Highlands of the Mind

I left Arizona, and I was tired of the desert.
I like places where things are green.
I drove until I reached California, and breathed a deep sigh of relief to be back on the west coast. I spent the night at a rest area, with the scent of new mown alfalfa hay drifting into my dreams.

The next day I went to visit my brother in the mountains east of San Diego.
After the harsh monotony of the desert, the wild beauty of the mountains was a breath of fresh air.
I came to a valley at about 4,000 feet, and its untouched beauty took my breath away.

The prairie grass undulated gently in the wind, and in the distance a sweep of yellow wildflowers clothed the soft hills and drew my eye to the mountains beyond.

It was so beautiful, I had to pull over and stop to cry.
It finally dawned on me.

I was free.

No longer could I feel the pain and fear of the city. The sense of impending doom I had felt so strongly in Louisiana was finally gone.
These mountains were sparsely populated. They just felt empty and natural and free.

After a few deep breaths, I continued to my brother's place.
I stopped in the small town to ask directions, and smelled lilacs and dutch iris blooming for the first time in 10 years.

My brother has a pretty sweet deal. He lives off grid in a tiny hut, and works for an outdoor adventure camp where room and board are paid, and he gets $400 a week.
He eats fabulous organic food, most of it grown in the gardens on site.
Health care is 100% paid for.
I didn't know that still existed.

My Bro and I didn't talk for about 6 years. I thought he was an arrogant poser hippie and he thought I was a loser for abandoning my marriage and my schooling to live in Key West.

But things have a way of coming full circle, and over the years we came to the same conclusions about life and society, and share many philosophies and interests - prepping being one of those.

In true redneck fashion, we decided to hunt ground squirrels for dinner, since they frequented the compost pile.
He was a bit overeager and went tromping up to said pile, promptly scaring dinner back underground.

Oh well.

But as we were walking back, we saw a pair of turkeys in the valley below.

"Should I get 'em, Bro? I've got a shot."
The turkeys were about 80 yards off.
"Well, I don't know......."
The turkeys were moving farther away.
"Now or never dude!"
"Uhhhhh..."
"I'm going for it."

At about 110 yards, I pegged the big turkey with my 10/22.
He flew up, we gave chase, and ended his life with respect and gratitude.

It was a huge tom turkey. Before cleaning he was easily 35 lbs.
I know, I had to haul his ass back up that hill.


After cleaning, he was still over 20lbs. It was the biggest turkey I had ever seen.

We brined him in a solution of sugar, salt, tarragon, rosemary, and pepper, then threw him on a smoker for about 6 hours.
It was the tenderest, tastiest, moistest turkey I've ever had.
My bro cleaned and salted the tail, and I took it as a trophy.

I stayed for a few days, having turkey quesadillas for Cinco de Mayo, and enjoying campfire circles with guitar, harmonica and song.

Making music together is something that connects us as human beings. It might not sound like the digitally mixed, pre-recorded everything of today, but it's got soul. It renews our connection.

Feeling entirely refreshed by the beautiful highland mountains, it was time to continue on my journey. My next and last big hurdle of the trip was looming ahead;
getting through the Babylon known as Los Angeles.

Stealth Shower

I slept soundly in the parking lot next to the post office. Maybe because I was clean for the first time in nearly a week.

I took a shower in the parking lot, and it was actually quite pleasant.

There was a conveniently abandoned concrete pad next to the vacant warehouse on the south side of the van that was hot as an oven by 1:00 PM, and earlier in the day I had filled my sun shower and set it in the desert sun to warm up.

So after it got dark I took a stealth shower.

It was quite exciting.

I opened the passenger doors on the van and stood between them for privacy. The side they opened out to faced the blank wall of the warehouse, and I was somewhat sheltered by the pines and sumac tree surrounding the van.

I was still, however, buck naked in an unfamiliar parking lot in a very small town in the desert.

I have a sun shower that pressurizes with a foot pump, so I washed my hair first while I was still partially clothed. I have a LOT of hair and it takes a while to wash. Then I stripped, soaped up and rinsed off, with just enough water to finish. The desert gets quite cool at night, so the thought of being discovered wasn't the only reason I was quick.

