6/17/10-7/6/10
Earth First! Road Show: Tucson to Maine
Mad Dashes at Low Speeds.
I'll say it again: Where else would I be right now? Nowhere else.
But at this very moment, Sasha and Mike are saturated in rancid vegetable oil. We tried to drain from the tank, and in so doing we discovered it would take all night--at best. Whoever designed this fuel tank had the most sinister of intentions, making this attempt at a clandestine endeavor not-so-clandestine. If we can just make it to Albuquerque, I'll have had enough excitement to last awhile.
I started reading a new book, Tales of a Female Nomad, by Rita Goldman Gelman, just for traveling inspiration.
Below, a photo of Rita's travels. Check out her website and read about her life!
I came across a passage of particular relevance as I was thinking about how awesome my life is. She says:
"Then it hits me for the first time... during these two months, I do not need anyone's permission to do what I want to do. I am free to make my own decisions, follow my whims, and take whatever risks I choose."
I've had this revelation, this reminder of my independence, many times since I left home, from an environment in which activities as innocent as sleepovers or after-school outings with friends were barred from my experience. That I can simply walk outside and go forth in any direction--that I can just walk around the block if I want to-- is a luxury that will always fascinate, and in a way, surprise me.
It's 10:40. Looking up, I see the profile of my lover silhouetted against the obtrusive lights of a truck stop. He makes everything beautiful and OK. The tension of the day dissipates as I melt in his gaze.
Today I am grateful for color, for sunshine and wind. For what shadows do to the surfaces in a moving vehicle. I'm moved by all the things happening around me on a not-so-gently rocking bus. I am grateful. I am moved.
Once again I feel relief in finding my fingernails dirty and my pants ripped. Once again I am the mobile-home-less.
This is my life.
6/18/10
I find myself, yet again, in Lordsburg, NM. At 6:17 in the morning, Sasha tells me I've never been more beautiful. We survived a night camped out in front of the Love's station. Sasha drove the first part of the morning and did a great job maneuvering the huge box of a vehicle he'd never driven before.
We made it to Albuquerque and replaced the left front tire. It took more than a dozen calls to track down a used 11R22.5 steer tire, but I found one for $100. Not bad, I must say. We headed to Trader Joe's to assess their ever prolific discards, and were not just a little thrilled to find these goodies: avocados, tortillas, apricots, muffins, tomatoes, peaches, pears, veggie sushi, lasagna, bread, cherries (!!) and pie. Today, we feast!
The road to Taos is majestic--mountainous and abounding with trees. Breath-taking chasms promise certain death for any slight maneuvering error. A huge fire in the distance made for an eerie sunset and twilight. When we arrived in Taos I was torn between excitement and exhaustion, so I made a compromise: a quick tour of the Seco Pearl, where we camped for the night, and a quick dinner of pie, and off to bed.
6/19/10
Graced by a mild breeze, an abundance of trees, and towering mountains, Taos is more than everything I expected.They have an active Food not Bombs, too, but there are a lot of things to do today, so I won't be going.
After a nice morning stroll around the quiet, dusty town of Arroyo Seco, with a stop for coffee near a shady creek, we congregated for a collective meeting. The top of the agenda reads, "Charles and Shay: no pants." The meeting went smoothly and afforded us the opportunity to address concerns and express gratitude for one another. A fine espresso Americano sets my mood to excellent. The heat is not the stifling, oppressive heat of Tucson or West Texas. This alone makes me want to run and jump. The bus was working as of this morning, and I hear it's now kink-free. Yay! Charles and I are going to pick up more veggie oil at some point, but so far it's been a lazier day than I expected. It's certainly welcome. In the meantime, the coffee shop is providing a nice, quiet place to sit and read with Sasha and Bootlyg. With its abundance of travel, philosophical, and classic literature, the Seco Pearl attracts every breed of eccentric. The coffee is served in hand-made mugs, and the windows house works of stained glass.
