5/11- 13: Newark to Santa Fe

Not alot to write here, but there was a comical debate between Chris, Mary, and I over of all things, this hat of mine.

I had been pondering returning it to REI when I arrived back in New Mexico as a quick way to recoup money. A little hobby of mine, no? I had gone into financial lock- down after Manhattan, and was now scheming ways to re- acquire it prior to getting the pictures ready to sell. The hat was an obvious, easy target. Chris, however, was a bit smitten and offered to buy it instead. Terrific! Easy! Just one problem...

I had become attached to the thing.

It had seen the Veggie Bus, DC, Trent's, The Chesapeake, black widows, ticks, and the euphoria on the beach in NJ. I had spilled beer on it in both Corbin City and in New York City! It was in half of our pictures! How could I just abandon it? Chris pointed out that I was like Indiana Jones, "Don't... touch... my... HAT!" Ultimately, and even after Mary offered to pay for it, I elected to keep it. Plus, Kwami had said that I look like a badass in it. He's a man of obvious taste, and that's good enough for me.

The bus left Newark, and took me to exotic locales such as Allentown, Pittsburgh, Columbus, Indianapolis, Des Moines, Omaha, and finally Denver before my connection to Santa Fe two days later.

Des Moines was a bit odd. I had lived there from 1998- 99, and the bus happened to drive quite close to one of our old apartments then directly past the other. It's odd how things become nostalgic as time passes. Ten years ago, I would have never guessed that, at least as pertaining to Des Moines.

One note on Greyhound: They are making obvious improvements. The buses are still shitty, but the stations are resembling Bangladesh ghettos slightly less. I actually watched part of the Nuggets game at the swanky little station in Pittsburgh! Plus, I was quite shocked to learn that I would watch movies on TWO of the smaller lines: Trailways and Americanos. One featured Toby Keith, and another starred a pre- pubescent Lindsay Lohan, but they WERE movies! So, props to The Dirty Dog for being a bit less... filthy.

Shit, I AM a travel writer!

Americanos got me to Santa Fe 30- minutes early on Wednesday. That's unheard of in my experience, but true nonetheless. Shalain picked me up, and we spent the night simply hanging out.

It felt like I had just left, and been gone a year at the same time. I got a kick out of driving past the exit Devin had taken off I-25 in the Veggie Bus, exactly a month earlier. One hell of a loop I had just made!

5/10: Mother's Day

A day of self- imposed isolation.

I actually awoke in a good mood. We had a nice b'fast prepped by Chris and Wendie for their mom, but then I almost immediately felt an overpowering need for solitude. That happens sometimes and always has. Today was a bit different. I needed some of that "brutal honesty" my friend referred to, and it needed to be directed squarely at myself. I needed to write.

I told Chris to let the others know that I was going to vanish. I figured they wouldn't mind since it was Mother's Day and it would be nice for them to spend some time quality time with Mary, sans Todd. I strapped on the Mp3 player, crawled in bed and puked into the journal. For exactly the first time since we had left. Nearly a month ago. Astounding. I had written nearly every day last summer and this sort semi stream- of- conscious writing, as I've mentioned, has been something I have depended on to organize thoughts and clarify them into ideas.

The primary "Revelation- of- the- Obvious" was that, regardless of the rationalization, I had lost sight of why I was out here. That was a direct result of trying too hard to incorporate Chris, and vice versa.

We had discussed the idea that we were walking similar yet only parallel paths; not the same one. I'd used the metaphor "painting different parts of the same mural." Somewhere along the way, I had nearly quit focusing on my "part", and had let it turn into some odd sort vacation. One that now had no structure and little defined purpose; I was sailing without a compass. Enter irritation. My blessed discontent. Always my biggest nemesis and the canary in the mental coal mine at the same time.

