Headin' out........finally!

He has a brother that lives along the Deschutes River in La Pine, Oregon. That's all you need to know for now. Back 3/8/09

Getting lost.....

He once was lost and now he’s found,
Was blind and now he sees…

No…no….no…he has always wanted to be lost. From a young age he relished the chance to blend in and camouflage himself. So you would think that being one of only two gringos in a mid-sized Mexican city (Xalapa, in Veracruz State) would leave him anything but blending in. While standing at least a foot taller that the average local, he had a clear view of his brother as they wound their way through the streets at a fair but recoverable distance from one another. Just in town, and no roots as of yet, a quick turn and he could be alone for hours if not indefinitely. By the time his brother’s mind surfaced from its current absorption, they would be separated by endless thin streets meandering through centuries old Spanish architecture.

So he pokes his head into a local barbershop. Not like he has ever seen but clearly the woman of the family cut hair. It had been warm and his shag long. She smiled gratefully for the opportunity. He sat back and had little concerns except the lingering thought that his travels may have just become solo. As it is, so shall it be.

Like homing pigeons, brothers find one another. They headed out of this larger enclave of culture by autobus through the mountains toward Coatepec (10 kilometers South). This smaller community offered cold beer, delicious food, and locals who played proud guides for free. A strenuous hike left us on top of the peak overlooking it all. But still they wanted to get lost further.

Down the road another 5 clicks or so they found a real hideout. Xico was a very small and friendly place. All things are quiet and dark at nightfall. Climbing down a jungle path just south of the last stone street, they found a rare roaring river. They passed on viewing the cascade to the West and agreed to spend a couple nights in a tree fort wedged up in the rocks over-looking and over-listening the constant force of the water on the rocks. They could not hear one another and settled in to the wonderful feeling of lost.

On the Road...#2.....

The back seat on that old Chevy was as big as a boxcar. The miles clicked by with the wind blowing through all the retracted windows, country music on the radio and two Montana brothers feedin’ him stories that resonated clearly as tall tales. He did raise a “sure thing” when one brother claimed the bounty on an 11’ mountain cat, killed with a 22 rifle. “It was as long as a Volkswagen, bumper to bumper,” he persisted. But who could argue with a ride that would take him clear across the state to Missoula.

Passing through Butte mid aft, the car took a turn off the main road. In no time we were winding up a gravel road with a view of the big sky over the town. He overheard something from the front seat about “proving my point.” Soon we came to a stop in front of an old ranch house and one brother hustled him out the Chevy door spilling Bud cans out into the dirt driveway. Ma and Pa’s ranch they offered as we stumbled inside. Sure enough…..there hanging over the fireplace was a stuffed cat, “as long as a Volkswagen,” just like he said.

We arrived in Missoula and drove directly up the side of the mountain and parked in a wooded area. A large “M” was etched into the side of the mountain above the university. There were hundreds of folks listening to fiddle music on a makeshift stage. He chain- locked his backpack to a tree and wandered around. Evidently the university spent the annual surplus on this festival and all the beer and music were free. Sunshine, music, happy students, cold beer, and his first up front view of the Rocky Mountains. No worries.

He awoke face down on the ground to a morning sunrise. As his eyes focused he first saw a sea of plastic cups in every direction. Looking closer he noticed that aside from a lump like him here and there, no one was around. While stretching out the stiffness near the stage he looked down and found a guitar pick from one of the musicians. His stomach hollered hungry. So he unlocked his pack and started the cool refreshing walk into town. Another day on the road was ahead.

djs

On the river.....

Men may dam it and say that they have made a lake, but it will still be a river. It will keep its nature and bide its time, like a caged animal alert for the slightest opening. In time, it will have its way; the dam, like the ancient cliffs, will be carried away piecemeal in the currents.

Wendell Berry

Nothing reveals the natural world to him quite as clearly as a river. Keep your lakes that go round and round with no outlet. Nice for a summer day, but eventually the stagnation brings him back to his original thought, and that won’t do. No, the movement and continual replenishment of the river is what stimulates the mind. The river, a collective of droplets beginning somewhere far from here, or far from there, and eventually flowing past him, if only briefly.

When traveling a river he always has an option. He can push up stream either by paddle or petro, counter to natural flow, unwilling to going along. Or he can let go and flow with the current, excepting all that comes his way as if the choice lay elsewhere. Either way, an option exists.