Every piece of furniture is as beautiful and lovingly crafted as the works of art on the walls. The unfinished wood doorways, low-slung draperies, and smooth wood floors feel exotic and soothing. Upstairs is a semi-private residence, but the stairs are covered only by a curtain. It feels much more like a living room than a business. Someday, I want a home like this.
At this point in life, however, it's uncertain whether and when I'll live somewhere at all. With the many places and people I've come to love and desire to visit yearly, I may be doomed to forever circumnavigate the perimeter of this country. And that doesn't even touch the marvels of other worlds I hope to behold! The book I'm reading fills my head with romantic visions of foreign lands and their lush forests, indigenous peoples and their culture, and innumerable other travel fantasies.
I want to be everywhere. I want to see everything. Perhaps, for some, this is impossible to understand. Gelman says of her friends and family:
"Some of them are sure that I'm...running from reality, avoiding some abstract 'real world...' They are all intelligent people who care about me, and I feel obligated to consider their comments. But no matter how often I ask myself if I'm running from something, I always get the same answer. No, I'm not running away. On the contrary. I've discovered a new way to live.
My life is endlessly fascinating, filled with learning, adventure, interesting people, new and enlightening experiences. I laugh, sing, and dance more than I ever have. I am becoming the person inside me...
I'm embracing life, not running away from it. Why would I want to stop?"
I, too, encounter people telling me I'm trying to fill a hole in my life--God, marriage, career...They mistakenly believe that we all need the same things, these very specific things; that this "passing phase" is nothing more than an adolescent and misguided search for something that can be fulfilled only by these specific things. But maybe there isn't a hole in my life at all. Maybe the word "whole" describes my life better than the word "hole."
The day fades in a glorious spread of pink tinted clouds. Once again on the side of the road, we are surprised to find the kink-free bus is not...working...We even rounded up some spectator passengers for the test drive. The diesel is running out, filling the sky with black smoke, ironically enough for this environmentalist group of people. The plan at this point is to work on it in the morning. It seems we should still be able to get to Durango by sundown tomorrow.
PS
I've mastered the art of peeing in a jar on a moving bus!
6/20/10
A chilly morning these days is as exotic to me as anything, although "chilly" to me is now anything below 70. Last night I acquired Rilke's "Letters to a Young Poet," and as I near the end of Gelman's book, I greatly look forward to starting it.
The guys from the Pearl spent all morning and a chunk of the afternoon working on the bus. I cooked a huge meal for everyone upon their return from the test drive. They also wrote a song for Father's Day, which opens with, "Hey Dad! I sent you a letter...well actually I haven't sent it yet..." and which also includes the endearing line, "As you know, I don't have a job--but let's not talk about that on this special day..." Click on the link below to see it performed by a full band--banjo, guitar, washtub bass, and fiddle.
6/21/10
The bus made it to Durango! We arrived late, late at night, after and unbelievably bumpy ride. I woke from my sleep expecting the bus to roll right off the axles. Feral Futures is, in some ways, exactly what I expected. In this category of expectation fall a number of pseudo-primitivists, most wielding expensive and crafty knives, some arriving in jeeps and sleeping in REI tents. All in all it's the pseudo-ness that has always turned me of people who think their beliefs/lifestyles are their identity. The fashion in these circles has all the specificity and judgmentalism of Vogue Magazine. If you aren't wearing black, you're probably not going to be talked to right away. And forget about colors. Arbitrarily patched clothes rule the parameters of dress, whether your clothes are actually old or not. Go to a thrift store and find an ironically dingy, lavender 80's t-shirt that you don't really like, wear it into the ground and be careful not to wash it, and excitedly put on patches with anarchy symbols or whatever. The cleaner and more "civilized" you look, the more scrutiny you encounter in those forced-to-appear-indifferent-
Now that that rant is out of the way...
Another...