The conversation with Chris and Wendie on Friday had helped to refocus my purpose in Michigan, but I believe the conversation Saturday may have been more important to the long term. I live to find truth, even if it's not to be found. It's the quest that drives me. It ensures that I continue to grow rather than slipping into complacency, waiting to die. It's a subconscious, unquenchable, and admittedly uncommon drive to define, then identify, agenda and to see the world without the filters of fear. Free from the standard- bearers masquerading as media then share what I see. Remember that? So do I, but where's it been? There have been glimpses, but somewhere along the way I had softened my edge, and started to play the role of some semi- mystical, douchebag travel writer. 

I don't want to be a travel writer. The world has too many travel writers. I would rather be raped by a pod of killer whales than be a travel writer. Travel writers make good cocktail party guests because they're comfortable with the ordinary. With few exceptions, they seem to prefer the practice of Cliche' Douchebaggery, writing the same things with only slightly different characters, and insisting on telling us about the "sun rising like a Phoenix from the ashes that was once the dead of night beyond the mountains to the east", or some silly shit like that. 

Phoenix? Phuck the Phoenix. 

Their contribution, in my mind, is not even bathroom reading material. It's wipe- your- ass material. I have no interest in following the footsteps of Peter Jenkins or Steve Newman. They have no real content (other than Pete's dead dog), so they simply spew warm, fuzzy, poorly constructed poetic anecdotes. Beware the writer who tries to be oh- so- pretty. Fancy wordsmithiness is often mental- makeup; a deception trying to conceal that they really have nothing original to say, hoping you wont notice, or worse- pretending to have something to say yet having no idea what the hell they're talking about. 

Somewhere along the way, I had been gelded. I had become concerned with hurting feelings, or seeming unfair. This started in Oklahoma City, and it's pissing me off. I'm not interested in making hundreds of friends to display in my ego's trophy case. Nor am I interested in singing Kumbaya to every town hoping they offer the jester a Coke and a Smile.

Once this obvious realization hit me, the weight lifted and my energy level skyrocketed. Chris and I have distinctly different voices, and equally diverging ways of dealing with people and world. I have little interest in placating anyone for the sake of peace, and often literally thrive on genuine conflict. Most of the few people I respect and admire have in common the willingness to stand up and tell me, family, friends, authority, and most importantly themselves and the world when they are wrong.

No, I'm not "well adjusted". I tried it on for size, and didn't adjust well to the "Bullshit of the Well Adjusted", otherwise my life would not include sleeping with Black Widows and pulling ticks! For the record, I am damn proud of that. Google MLK's speech on being "well adjusted" while you sit and shake your head!

Traveling with another person can be difficult at times. Ultimately the trip can become a battle of wills, styles, and wants. In a case such as ours, that can be a good thing if for nothing else than to serve as a reminder that we're sharing experiences rather than jointly creating them. We're both willing to go our own ways if and when it's needed, and at this point it was needed, at least for a bit. I was eternally grateful on this Mother's Day that we had gotten the bus ticket. And, I was grateful to Shalain for suggesting it, seemingly out of the blue, and at just the right time. I called her and told her so.  

These are briefly some of the conclusions I had come to this Mother's Day afternoon in New Jersey. There were others of course, but this is enough for now. I feel as though I've written a manifesto. At least it was Phoenix- free!

5/8: Sisters

This is the day I officially checked out of New York, and began looking west. Also, this is the day that Chris and I swapped positions from where we were in New Mexico! I now knew what it was like for him to be sedentary at our place while being anxious to get on the road east. The energy in the house was a bit odd. Not negative or unwelcoming as much as it was as though there were "opposing polarities" between Chris, Mary, & I and Musty. He was cordial, but it also was apparent he would like to have his house back, free of these misguided, spiritual vagabond kooks! I mean, who could blame him?

As Monday’s marathon Greyhound ride drew nearer, this was probably a contributor to the familiar feelings of agitation; the same as Cape May. This time the friction was subtly growing, rather than suddenly appearing, and it was becoming blatantly apparent that I was, potentially, significantly off- kilter. Yet, I was still at a loss to identify it. I hoped that Wendie’s arrival that night would interject some much-needed, new, positive energy to the situation. She most certainly did that, but in an unexpected ways for me.

