9.) Strangers on a Trail......Projecting Vs. Accepting....New World Disorder.....Future Tense......

  I hear Caleb return from the peak, and we begin to chat.  Through my tent of course, with me being incapacitated and all.  He’s from Maine, locked in the midst of a trip very similar to mine.  He’s been on the road for for nearly two months already, traveling down the east coast all the way to Key West taking his time along the way.  He quickly realized that Key West is expensive in almost every respect and didn’t stay long.  Turning west when he reached the Florida panhandle, he mentioned that Alabama and Mississippi were a lot prettier than he anticipated.  He got stranded in Austin, TX for a week or so because of a blown clutch, but it’s a college town and he knew some people there so it wasn't a terrible place to be stuck.  
I replay my trip thus far for him and we eventually come to the question of why this is what we’ve chosen to do with our time.  Not particularly surprising, our reasons are more similar than they are different.  It was basically try this, or be stuck in the same place forever, and neither of us wanted that.  Both of us are weary about putting down roots anywhere for fear of never getting out. Caleb has quite a bit more of experience than I do at this point so I listen to him intently.  “Really makes you realize the people and things that matter to you,” he says, referencing his trip and being away.  “And it really makes it special when you get to see those things and people again.”  I can understand that, and he agrees with my “it gives you time to miss them” comment.  
The two months that have passed, coupled with the $1000 he had to drop on a new clutch has him nearing the bottom of his pockets.  He’s been sending applications and making calls to different seasonal positions.  Tour guide, or hiking instructor, things like that in hopes of avoiding returning to Maine with his tail between his legs.  I tell him that even if he does end up back in Maine, at least you did it.  You took the plunge, followed your gut, did what YOU wanted to do and that’s what matters.  If anyone gives you shit upon your return, it’s because they're jealous that they didn't have the balls to do what you did… so fuck em.  You might end up in the same place geographically, and everything might seem the same but YOU’RE not.  You’re richer in experience and self-awareness.  You’ve learned, and grown, and evolved and isn’t that the whole fucking point, not only of this trip but of life in general?  Maybe it’s not and I’ve got it all backwards, but for me, the point is most definitely NOT to preform the same repetitive tasks day after day just to collect a check at the end of the week.  Most of which disappears shortly after you receive it, just to fund the same cycle for the next week.  That’s not a life that I want any part of.  
    Sometimes I wish it were easier for me to take my own advice, that I was as passionate and cocksure about the decisions that I, myself make; but that is to the case.  I could spend all day telling Caleb what a badass he is for giving the naysayers the finger and just taking off.   I could remind him that the world is changing and the trajectory of life is not the same as it used to be.  People no longer work for the same company for 30 years, receive their retirement plan, and then move to Florida to live out their days in warmth and comfort.  I could label Caleb a modern day pioneer, a trailblazer for a new generation whose dreams and priorities are of a different caliber than those of the past.  Not better or worse, just different.  I could tell him these things with passion and conviction and stand behind every word with every ounce of everything that I am; but similar notions about myself never seem to ring true.  To myself I come across as either a coward, staying on the move to avoid ever committing to anything; or as a silly idealist, too naive to understand the ways of the world.  I hope I’m neither of these things, but the possibility that I’m both of them is strong.  I’m just too close to the situation to see it clearly.    
After my little tirade Caleb wants to know what my plans are for after my trip.  I tell him that since my trip is still in its infancy, I’m not even thinking about that yet which is as close to the exact opposite of the truth as one can get.  The truth is, I really have no idea what I’m going to do afterwards and not only do I think about it, I obsess over it…constantly.  I like to think that the only time that really matters is right now, the past is already over and the future is yet to be determined so just enjoy yourself now.  Easier said than done.  