So a big part of FF's mission is to create an egalitarian environment for all to enjoy. So they say. But I find it ironic that, running down the steep rocky path to lower camp, I encountered a deer carcass hung from a tree in a sickeningly excessive display of human dominance over animals. But what really got my goat...bad foreshadowing joke, sorry... a live goat was slaughtered on premises. Not that primitivists necessarily find it problematic to hunt animals for survival. Fair enough. Here's what IS problematic: The goat was raised on a farm--a level of agriculture that any primitivist would scorn others for practicing. Animal husbandry defies every principle of primitivism, which relies on the idea that the very shift from a nomadic, hunter-gatherer lifestyle to neolithic agriculturalism created social stratification, objectification of life, and commodification of resources.
So I simply don't see where this goat slaughter fits into the gathering. Would it be ok to slaughter and roast a dog? I would think so, in an egalitarian environment, because all species should be considered equal. Fair game, right? But, let's be honest: As things are, nobody would be comfortable with my roasting a dog, or a human, or a cat. Unfortunately, we perpetuate the disparaging social norms we wish to dispel when we wear masks of egalitarianism but participate in the same practices as those we criticize. Too many people use their ideals as shields from criticism, but it's not going to work on me.
You are not primitivists, and FF is not egalitarian. (Sorry again, nonconformists) I'll be happy when you don't market it as such.
6/22/10
Today is Sasha's birthday. He is under the bus helping with a "quick oil change" that has turned into a two-hour affair. Curious about the explosion of laughter outside, I emerged to find Charles peering out from underneath the bus, face oil-be-speckled. Somehow, it suits him.
As has been the case for most of the trip so far, a long-term lack of maintenance has ensured that this routine procedure become as difficult as possible. Due to a plethora of unforeseen and freakish complications, the hope of making the 400 miles we planned today dims as remaining hours of sunlight slip through oil-saturated fingers.
My back is sore after last night's veggie oil filtration. The process isn't particularly strenuous, though it is time consuming and involves a lot of hunching. We filtered 3 "cubies," or 15 gallons, by pouring them little by little into a large tub over a stretched t-shirt. After each cubie, the tub is moved over to the bus to be pumped. The pump, a metal hand-crank attached to a tube, then a filter in a canister, more tube, and a nozzle, sucks the oil from the tub and into the tank. It leaks, it's difficult to crank as the filter fills up, and you're sufficiently dirty when done. But it's great!
Sasha and I set up the Journal distro as well as Mike's, because nobody came up in time to set things up. We had already put almost everything away when the crew returned, about 20 minutes before we'd planned to leave Durango. Lord knows what time we would have gotten the oil dealt with if we hadn't left on time.
The crazy mountain road that we'd been unable to see last night carries us out, amidst forests of trees as far as the eye can see. We rattle along the winding edges of unfathomable crevices, jolting hard and unable to take our eyes from the windows. Small waterfalls grace the sidelines, sparse patches of trees play in the river. It's a sin to look away even for a moment for chance of missing a thing.
6/23/10
Sasha and I woke up early, filtered 20 gallons of oil, and drove several hours. We stopped for a break, had lunch, filtered more oil and drove some more. The bus died out on a bridge with a semi behind us. I shut my eyes and held on as the trucks' emergency engine brake got louder, and the truck barreled toward us, seemingly without hope of stopping. We didn't get hit, though. Yay!
We found a Wendy's with putrid oil in back and proceeded to siphon it into cubies. It was a stiflingly hot day, and carrying each 40 pound cubie to the bus a block away was all the more strenuous for it. As cubie after cubie pressed against my leg, they left their dripping residue on my pants, making me smell awful and causing me to lose hope of ever getting my clothes clean.