After picking her up at the airport, the three of us stayed awake until the wee hours chatting about all sorts of life- things. Telling stories. Sharing experiences. It’s clear that she is someone who has a lot going and is willing to ask questions, and seek answers. I could physically feel the connection that exists between she and Chris, and it was nice to watch siblings that are that close. It drove home again, however, the admittedly juvenile feelings that I'd had six siblings withheld out of either selfishness, or cowardice; with two or three of which there seems to be developing a bond, even at this point in our lives, as we finally get to know each other. Yet, I wasn’t so much jealous as simply happy to see it on display between Chris & Wendie.

Seeing and hearing all this over the weekend slowly snapped into focus the fundamental purpose for my upcoming trek to Michigan: Getting to know the available members of that side of my “family”, and actually meeting the mythical “St. Shelly” for the first time. My mother always spoke glowingly about her, even though she was only a little girl when I was born. As a result, meeting her is something I have wanted to do for 30-years.

It is mind boggling to think that all of this “family stuff” has manifested just since February. It is particularly odd since I now have nothing to do with the two sisters with whomI was actually raised! Adding to the oddity, I had lost touch 8- years ago with the two sisters I HAD met from my father’s side, until a chance run- in on Facebook in January. The sole reason I was now in touch with Shelly was, once again, chance. She “happened” to be visiting, and in the same room with Pam while I was chatting with her one night, and “pounced” on the computer. You are forgiven for asking, “Why would she have to pounce on the computer?” In fact, I have asked similar questions often during the 15-years I have known Pam! (and Kim)

Yes… 15- years. Things that make you go… hmmmm! There are many of these “hmms” directed squarely at me. Over the last few months, I have finally begun to get answers thanks to Shelly. Lynn has helped a great deal, too, although probably without knowing it as we have only traded a pair of emails. Yet, a scant five months ago, I had only a few pictures a name, and 20- minutes with my father in a mall's food court. Now, thanks to Shelly’s patience and hard work, I have names, pictures, and nearly 400-years of history and a sense of where I have come from; a heritage beyond coded, biased anecdotes and watered- down hearsay. I still have two brothers with whom there's no contact, but oddly they don’t seem to play a role in anything.

Yes, the Michigan Pilgrimage will be quite significant beyond the traditional reunions with old friends and familiar places. I doubt much about it will be “familiar!” Not a lot happened on this Friday night that most would find interesting and “travel journal” material, but it would slowly play a significant role over the next few days and go a long ways toward a solution to a much-needed Mother’s Day Revelation-of-the-Obvious.

5/7: Manhattan- Day 2

Considering how late of a night it was, I felt good as we moved out of Ingrid's place on a search for coffee and a train to midtown. Just after we said our goodbyes, the skies opened up and let loose a deluge the likes of which I had not seen in as long time! This made the walk around Columbia's campus interesting, and we finally found a suitable coffee shop just as the heaviest rains began to fall.

Coffee is a wonderful thing! We had originally decided to make our way to Penn Station and head back to New Jersey, but after caffeine and walking in the rain, it seemed like wandering the streets of New York for a few hours more was the thing to do. We found our subway and eventually Times Square and the United Nations. I cannot explain why the UN was such a draw, it wasn't like we were going to take the tour or anything, but it's a place I've just wanted to visit for a number of years now. I can now cross that off the list.

We were on the bus back to Jersey by late afternoon, and as we approached his Mom's driveway, we noticed a few deer wandering through a yard adjacent to the road. The deer closest to us had no interest in running off as we walked by. There were a couple others on that side nibbling on grass and across the road and I noticed another, younger deer navigating down the steep, wooded hill onto the asphalt trying to join his friends. He was maybe 25 yards ahead of us, and as I looked up, I saw a car speeding down the hill toward us.