The future is a scary thought for everyone I think.  You can try to control it, but nothing’s for certain.  It’s even more nerve-racking for someone who, at the age of 26 had to be split open like a frog in a high school science class and then speckled back together like some daytime TV DIY project. Suffering from heart issues at such a young age, one can’t help but feel that one is not long for this world. So when asked what I’m going to do after my trip, a little twinge of fear invariably rises up from that pit in your stomach.  The one you try to keep a lid on as often you can, but every once in a while that fear slips around your defenses when your guard is down and spreads through your chest.  Your senses dull and your vision tunnels and you can’t avoid it. You’ve got nowhere to go except face to face with your own mortality.  What am I going to do after my trip?  Realistically, there might not be an after, this could be a last hurrah for me; and the threat of no future is much scarier than any that even the best storytellers could come up with.  I choose not to mention this part to Caleb and I believe we both feel better because of it.

8.) Onslaught of Reality.....Check Yourself Before You....Oh, Never Mind.....

     My jubilation is short lived.  Through the foothills and onto the mountain proper, the trail continues to climb.  Steeper and steeper the further I go.  It’s not long before I have to stop every few steps to catch my breath.  It’s like climbing up the down escalator at the mall, endlessly….with a refrigerator on your back.  And there’s no cinn-a-bunn at the top of this one.  I plow my way up and forward, lugging my pack and myself to the end of the next switch back where I collapse.  Breathing heavily and light headed I wonder what I got myself into.  This isn’t mandatory you know?  You chose to do this, and now you’re going to die of exposure on the side of a mountain because you thought you were some sort of bad ass.  I really don’t want to give up, and at this point it’s just as far to turn around as it is to continue on to camp.  As I’m contemplating this in the fetal position and preying that death comes swiftly, a pack of about 30 elementary school kids comes happily skipping down the trail in the other direction.  They’ve already been to the top and are already on their way down.  All chatting giddily, hopping onto and off of rocks and ledges along he way with the grace and effortlessness of mountain goats.  My ego, which was already pretty close to rock bottom, if not already sprawled limply across it;  has now dug its way through rock bottom and into the muck and mire and whatever else lies beneath.  
I can’t let myself be bested by school children.  I rest long enough for my vision to clear and my lungs to stop bleeding and will myself up to the end of the next switch back.  I continue in this fashion for a while.  Each time I conquer another switchback, I tell myself, next one has to be the last one…but it never is…ever.  My progress is excruciatingly slow and just plain excruciating, and just as I’m sure I’m going to black out the mountain takes pity on me and ends.  I’ve made it to the top….of this leg.  I’m kissing the ground for finally being flat, and when I regain my motor skills I consult my map to discover it’s still about a mile to my campsite.  I want to weep.  Fortunately, from where I’m slumped in a limp pile of my own hubris, I see a sign for a campsite right here, just off the trail.  Fuck it, there’s no way I can go on, I’m staying here.  I drag my body up the trail towards the campsite only to realize, upon reaching it that there’s some one already here.  I don’t care.  I see enough room for my tent, and thats all I need.  
Caleb is cooking himself dinner as I lumber up beside him.  With the last of my breath I introduce myself and explain to him my situation, that my campsite is another mile away, but I think I’m dying and he has no problem with having a little company for the evening.  I thank him profusely, and crawl to the edge of camp where I proceed to liberally vomit up every drop of water drank on the way up.  No food mind you, because I’ve eaten next to nothing for the past three days.  I know, I didn’t really think this through, but I’ve never been one for plans.  Always been a seat of you pants kinda guy, just see what happens.  Well, what happens sometimes, isn't very pretty.  
After my stomach is empty, I feel better, but not much.  Caleb sympathizes with my plight and then heads for Emory Peak, the highest point in all of Big Bend.  It’s only about a mile and a half away, and he’s going without his pack since his camp is already set.  I don’t have the energy to even laugh at him when he asks if I want to go with him.  
As he bounds off towards the trail, I’ve pulled myself together enough to make an attempt at cooking dinner.  All I have is some mac and cheese, and in the absence of milk and butter, this stands to be a bland order made with nothing but water and the powdered cheese mix.  Once it’s ready however, it’s magnificent.  Most likely because, moments ago, I was starving to death but a warm meal, no matter the ingredients, or lack there of, can make a hell of a difference.  The left overs I lock in the bear box for breakfast in the morning and drag myself deep inside my tent.  I’m physically and mentally exhausted, unable to move, nearly paralyzed in my sleeping bag….It’s 7:30.  