6/24
Lawrence, KS
I kicked off my day by getting berated by one of my bus-mates. As Sasha and I were on our way out the door, as is usually the case, it became urgent to talk about meeting up, although they'd already planned to meet at 3:00pm. Somewhat confused, Sasha asked if 3:00 no longer worked for her, and with a degree of surprise at having been asked, she stated that no, it didn't. Now having to reconsider our own plans on the spot, Sasha asked me what would work, and I said very simply that I didn't care, I just wanted to get off the bus. This is when shit hit the fan. Apparently I was insensitive. She said maybe I better just get off the bus then, if I didn't care, because this was work, and not all play. She apparently was sick of being rushed around "whenever Shay decides it's time to go." I suppose I could have mentioned that "Shay time," the horrid quote I hate to keep remembering, has largely consisted of waking up hours ahead, fulfilling strenuous tasks that, at times, should have been done by others, so we could leave on time, actually being on time when nobody else was, and urging timely departures that we'd collectively agreed upon. I could also have mentioned that if I didn't care, or thought this was a vacation, my back wouldn't be so sore from pumping and filtering oil 3 times a day, carrying 120 pounds of putrid oil to the bus yesterday, setting up the heavy distros when somebody else was supposed to but never showed up, waking up and filling the tank while she supervised and then went back to bed--If I didn't care I certainly wouldn't smell like rotten hamburger right now. Give me a break. All of these things I should have said, and would have if I hadn't been so stunned by the absolute insolence of it all. All I could think to say was "Don't ever talk to me that way again."
Oh well, I suppose hindsight is always 20/20.
But now it's the afternoon, and, with my noble steed trotting alongside, I walk past a street musician's banjo rendition of "I will Survive," and I am happy. Lawrence is a nice little town, actually, full of coffee shops and nice neighborhoods. There are bunnies on the lawns!
You would not believe! We found the most amazing restaurant, The Orient, with a complete vegan menu, all cooked on separate surfaces. In Kansas! We were so excited to find this place. I had the vegan tuna with noodles and vegetables. Best lunch ever!
In the park and walking around, Bootlyg and I made many friends, mostly children. It's a hot day, but I'm content. I got to meet up with my cousin, Christine, from Iowa. We met for the first time only a couple of years ago.
"It's moments like this," she tells me after my story of drunkenly throwing somebody down the stairs, "that I wish I could be as bad-ass as you." She also says that whenever she says the F-word she thinks of me, but I quickly remind her that didn't teach her how to use the F-word. Just how to use it skillfully.
I decided to spend more time with her rather than go to the speaking engagement. I needed a break from the tension anyway. A film was being projected on the parking garage wall, but we left early to help pack up the show. We collected Sasha and went to Christine's, and there we relaxed and showered off all the built up veggie oil and dirt.
6/25/10
Vegan french toast and potato pancakes for breakfast! Christine dropped us off by the bus and we parted with a hug, not knowing when we'd see each other next. We drove to a little town in Missouri called Booneville. Charles and I had a most excellent conversation on the drive about life, ethics and beliefs. I feel we reached a new level in our friendship. These connections are invaluable to me, in fact, they are the sole purpose of my life. I hope the rest of the trip brings us all together as better friends.
When we stopped, Sasha and I filtered more oil and Nettle cooked lunch. The guys came back from their search for veggie oil empty-handed, but we did score some beautiful tomatoes from a local grocery!
We got into St. Louis just in time for our engagement. Black Bear Bakery took good care of us, providing some vegan snacks, coffee, and peanut butter cookies that changed my mind about peanut butter cookies. The upstairs room had a stellar book collection, and from it you could look down over the balcony. We were really tired by the time the gig was over.
6/26/10
The daybreak brings the voices of birds. One by one they wake to sing their praises to the sun, until they are a full-blown orchestra of joyful shrieks. A neighborhood dog joins the chorus and it's no longer possible to sleep, though the sun has scarcely risen. And then there's the flies...
Mark, a friend from the bakery, took us on a tour of the housing co-op and community garden, the community art and movement project (CAMP) and the garden adjoining the bakery.