The favorite scene in his mind or movie is the early morning escape. Awoken on the shore by those in pursuit, they slip into the canoes, gear quickly and quietly stowed, and ease into the current and drift undetected downstream.

djs

On the Road...#1.....

Last drop left him in Grand Fork, N.D. It was a strange scene at least by today’s standards. He stood there with his pack, wearing a white t-shirt, jeans worn and torn in all the right places, and sticking out the only appendage that would likely get him a lift. A warm summer evening in 78’, and the cars full of sweaty bored teenagers roaring up and down the street, and circling in front of the Tasty Freeze, where he later learned is the wrong place to get a ride. Some slowed and gawked, and others stopped and talked to this restless peer. He was offered a lick from a cone which he skipped, and a bottle of beer which he drank right there on the side of the road with the sun settling in and kids moving on. And just as quick as all the fun started it became quiet and he stood alone in the dark for a long while.

Always a friendly sign at least in those days, a priest reached across the front seat to fondle the window handle. “Driving west on Rt. 2 to Glendive all night if you need a ride” the collared man asked. “How far is that,” he responded. “Well it’s in Montana.” And into the mobile confessional he jumped. What followed was an all night conversation on many topics, but none more interesting to the holy man driving than the relationship of this young drifter to his alcoholic mother.

Always walk way out of town in order to catch a good long ride. His father told him that less rides limited his risk of a problem driver. Adding that, he should be sure to assess the character of the driver early. He walked the stripe between the asphalt lanes out of Glendive with the sun just beginning to rise at his back. The roar of the engine could be heard for miles it seemed. A black 57’ Chevy slowed and stopped in the middle of the road. Two smiling country boys gaped out the window, brothers actually, “where to amigo”? One got out and ran to the shrubs to pee. The other said that yes this in fact was the famous 57’, and that they were headed for Missoula to see Willie Nelson at a big-time outdoor shin-dig. Once in the back, he saw that they were half way through a cooler of Bud. They enthusiastically encouraged him to join. Swilling one down, he wondered if he had ever started drinking so early in a day. But then again, when he was on the road he never knew where one day ends and another begins.

Journey thru the past.....

When the winter rains

come pourin' down

on that new home of mine,

Will you think of me

and wonder if I'm fine?

Will your restless heart

come back to mine

on a journey thru the past.

Will I still be in your eyes

and on your mind?....
N. Young

As much as things will become noticeably different in the days and years ahead, some things will become increasingly entrenched. They may say “can you believe another Circuit Silly has gone bankrupt and closed its doors.” They will stare in disbelief at the vacancies. He sees what others of a similar disposition have taken notice of for a long time. Besides all this current disruption of the economic machine that is flamed by the last available head talking, is a return to real American roots, like PBR. Yes you laugh, but he has seen the excitement folks exhibit when they encounter a simple tavern that still serves em’ like it was 1950. So many places on the back roads of rural counties and main streets of small towns that have refused to give in to all the hype our culture has embraced since just north of Viet Nam. He and his brothers have been enjoying a short tap and cheap shot all the while. Some things endure. The community tavern will survive surprisingly longer then the nearest brass and fern joint. So dust off those old placards outside and warm up a tombstone, cause the rest of Americans will be stopping in soon. And what will we find there? Well, apart from the small remote joints scattered about, we will find rural folks trying to keep up. Televisions will be found on every wall spewing loudly the advertisements of the companies that won, and added the spoils of logos to their new names. But then someone, possibly himself, will stand up on the swivel stool and shout out loudly and probably indecipherably to turn all the noise off so we can all talk with one another. And we will instinctively remember what that means.
DJS

"Freedom begins between the ears".....

“Freedom begins between the ears” Edward Abbey

Abe Lincoln wrote about how he survived all the noise that accompanies a person in his position. Even while giving speeches he maintained “his own mind.” With so much going on outside ourselves it can be hard to remember that there is by far more going on inside. Not that the universe revolves around our brain, but rather our understanding comes from our minds experience. And that experience is generally enhanced by movement. This movement actually begins while we are stationary physically, and in motion cerebrally. “Better to spend more time on the plan, and less time correcting it,” a father once suggested. It can be counter-intuitive to many to acknowledge that there is more value in the cognitive journey than in the doing in time and space. Perhaps one is dependent on the other? This does not consider the old person who cannot move far but has a fertile mind. For that individual, living vicariously through others will have to suffice. This gives credence to the limited years of vitality left in our bodies. At some point there is no excuse but to hit the road. But when is it time to start? When is it time to leave? After planning, mapping and researching there comes a moment where you cannot tie your bootlaces quick enough. The air indoors will not sustain you anymore. The right-angled walls have limited your vision from many winter months. Eyes need to see gods’ eyes. Go.