The next few seconds were in stereotypical slo- mo. The deer began to run across the road, as the car came around a slight curve in the road. The driver was gabbing on his cell phone and never saw the deer, slamming it directly with the center of his grill... NEVER hitting his brakes until his front end was smashed. With a loud "thud" and the sounds of shattered fiberglass, the car sent the deer flying through the air, then along the asphalt directly toward us, before coming to rest in the brush only a matter of a few feet to our left... thanks to the curve in the road. We initially thought the carcass may actually hit us. I could see the whole thing develop, and could only say, "I didn't need to see that" while fighting the urge to implant the old- man's cell phone firmly, and sideways, up his ass. There was no reason for him not to see the deer in time. His phone call was obviously more important than looking down the road.

Being sensitive to such sudden events, seeing that deer annihilated created distinct reactions specific to our different personalities. For Chris, it seemed to be a possibly ominous foreshadowing of events as they related to him or us. For me, it was an instant, disturbing reminder of something that had happened in Baton Rouge at the end of my Carnie Adventure in 2008.

I had been with the carnivals for about 2- weeks by then and this particular Sunday evening, I had been playing with a kitten that someone had brought along. A few minutes later someone sat on the front end of a trailer. The added weight caused it to tip on its wheels. Unbeknown to him, this kitten was sitting beneath the trailer. The frame landed directly on top of her back- snapping her spine. The last straw was one of the degenerates spewing the machismo- filled "Well, time to snap its neck!" With my affinity for cats, at that moment I wanted to hurt him more than I ever wanted to hurt a person. I instead put my efforts into trying to convince anyone with a vehicle to take her to a vet. That failed. I was on a bus 3- hours later.


Perhaps I am a bit overly sensitive to energy as some have suggested, but it was only later that I realized that the cat was a serving as a brutal metaphor for other things that I had sensed there. It seems that whenever something positive was introduced, it was "crushed". I had seen it with a few people who were obviously there because they were searching for something. Trying to get that "something- unexplainable" to take root... only to have the negativity of the place suffocate it. That happened with my Chickasha friend, Jimmy. He had led the Easter Sunday Indian- ritual outlined on my other blog. I learned when I returned home that someone had beaten him up shortly after I left.

My sense of the deer- experience was that it was time for me to exit New York, and I was now grateful that I had my bus ticket for Monday. What solidified this notion was Musty. His witty reaction to our anecdotes: "Is it dead? Good, one less deer in the world." His primary concern: his lawn. Regardless of the fact that he owns property in their habitat, he believes that his deed trumps any sort of natural- law or obligation to balance. They should all be dead because they create what he perceives as an "inconvenience!" Not that he is in the minority, of course. But, is it any wonder that we are where we are as a species if the prevailing attitude is that wealth, property, or even simple convenience dictate supreme law, and another's right to exist? Sorry, but that's unsustainable.

After Musty's commentary, I was reminded of his theory about how "evil" will never have any problem "killing good." I laughed at the obvious irony! Since he was happy to arbitrarily kill these creatures simply because he had judged them as "pests", I wondered (at great length) as to how he'd define "good & evil"... and where he'd fall on an authentic scale. Ahh, these annoying "abstract" concepts like good and evil! I see no "empirical proof" that, in the grand scheme of things, YOU yourself are "good?" In fairness, that's an inventory many of us could stand taking, especially when expanding the idea beyond an isolated incident in New Jersey. I keep hearing the conversations with Eric back in Denver about coyotes and prairie dogs...

Regardless, this was pretty much the end of my interactions with Musty other than the polite, obligatory, superficial small- talk.

All considered, I was happy to make it an early night. Chris' sister, Wendie, was flying in from Seattle the next day to spend Mother's Day weekend with Chris and Mary. I had been looking forward to meeting her, curious to see if she'd be likely to play a significant role later on.

5/1- 5/5: NYC

The train dropped us a mile from Chris's mother's house in West Paterson, NJ. Chris was looking forward to seeing her, and were both eager to get out of the packs, out of the nasty clothes, and into showers!