As I washed, the cats took advantage of the open doors to sneak out and go exploring.
I saw them get out, but I was naked, what could I do?

I dried off and got dressed, and when I called the cats they came back and jumped in the van.

At 9 PM, this particular block of this little town gets quite deserted. I'm surrounded by a bank, city hall/library/police station(all in one building), the post office, a vacant lot, and an abandoned warehouse. So it's fairly secure, yet quiet at night. I did worry about getting hassled by cops for parking here, but no one seems to care. I think the occasional drifter/van dweller rolling through is not an unusual phenomenon in the little town of Lordsburg.

Travelog Day 5; Lateral Drift

Well, the part came and was installed by Bilbo Baggins.
The engine sounded fine with the cover off, but naturally as soon as I paid the bill and drove away with the cover in place, the knocking noise was still there.

Crap.

I drove around town for a little while, listening to the noise and looking for a shady place to park. While I listened, I was asking the van to tell me what was wrong with it. My initial panicky thoughts of severe engine damage had run their course, so I took some time to really listen and think.

Whenever I attack a mechanical issue, I try to start by fixing the easiest, most obvious things first. I went through a mental checklist of my fuel system, and decided to replace my injectors.
Replacing them was something I'd wanted to do before I left on my journey, but I ran out of money and time.
The van has nearly 150K miles on it, so it is about time for new injectors anyway.

Fortunately, you can't throw a rock in this town without hitting an auto parts store or service center. I think there must be some kind of mechanical vortex here that causes vehicles to break down.
There seems to be a plethora of churches too, so I guess you can pray you won't be ripped off too badly while you wait for your car to get fixed.

I went to NAPA and ordered new injectors for $56.00 each. (Ford wanted $75 each)
At this point in my journey I had about $200.00 left, and that was to buy diesel.
Fortunately the Bank of Mom came to my rescue and bought me new injectors.

The parts would arrive in the morning, so I drove to a shady place across from the post office and snuggled the van up underneath the light shade of some tall spindly pines.
This was actually a really nice spot. The pines were on my passenger side, and there was a little gravel road running behind a warehouse beyond the pines.
It was really as private and shaded as I could ask for in this little desert town.

I settled down to continue reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and was amazed at how much more I was getting out of this book the second time around.

For those who haven't read it, it isn't so much about motorcycles, or maintenance, although those are in there.

It's more about a Journey to find Truth.
It's about questioning very fundamental assumptions about how we do things and why.

It questions the nature and foundations of rational thought itself.

It came to me that this situation I found myself in was a sort of lateral drift of my own, and probably a necessary and valuable experience.

The best way to explain about lateral drift is in Robert Pirsig's own words;

"In a laboratory situation, when your whole procedure goes haywire, when everything is wrong or indeterminate or is so screwed up by by unexpected results you can't make head or tail of anything, you start looking laterally. That's a word he later used to describe a growth of knowledge that doesn't move forward like an arrow in flight, but expands sideways, like an arrow enlarging in flight; or like the archer, discovering that although he has hit the bull's-eye and won the prize, his head is on the pillow and sun is coming in the window.
Lateral knowledge is knowledge that's from a wholly unexpected direction, from a direction that's not even understood as a direction until the knowledge forces itself upon one.
Lateral truths point to the falseness of axioms and postulates underlying one's existing system of getting to the truth."

So with thoughts such as these, I drifted.
I enjoyed this quiet time beneath the pines to read and think.
I was thankful for my life and experiences so far on this journey.

When I talked to my friends, they seemed shocked to hear I was so positive about being stranded in this desert town.
Life is 10% of what you experience, and 90% of your attitude towards it.

So I will enjoy this day of rest and reflection. Tomorrow will be lots of work, changing out the injectors.

Travelog Day 2; Down by the River

It was an easy drive across east Texas. It was smooth sailing through Houston, with no traffic at 10AM. Out of Houston, I had a good tail wind and found several big rigs going just the right speed for me to surf their wake.
The speed limit was 70, but the van's cruising speed is between 60 and 65. No need to push my old beast harder than necessary.
The cats complained a bit in the morning, but soon settled into the rhythm of the road and fell asleep.