7.) Welcome To The Island.....Counting Unhatched Chickens.....

     

The night passes without incident and I wake up with the sun.  I’m awake, but not physically up yet.  The frigid desert morning is not ideal for coaxing one out of ones toasty warm sleeping bag, but the anticipation of my first hike is enough getting me moving.  The tent comes down much easier than it went up last night.  Camp is broken, everything packed up and I head back down the the 7 miles to the road.  The early morning is eerily quiet, the the crunch of my tires over loose gravel is the only sound until an owl flaps wildly out of the tall brush and across the road.  A lone tree, miserable looking and leafless, releases a flock of giant ravens as my jeep approaches.  Finally I reach the road and take the turn towards Chisos Basin.

The basin is referred to as an island of green nestled in a sea of desert.  It’s an oasis.  As you climb the road up over the foothills and down into the basin, the desert brush falls away and a woody forest takes it place.  The road climbs and descends number of switch backs until you break through the wall that is the Chisos Mountains and reach the 3 mile wide basin.  The mountains are all around you, menacing and angry looking.  They are a fortress, a natural castle, protection from the harsh landscape that surrounds them.  Formed by volcanic activity millions of years ago, looking around, one can’t help but marvel at the power of nature.  

Campground in Chisos Basin

The campground is surround by forests that cling to the slopes up until the air becomes too thin and the mountains too steep.  There’s a small store to stock up on food and supplies, rooms, and whole cottages for rent, and a full service restaurant and bar.  Hardly roughing it, but with the full glory of the Chisos standing sentry between you and the rest of civilization, it becomes a world unto itself.  

Packing for my hike is trial and error.  I know the things I will definitely need, but as I go through the jeep, I keep finding things  MIGHT need.  Rain gear?  In the desert?  I know if I don’t bring it, there will be a monsoon, extra batteries, just in case.  How much water? A gallon a day?  Its still hard to judge so I fill up as many containers as I can fit in my pack.  Water IS life out here, and I’d hate to die of dehydration on my first hike.  When I'm satisfied, I zip up and hoist it onto my back.  It’s heavy….really heavy, but I test it out with few wobbly paces and the weight feels alright.  I can do this, I think, the first leg is only about 4 miles….no problem.  Hell, I walked 10 miles in my crocs on my last vacation, this is nothing.  With that, I'm off down the Pinnacles Trail toward Emory Peak, the highest point in the park.  The plan is to camp at the base of it tonight, in boot canyon, and make for the south rim tomorrow.  Come back to my site for another night, and then back to the trailhead the next day.  

The plan starts off without a hitch and I’m enjoying the beautiful weather.  The sun is warm but the air is cool, sweater weather. My favorite.  Periodically, you get a break in the trees and you can see Casa Grande.  The massive flat topped mountain that is the calling card of these mountains and landmark for most of Big Bend.  Nooks and crannies, crevices and caves coat it’s sides, the simple presence of it humbles me, and I can almost feel its weight towering over me.  All these new stimuli work together to create a sense of calm serenity in your chest that makes you feel privileged to be in this  particular place at this particular time. Away from the timers, and schedules, and alarms and deadlines that clog a conventional life with stress and disappointments.  This is how life should be.

6.) He Has Arrived!

I wake up in Alpine, TX.  I’m learning that the desert of reality is not the desert of cartoons.  As the sun goes down it doesn't take long for the temperature to drop.  Last night it went from 86 to 55 in less than a half hour.  Darkness just fuels the decline which continues throughout the night, hence the 27 degree morning.

The turn into Big Bend is only about 20 minuets away and my excitement grows as I near it.  Big Bend was recently raked the #2 national park in the world by a travel channel documentary, so my excitement is not unfounded.  