Friday night was spent chatting and gorging ourselves. Mary and her husband, Musty, made sure I felt at home as we settled in for this seemingly unknown length of time. All we knew was that Chris's sister, Wendie, would be in from Seattle the following Friday for Mother's Day, and that we wanted to stay thru her visit, which would end 5/13. At least 12- days. This was Chris's prime destination out east, and it was time for me to relax, exhale, and process the past three weeks. That's exactly what I did. In fact, I finally left the house on Monday, only for cigs. I literally walked 2- miles for a cigarette. Most of the rest of the time was spent tinkering with the blog, editing & uploading pictures, and trying to clarify foggy ideas of how to proceed from here.

The four of us had some interesting chats over the weekend, although I'm quite sure Musty finds us to be quite ridiculous! He is literally a retired rocket scientist, and a lot like Bill in that he's scientific- minded, but much less open to abstract ideas. In fact, he may have nightmares about the very notion of things abstract, perhaps sometimes awakening in a cold, tangible sweat screaming "empirical proof!" I kid the Musty...

Now, to his credit, one nugget he left with me was his philosophy that, in the end, evil will always triumph over good for the simple reason that evil has no moral war to wage about just eliminating good. Good on the other hand will first pontificate, then try to legislate or rehabilitate, before deferring to the metaphorical study group to "seek further 'data' before more action can be taken."

This all leads down the very dark alley toward establishing a standard of Moral Superiority; one I assume Musty himself has no issue walking in the dead of night. Yet, it's an interesting point, and screams to several different groups, and ultimately depends on how you define "good & evil". Hopefully you're not leaving that not- so- simple definition to George Bush or the Magic Space Man. We never got to that point, thank God, and for once I'll attempt to leave something alone before I get steamrolling. I'd also like you to know that, if not for some serious editing, the preceding paragraph would have reached the first full "Rant Alert" status of 2009! "Am I not merciful?!?!" Name the movie, win a prize...

The four of us (Chris, Mary, Musty, and I) also seem to share a special disdain for the Federal Reserve. We spent 4- hours, straight, watching and discussing a program from the mid- 90's that outlines the history of the Reserve, central banks, and the income tax. More importantly, and creepy, is that it predicted this "crisis" you're being sold... and did it in 1995.

As the new week arrived, my next step presented itself, in a big way, from a traditionally unlikely source: Shalain. Out of the blue she began talking about flying to Michigan to meet up when I finally get there. Unfortunately, we have no idea when that will be, so the conversation turned to ME doing the traveling, NOW, since we were hunkered down on the east coast. Besides, my calendar oddly seems a bit empty for the foreseeable future. With Chris going to see family & friends in Mass. after New York, my taking a trip back to New Mexico now would fit nicely. Plus, when else will I be able to do it this conveniently? It seemed odd to retrace my steps so quickly after leaving, but it "felt right", and I laughed realizing that I had done nearly the same thing, on a smaller scale, last year after 10- days!

After weighing planes, trains, and automobusses, we decided to get the 7- day advance Greyhound ticket from Newark to Santa Fe. I severely dreaded 2- days of Dirty Dog, but this suffering would allow me to Amtrak to Boston. Worth it indeed. To prevent intense nausea, and perhaps even a bludgeoning of one of the various breeds of punk that curse They Who Would Have You Leave the Driving to Them, I chose a route other than Nashville- St. Louis- Amarillo. If I never again see that Fascist Shithole in St. Louis, I'll be happy! (see last August's post for the backstory) Instead, I would travel through Pittsburgh, Columbus, Indy, Peoria, Des Moines, Omaha, and finally Denver before getting home. Some territory I hadn't seen in awhile.

Another major development on a personal level that may play a role later this year is that my last "mythical sister" and I finally started a dialogue via email. We seem to click nicely. She is quite blunt and to the point about things. We all know by now how He Who Writes Blog loves that! Her name is Lynn, she lives in Boise, and you'll be hearing much more about the rest of the story as Michigan gets closer. Suffice it to say for now that this was a big deal for me.

