Health Care Campaign meeting with Kim on Tuesday evening, so I would be staying until at least Wednesday. I really wanted to see what exactly was going on at a grassroots level, but not optimistic that I will come away happy. I hope there is something more than "progressive", idealistic chit- chat and something that resembles courage; or at least a little anger!

8/17 Nashville

Kim and I spent most of Sunday afternoon re- discussing her history and making sure that I got the facts and time line correct. I interviewed her, and spent the entire afternoon writing what, by far, is my longest post to date. I like writing apparently!

Shalain later called to let me know that out Couchsurfer had arrived at our place in Santa Fe, and she wanted info on what to see in California. I sent her directly to Santa Barbara and Highway 1! Jennie is here from England, and had been working at a Boy Scout ranch in northern New Mexico, and will now be traveling the US through the end of the year. It was a bit odd setting up a Couchsurfer at my home when I'm not there, but I didn't see the phrase "World Citizen" anywhere in her profile, and ultimately Shalain ran with it and seemed to be enjoying herself.

Rich came over again last night and we sat on the couch playing on You Tube. I like You Tube. Seems to be that last bastion of original art and entertainment, and I find it much more entertaining than TV. A bit late to the party, as always.

I did some research on Digihitch trying to get more information on hitchhiking in Tennessee and the rest of the Southeast. The people from the website seem to give good reviews, with the exception of recommending that I hide the fact that I may be a 'yankee'. Yeah, a few are still fighting THAT war! I got an email from a guy in Kentucky who was interested in chatting to see if we'd like to travel together. Preston I believe was his name. I wrote back to say hi, we'll see how that goes.

Later, I found an interesting website, Terra Incognita Films, who have done their own documentary on Chris McCandless and "Into the Wild". I've had a slight problem with the movie, since I have read the book. Sean Penn took a bit too much creative license, even for Hollywood.

In the movie, McCandless burns all of his IDs and Social Security Card, then eventually all his money. Unfortunately, there's a picture of the man who found his backpack, which was mysteriously left in the bus after they found his body. It held about $300, A MAP, and his wallet... with a drivers license, social security card, library cards. It's interesting to read how Krakour seems to have conveniently omitted or nuanced the facts to fit a story. One that he has been VERY successful in selling.

I am NOT saying that everything in the book and movie is bullshit, and I am NOT diminishing McCandless; his story is still remarkable. I'm just wondering if he has been a bit bastardized, Santa Clausified, for the purpose of exploiting his story for obscene profit. If so, the 'McCandless Cultists' are chasing a fairytale.

“Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.”
—Henry David Thoreau

Apparently McCandless loved that quote, and so do I. I wonder, if this is the case, how he would feel about the book and the movie.

Fay was still a tropical storm, and they have no clear idea as to where it is going to strike, other than the Florida Keys. I decided to wait on calling Ken until I had a better idea of how that was going to play out.