I make the turn toward the park and discover that it’s another 70 miles straight into the desert before I even reach the entrance. The road snakes along through valleys, passed sheer cliffs, and rocky hills covered in scraggily brush that grab at your pant legs as you walk by. After what seems like forever I finally reach the ranger station at Permission Gap.   

Before I left I purchased an season pass for 80 bucks that will get me into every national park in the country for free.  I present it to the ranger and I’m allowed a weeks access.  Normally the entrance fee is $20 per vehicle, so it seems the pass will pay for itself rather easily.  I pay $10 for a week of backcountry camping and choose my campsites with some help from the ranger.  Keep in mind, generally speaking, I have no idea what I'm doing, so I just kind of wing it.  I make an attempt to pick sites throughout the park so I get to see as much as I can. 

Big Bend is enormous, 801,163 acres, around 70 miles from end to end.  I takes a good hour to just drive across the damn thing.  With my basic itinerary mapped out I embark to my first campsite, Grapevine Hills.  

The turn off for it is just a few miles down the road, but mine is the very last site at the end of a gravel track 7 miles deeper into the desert.  My jeep chugs along relentlessly and the gravel gives way to dirt, and then basically just rocks that I navigate through slowly but surely until I find my site.  It’s nothing more than a square of desert  where the brush has beed cleared away and the ground leveled.  The solitary feature is a large metal box about six inches off the ground colorfully named a bear box.  Storage for food and anything pungent that could attract the attention of the local fauna.  Theres a hidden latch that locks the door, making it wildlife proof.  

Setting up my tent for the first time proves difficult in the desert wind.  In the weeks to come, I’ll realize that the desert, like the beach, is almost always windy; sometimes to a terrifying degree.  Camping in either of these venues, I imagine,  is a kin to living in a kite.  I hunt down the pair of mechanics gloves I bought and use my knife to cut the plastic straps holding them together.  My old man had given me a knife he had received as a gift in the Philippines.  As I remove it from its leather case I remember thinking, “Watch me cut myself with it the first time I use the thing."  Sure enough, because of me wielding it in a incompetent way, it slices through the plastic strap, and then, swiftly across and deeply into the base of my left index finger.  My stupidity overshadows any sense of pain as I watch the blood begin to run and pool in the palm of my hand. All I can do is shake my head.  “Idiot”, I think to myself and run to find my first aid kit.  I manage to stop the bleeding, but it looks awfully deep, I could probably use a few stitches.  I just wrap it up tightly, put my gloves on over the bandage and hope for the best.  

Eventually, I get my tent sent up despite the wind and the less than desirable stakes that came with it.  If you’ve ever bought a tent before, you know the ones I mean.  The flimsy, blunt-ended, ‘L’ shaped rods that bend as you drive them into the ground, or simply pull out altogether if the wind yanks your tenet at the right angle.  

Finally arriving has calmed my nerves considerably.  Two straight days of nothing but driving had me pretty low.  Worried that I’d made a mistake with this life style change.  But I’d much rather be here, doing this, than working any of those old jobs with deadlines, and due dates, and scheduled breaks.  While that my be a safer life, this one is infinitely more interesting.  The good Doctor Thompson said it best, “It seems hardly proper to write of life without once mentioning happiness; so we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived, or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed??"  My first hike is planned for tomorrow, to the south rim of the Rio Grande.  Visions of wide open vistas, purple sunsets shuffle through my mind as I huddle deep into my sleeping bag and drift off to sleep.   

5.) Desert Encounters

After the incident with the suburbans, which actually turned out to be a non incident, I was presented with nothing but open desert in all directions on the meager one lane highway heading northwest across the Texas countryside.  That is until a sign that read, inspection point ahead.  Luckily, when I get closer, I see it's set up on the other side of the road, stopping and 'inspecting' cars traveling in the opposite direction.  As I drive passed the the small shack I see just a few uniformed officers, one of which holds the leash of a German Shepard.  Most likely they're looking for 'coyetes'.  People who are paid to smuggle immigrants across the border.  Nevertheless, I am slightly relieved at having been able to bypass the inspection point on a count of me having my small personal stash of marijuana packed away somewhere in the back of the jeep.  My relief was short lived....