Chris had been making arrangements with people to meet up with in the city, so we decided to make one long trip to Manhattan, rather than spending money on the bus everyday. We were on the bus Wednesday morning, planning to stay with various friends until Friday evening...

4/30: Corbin City, NJ- Wendy

Chris and I got a relatively early jump on the day. The idea was to make our way as far north as we could, with a minimalist goal of May's Landing by Saturday. This would give us two days to go the nearly 20- miles or, hopefully, much further with a ride. Chris's mom was planning to pick us up Saturday, and had an offer from Ken to get a ride if we could get anywhere on I-95. Thus we had set simple "goals" of getting as far as possible to shorten her drive or, if we were very lucky, hooking up with Ken somewhere around Philadelphia or Trenton. Unfortunately, we were also coming to accept that rides were unlikely, at best, in New Jersey.

This was the first day of consistent walking since we had shut it down because of my heel, and we kept up a surprisingly good pace. Since the shoes had broken in quite a bit now, the heel was repairing itself nicely, and I had lightened up, we were moving more quickly than the week before.

We stopped for some supplies, then quickly found the ever- present Wawa... which, with its coffee and cheap(er) smokes, was becoming my favorite stop. Stop we did.

While reclined against the wall outside, we were approached by a bearded, tattooed character who slid along side, crossed his arms, and asked "What are you two up to?", as if he recognized something.

Tom was a biker who also ran a moving company. He looked to be in his 50's, and had a beard that would impress both the saltiest biker and biggest ZZ Top fan. He & his wife, Rita, were driving to Cape May with their teenage son for Rita's birthday, and running into us had delayed things a bit!

The conversation went on for quite a while considering the venue, with Rita both reminding Tom that they had things to do AND taking part at the same time! It was comical, and obvious that the four of us got along famously! Too bad that they were going the other way, we could have talked until Anchorage. I loved these two!

We lingered at the Wawa for nearly two hours not feeling the urge to accomplish much, despite our "goals", and had a nice pace for the day. Tuckahoe was next after a rest or two and a hike thru a nature preserve. On the way thru this little village, we pondered buying a converted short- bus that had been converted to an RV, much like the veggie bus. Something fitting about the fact that it was a... short- bus.

Corbin City begins across a drawbridge from Tuckahoe, and is barely a town. I had stopped on the other side (if it has "sides") to get rain gear handy, when out of the antique store we had parked in front of walked a pair of elderly ladies who were curious about the creatures mingling outside. After a nice chat, they pointed out the Corbin Cafe just up the road, which they suggested as a place to refill water before the "nothingness" further up 50.

We were greeted with what I sensed as suspicious curiosity as we lumbered in asking the bartender if we could please fill up the water bag. The suspicion quickly melted away as the 3 or 4 patrons learned that we had found their little town after traveling from New Mexico and Colorado. Corbin Cafe is the typical small- town dive I love, and I liked that it had "Corbin" in the title, as I could easily see my late- friend, Michael Corbin, loving the place!

We stayed for what I thought was a surprisingly long time chatting, and when we finally pulled ourselves away to find our ground for the night, Keith came after us carrying the Coke bottle I was using for spare water. I had left it sitting at the bar, and along with the forgotten water came an offer for beers if we chose to come back inside. That sounded damn good.

Two beers turned into us buying dinner... which of course turned into more beer. After an hour, we had an invitation to camp in the bartender's backyard, and the bar had begun to fill up for the Thursday night pool league. The bartender's name was Wendy, and thru the course of the night we met her boyfriend, Avery, as well as her daughter, Tiffanni, who were playing in the pool league. After two or three hours, the accommodations had been upgraded to Wendy's camper trailer: A bed!