As I traveled west, the countryside changed into gentle rolling hills populated by prickly pear, yuccas and honey locust. Everything seemed to be blooming, and a light elusive fragrance filled the air. Many sections of the road had been cut straight through the little hills, leaving artificial cliffs with colorful layers of rock.

It was still early when I decided to take a rest at South Llano River State Park, near Junction, TX. My intention was to take a nap, then travel on, since I had not slept well the night before.
As I crossed the little river it was a beautiful shade of turquoise. All the rivers in south Louisiana are the same shade of mud brown.
I stopped at the ranger station to inquire about camping. At $17.00 it seemed a little steep, but the river and the countryside were so beautiful I decided to go for it and spend the night.

I found a nice shady campsite so as not to fry the cats. The sun was still high, I had stopped early; about 2:30pm.
I was quite tired, but I had to see the river. I walked through a field where wild turkeys roosted in the evening, past a pond, and through a grove of wild pecans before finding the river.

Startled turtles plopped into the water as I peered down at bass and sunfish cruising through the shallows.
It had been years since I'd seen a clear rocky stream. I scrambled down the bank to test the water with my toes. It was a very pleasant temperature, and I nibbled some watercress I found growing at the water's edge.

As I walked back through the pecan grove, I mulled the extremely difficult decision I was now faced with; should I
A. Take a nap
B. Go fishing
C. Go for a swim

Boy, life is rough.

I was tired, but I couldn't resist that river. Clear rocky streams are one of my favorite things. Since my tackle box was buried in the van I decided to go swimming.

The water was just cool enough to be refreshing. I had my goggles, so I snorkeled for a bit, watching the fish. When I dove under, I realized I could hear them. I thought only salt water fish made noise; I heard them a lot in Key West. But there was the same unmistakable popping noise in this river. It sounds like someone banging rocks together underwater. I swam to a deep area, following the noises, then dove to the bottom and startled several large bass who swam away quickly in alarm. The fish noises stopped briefly, then resumed farther upstream.

After a thrilling ride down the rapids on my belly, I sat on a driftwood log to rest and warm up in the sun. I had the place to myself. I couldn't see or hear any evidence of other humans.

It was GREAT.

I noticed a strange glassy type of rock on the riverbank, and broke it with other rocks to make a crude but very sharp stone knife. Hungry now, I wandered back to camp in a foraging mood.
Wild turkeys gobbled in the distance as I cut some prickly pear pads with my new stone knife. I found some new shoots of catbriar (smilax spp.) and snipped them off too.

I sauteed both veggies in olive oil with a little salt and pepper. The smilax shoots tasted like asparagus, but a bit milder. The prickly pear was good too, but turned slimy as it got cold.
To get some starch and protein, I made red beans and rice with spam.
Deer wandered through my campsite as I ate, competing with the jack rabbits for tender new grass.

Life was good.

A pretty wildflower

There's a carp in this picture, can you see him?

The view from camp

Travelog Part 1; Texas

After a flurry of last minute packing, I finally threw the cats in the van and left around noon on a saturday in April.

Worries lay heavy on my mind.
What if I got stranded in the desert?
What if I got trouble from the fuzz?
What if the van got broken into?

I said a quick prayer, asking for protection from delays, breakdowns and unwanted intrusions. I took a deep breath, and rolled out.

The odometer read 145866, and I didn't expect to make many miles since I left so late.
I drove past the cypress swamps, over the long bridges, past the floating camps and the petrochemical plants.

I said my last goodbyes to the savage garden of Louisiana.

There are many wonderful things about that area, but there is always a feeling of something hidden and sinister; some poisonous desperation that comes perhaps from living in such an impossible place.

Goodbye, city below sea level.


30 miles east of Houston, I stopped for the night at a truck stop.
There was a small area on the fringes of truck parking that was just the right size for my van. I made sure I wasn't blocking anyone or taking up too much space. I have a lot of respect for truckers, and it is a general policy of mine not to piss them off.
Unfortunately, my spot was near the entrance, and happened to be downwind from both the fueling station and the truck parking.
It was an uneventful night, though not exactly restful. All night long the trucks rolled in past the van, and in the morning I was shocked I hadn't been poisoned in the night by diesel fumes.

With the odometer at 146197, I got an early start and headed deeper into the Great Republic of Texas.