A few hours later, I pass a familiar sign, 'Inspection Point Ahead'.  It is quickly followed by, 'Be prepared to stop'.  Shit, I think.  I'm not terribly worried, not only is my stash of minimal quantity, but I don't believe that was the sort of thing they're inspecting for.  Such a situation still has a tendency to get your blood pumping, and the last thing I need is for my trip to get shut down before it even starts just because of a little weed.  

I roll down my window, come to a stop next to the officer, and say, in my most nonchalant voice, "What's happenin' man?"  

"Where you headed?" came his reply.  He did not seem amused.

"Big Bend, gonna do some hiking."  His response was immediate, no hesitation whatsoever.

"Big Bend huh?  Lot's of people go there to smoke weed.  You smoke weed?"

"Every once in a while", I shrug at him.  I briefly considered adding, 'Why? You got some?'  but I figured this was not the optimal time for wiseass-ery.

"You got any weed in the car?" he asks flatly.

"No" I try not to respond too quickly, and add a slight chuckle in an attempt to make the notion seem ridiculous.

"See ya later,"  is the last thing he says to me and I don't wait around to see if he has anything else to add.

Later that same evening, 100 miles or so down the same highway, those familiar red and blue flashing lights pop up in my rearview to give me another start.  When the officer approaches my window he asks if I know why he's pulled me over and I answer honestly, that no, I don't.  Turns out its because I was riding in the passing lane while I was the only one on the road.  He takes my license and my insurance card, (the seal on the envelope that contained my insurance info is not even been broken yet)and is back in less than 2 minuets saying, 'ok thanks, don't ride in that lane anymore'.

"You got it" I say as I motor onward.  It is actually a fairly painless experience.  He was friendly, courteous, and efficient.  A lot more than I can say for police in Houston, one of whom gave me a $130 ticket for having a break light out because he failed to prove that I was drunk.  So it turns out not ALL cops are total dicks.  Just the overwhelming majority of them.

4.) West Ward Ho!

I turn left onto highway 44.  A small two-laner that takes me west across south Texas.  Every hour or so I have to slow down to pass through a small town, but 5 minutes later I'm through it and back up to cruising speed.

For a while I see nothing.  Just vast open expanses of desert.  I find it odd that theres this much open space, but still, parallel fences run the length of the highway on each side.  Seems to say, 'this is mine! and you can't use it."  I don't like it.  I come out of the thought and see, in my rearview, a plain white suburban coming up on me...FAST.  I maintain my speed and when it catches up to me, it swerves dramatically into the opposing lane, flies around me, and then back into the lane in front of me.  Now I can see that a second, identical suburban is right behind the first and swerves around me along with it.  Strange, I think.  Stranger still is the fact that once they're in front of me, they don't maintain their speed, they slow up so I'm right behind them.  I'm forced to break, and as I do I glance into my rearview again to make sure my slowing down isn't going to result in me being rear ended.  A shiver blasts it's way through my veins when I see, there behind me, a third white suburban  followed by a white unmarked, full size conversion van.

I'm surrounded by these things now.  All exactly alike.  Same make and model, all in pristine condition.  On some deserted desert highway in the middle of nowhere and all I can think is what kind of fast and furious, Vin Diesel bullshit is this!?  Just the second day of my journey and I'm gonna get hijacked by a band of degenerates that drive identical vehicles on some shit highway, in a shit state that I never liked in the first place....typical.

As I'm psyching myself up to make some evasive maneuvers for when shit gets real, the third suburban and the van, both still behind me, shoot off into the opposing lane, jam the accelerator to the floor, whiz passed and then in front of me.  I drop the gas, and roll to a stop as I watch the strange convoy race away to the vanishing point on the distant horizon.  I let my breath out slowly, and try to calm my pounding heart.  'Whoa', I think to myself, looking around seeing nothing and no one......'that was weird'.