DJS

Our primary purpose.....

It has been suggested by Eckhart Tolle that our primary purpose in life is what we are doing right at this moment. This implies that we live as consciously as possible in this present moment. All other concerns or future actions are secondary purposes until we are presently experiencing them, then they become our primary purpose. For example Tolle describes the action of walking across a room to get a book off a table. Our primary purpose is walking across the room. Getting to the book is secondary. Then upon reaching the book that becomes our pri…oh come on! This is too basic. But wait….now it makes me think of a morning in a small city in Mx. When I awoke, I immediately had a need for black coffee. My choices the night before had left me in this condition. Stepping out into the bustling early morning I first noticed that the locals were stirring and getting the motion of their day into slow but steady movement. Each little stand or business when queried in even our best second language attempt proved futile. No one had any coffee. This lack of business initiative in a country that claims coffee as a significant export confused me. The locals do not drink it and this is no tourist stop. Our blurred mindset was also bombarded with distractions. Look at that, look at this, let’s go to the cathedral. I yelled out ahead to my older brother “what is your hurry.” He turned around suddenly and said “your primary objective (.ie.purpose) is to get a cup of coffee, and that is the only thing I am concentrating on.” A short time later as we sipped our hot joe at a road stand I absorbed the magic in his process.

DJS

All through the stall to Spring....minds wander.

All through the stall to things Spring, minds wander. Why is it that food off the campfire seems to taste so good? Eggs and bacon off a greasy cabin skillet can stimulate the buds beyond the efforts of the finest restaurants? The warmth and protection of a sleeping bag in the wild will welcome us more that even most heavily threaded linen? Why do we revel in less…..and feel we have so much more? A pair of worn out jeans are considered far more valuable than anything new. The man’s old fishing cap….a well grooved ax handle …..a sturdy pair of leather boots………we value that which endures. Those places to be, implements to use, and ideas to share that can be sustained. Things we don’t have to give up because they cost too much….either in time, dollars, or freedom of thought.

DJS

Wherever you are....there's further to go.

I got the key to the highway, and I'm billed out and bound to go
I'm gonna leave here runnin', cause walkin' is most too slow
I'm goin' down on the border, now where I'm better known
Cause woman you don't do nothin', but drive a good man 'way from home
Now when the moon creeps over the mountain, I'll be on my way
Now I'm gonna walk this old highway, until the break of day
Give me one more kiss mama, just before I go
Give me one more kiss mama, just before I go
I'm gonna leave this town, ain't comin' back no more"
So long baby, now I must say goodbye,
So long baby, now I must say goodbye, I'm gonna walk this highway, 'till the day I die"
Little Walter

The right to travel is a part of the 'liberty' of which the citizen cannot be deprived without due process of law under the Fifth Amendment. If that "liberty" is to be regulated, it must be pursuant to the law-making functions of the Congress. . . . . Freedom of movement across frontiers in either direction, and inside frontiers as well, was a part of our heritage. Travel abroad, like travel within the country, . . . may be as close to the heart of the individual as the choice of what he eats, or wears, or reads. Freedom of movement is basic in our scheme of values.
Justice William O. Douglas

It has never really been about getting anywhere in particular. Although setting goals both for miles traveled, ranges traversed, or states crossed, have always played a role. And the actual time on the road is not the whole picture either.

No, it is first the anticipation of traveling, the planning, and the mapping, adding and eliminating the route path, often leaving with no route path at all. Always fill in the map with the black marker….after returning.

It must have been those westerns, yes……those horseback nomads moving across the land from town to prairie. No past to think of and no real concerns about the future. All one needs is time, some cash, and a real sense of freedom. Of course we all have our reasons for denying that freedom to ourselves if we choose to. That should be avoided.

DJS

Song of the Open Road

AFOOT and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)

You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe that much unseen is also here.

Whitman