Chris and I both had a grand time with the notion that all this had come about by simply stopping in to a place most would ignore to ask for water. We had also intentionally suspended frugality for the night concluding that it was worth the money to have a little genuine interaction with people. We were right. We had a great time. Everyone at the bar was unbelievably nice. They all knew each others names. And each others business. Keith had even went and put together a sort of care package, which was snack foods, along with packets of tuna and Spam. It was quite the gesture. I received a call from Ken early in the evening, saying that he was in Richmond, VA but would be driving through the night to try to make Boston by 7am. It was obvious that we were going to miss him, but I'm not sure we ever held out anything other than a faint glimmer of hope from the beginning. The topic had only rarely come up during the day.

After several beers, many conversations, several attempted playings of the Soggy Bottom Boys on the jukebox, and another full meal for Chris, Wendy and Avery were ready to head home at about 11:30. That was perfect, since both of us were fading fast. Wendy lives in Tuckahoe, about a mile down the road we'd just walked, and once there we were quickly shown to the camper accompanied by a not so- subtle hint to "leave it as we found it!" I love direct people! Once my head hit a real pillow, it was no time at all until I was out.

4/27: New Jersey

We lingered in the sun for just over an hour while waiting for the 4:15 ferry across Delaware Bay to Cape May, NJ. This felt like a significant step to me after being focused on the act of just getting there for nearly a week.

The ferry itself is a commuter that mostly transports drivers between NJ and Delaware, so we may have been the only actual foot- passengers aboard.
The crossing itself takes 80- minutes, and with the perfect weather, gave us an opportunity to wander about, take pictures and just relax, basking in our badassitude. I also discovered that my heel had healed to where I could wear my boots once again, and was able to determine that much of my misery was likely caused by my sock liners... that were supposed to prevent blisters!

Once off the ferry, I filled up on water to the sounds of Glenn Beck preaching Gloom 'n Doom over the Apocalypse of the Month: Swine Flu. We both recited in unison the line from "V for Vendetta": "I want everyone to remember WHY THEY NEED US!" I wondered what new "legislation" would be sure to follow on the heels of this, and in advance of the implementation of Codex Alimentarius in December. Not that anyone will care, of course.

From the ferry terminal, it was off to find beach, and hopefully bikini. We never found the Tropicana models, but boy, did we ever find the beach. Not even a mile away, on the Bay side of the Jersey peninsula. This meant that we could cook Chris's concoction of rice and mac & cheese (there ya are, Steve!), and watch an intense sunset while alternating between camera and spork.

The beach was nearly deserted, save dog walkers, a couple of families, and the typical sunset watchers. There were also rolling mini- dunes directly behind us which, with a little sly action, would provide the ultimate camp site for the night. We are not short on sly.

We waited until the beach was deserted, which was a matter of minutes after sunset, then walked a couple hundred yards away from the access until we found the perfect spot. In the bivies we'd be hidden from morning beach traffic, but still have a grand view of the ocean, moon, and sky full of stars. Not to mention the sounds of surf all night. I could not have painted a more perfect place.

Once nestled in, there was a funny, familiar scene replayed in duplicate. We were ecstatic, and began to call people in a vain attempt to share the joy. Just as I had called Chris, Eric, & Shalain from the beach in Santa Barbara, and while riding the freight train thru Oregon. We felt like we were absolutely tuned in and, in an odd way, like we were being "rewarded" for our patience, calm, and serenity of method over the past couple of days. We were fully immersed in that same joy and rush of pure energy that we had tapped into in Albuquerque, and tried to articulate between ourselves where it was coming from. It again, as always it seems, came back to the side- car analogy. Taking the role of the ultimate observer in the drama that is your own life... and not getting caught up in the mundane, bullshit- details that consume us most of the time. It was a striking conversation that perfectly complimented the night before, at the state park in Denton.

We were up chatting on adrenaline until nearly 2am, and just before fading away, I had one of my "wake 'n sleep" moments. This happens when the comparison of the place I awoke with the place I went to sleep is dramatic. From the woods in Maryland, to the ocean in New Jersey. Nice!

Fittingly, one of the observations that were made surrounded how struggle helps to highlight these moments of mini- enlightenment. If everyday were like this, they would be meaningless. Tuesday would be a stark reminder of this for me.