3.) Padre Island National Seashore

I awake on my first morning on The Road, to a cement colored sky, overcast and windy.  A 'V' shaped pod of pelicans glide silently over head to greet the morning with me.  I still haven't completely shaken the feeling that taking off like this was a mistake and waking up in a strange new place is slightly unsettling.   I tell myself this is a huge lifestyle change and it will take some getting used to.  In my notebook I actually write the words DON'T GIVE UP!  

I wander through the pavilion, down a wooden ramp to the sand and dip my toes into the Gulf of Mexico.  Icy cold and angry with white caps and sea foam.  Both the sea and the sky are the muted grey color of old movies.  Small dunes, speckled with shrubs and grasses form a barrier between the beach and the flat desolation of the rest of the island. It's sort of depressing, not the greatest place to start a trip like this. but I make way back to the jeep anyway.  I saddle up and take to the sand.  Dozens of RV's, motors homes, and tents are stretched along the beach.  A few people bundled up in sweats are tending small fires,  some adjusting fishing poles.  Before long i've gone almost 18 miles and I realize I'm low on fuel, and have a long way back to the closest gas station so I'm forced to turn around.

When i get back to the pavilion, the sky over it is filled with color.  Hundreds of kites hover in the wind.  Some shaped like killer whales, frogs, turtles, I think I even saw a ladybug.  It's some sort of competition but I don't stick around to get the details.  I take this wash of color against the low clouds as a sign that things are on their way up.

It's time to move West!

2.) Departure

    After working nearly non-stop since I was 15, not having a job is a strange feeling.  It bothers me that my account balances will only decrease for the forseable future.  But I've been dreaming about a trip like this for ever.  20 years from now, you'll regret the things you didn't do a hell of a lot more than the things you did.  Thats what I tell myself, as I pull out of my neighborhood of 7 years in northwest Houston,TX.

It doesn't do much to combat the anxiety, the creeping suspicion that I've made a terrible mistake; that I'm just running away from something and I'm not completely aware of what that something is.  But the open road has a soothing effect, almost hypnotic.  And as the miles unfurl beneath me, I still can't concoct a definitive answer, but the feeling slowly becomes less prickly and I let my mind wander to the sights and sounds of the places ahead.  

1.) Drifter: It's an Experiment in Living....

No obligations, endless opportunities.  Work less, Live more....

Dreams are fragile, delicate things.  Like spiderwebs, they can be shattered to pieces by a simple swipe of the hand or the utterance of the wrong string of words.  You can't always see them, but if you get close enough you can always feel them.  And also like spiderwebs, dreams tend to cling.  The good ones do anyway.  Always there, gnawing at the brain stem, never fully letting go; even after someone or something has torn them apart.

If my 30 years have taught me anything, it's that I'm not cut out for the workaday world.  I just can't do it.  I've tried.  I've been a greens keeper, a cook, a car hop, and sever, and pizza driver, a telemarketer, a bookseller,  even a fucking door to door salesman.  Some jobs have been more tolerable than others, but I still can't commit to a life of clock punching, and I refuse to let my chosen  mode of money acquisition define me as a person.  The next time I'm accosted with the ridiculous question  "What do you do?"  I'll reply matter-of-factly, "I live my life..."

So here it is, my solution, the web that has clung to me for as long as I can remember; to wander these lands of ours without plan or purpose.  To collect experience, not things...To expand my mind and my horizons.  It's a vision quest, a walkabout, a pilgrimage, an odyssey, a solitary sojourn for personal meaning.   I don't know how long it will last, and I don't know if anything fruitful will come from it, but that's not the point.  The process is the point.

I'll be recoding my travels here, mostly for myself (and my mom will like it).  It's called a "blog" in webernets speak, but it's nothing more than a journal, or diary, although I prefer the term "Captain's Log". But call it whatever you want, or ignore it completely, no skin off my ass. It is what it is.

But for my life, I choose to be like the bear, and go over the mountain just to see what I can see.