Then we went on a mad dash to scavenge veggie oil. Behind the Brazilian restaurant we'd chosen to raid, we took turns standing on the slippery compost bucket, leaning on the hot grease dumpster, and, body half inside, pumping the oil into cubies. I filled two in a row, each rotation pulling tightly on my awkwardly situated muscles. Sweat poured down my face and upper body by the bucket in the nearly one hundred degree heat. 8 cubies of this grueling work and we were ready to leave St. Louis.
There was this really gruff motorcycle dude watching us as he fixed the car in the photo below, grumbling the whole time about it. He was really intrigued by our doings, and invited us for a sit on his bike while he commanded a neighbor to get us some cold water, "a big fucking water," he barked.
Then we went on a mad dash to scavenge veggie oil. Behind the Brazilian restaurant we'd chosen to raid, we took turns standing on the slippery compost bucket, leaning on the hot grease dumpster, and, body half inside, pumping the oil into cubies. I filled two in a row, each rotation pulling tightly on my awkwardly situated muscles. Sweat poured down my face and upper body by the bucket in the nearly one hundred degree heat. 8 cubies of this grueling work and we were ready to leave St. Louis.
There was this really gruff motorcycle dude watching us as he fixed the car in the photo below, grumbling the whole time about it. He was really intrigued by our doings, and invited us for a sit on his bike while he commanded a neighbor to get us some cold water, "a big fucking water," he barked.
The drive to Chicago was quick and without disaster. Lots of people in passing cars smiled and waved to us on the way.
6/27/10
I woke up this morning and smashed my thumb in the window on the bus. There is a black spot under my fingernail. Other than that, the day has been most perfect in every way.
I slept in longer than I have in years, until 9. Actually, I woke up at 6, decided to sleep another hour, and woke up at 9. A light rain was falling, making shiny the rooftops within our view from the 3rd story. The gray sky filled me with such a remarkable excitement as I savored the feeling of cool, damp grass between my toes. A light breeze blew my hair away from my face and I couldn't wait to be amidst the tall buildings. We took the train into Union Station, emerging into the city air with a great and hopeful anticipation. We stared, open-mouthed, at steel train bridges overshadowing big street intersections with a subterranean feel.
We crossed over our own bridges, admiring the cloud-reflected water below.
We walked along structures that made dwarfs of us; Gothic cathedral next to Bauhaus, glass and steel beside hand-carved stone spires, the architecture in Chicago brings me to my knees.
We had the great fortune of finding an entire cake, with which we, again, celebrated Sasha's birthday.
We walked to Milwaukee ave, had lunch at the vegan place, and consumed an appalling amount of food.
6/28/10
The day wasn't very good, all in all, but there's no point detailing a bad day.
At the end of it, we got oil from behind the vegan place. We left Chicago only to find out that, again, the veggie oil wasn't working. Pulled over way up high on one of many towering interstate overpasses, we tinkered with the engine until its futility was realized.
6/29/10
The aisles of the bus have become more or less a cesspool of clothing, backpacks, and whatever else we've been too lazy to put away. I never thought I'd become so O.C.D. about cleaning, but in such a small space the clutter drives me crazy. We spent half the night trying to fix the bus, and the other half driving on diesel, which sucks.
Cleveland seems to be a conspirator in our delay, with its impossibly curvy streets, name changes, dead ends, and one ways. The intersection of the auto shop we are looking for appears not to exist. The neighborhood residents have no idea what we're talking about.
On another note, I finished Tales of a Female Nomad, The Neverending Story, Rilke's book, and half a Bukowski novel.
I've been more inspired to read than I'd expected. Maybe I'll renew my totally reasonable goad of reading 50 books a year.
Once in Buffalo, we were reunited with our friend Ludwig, a former Journal collective member, shown below playing a hilariously offensive song about gender identity.
And another rad band.
We walked around after the show, enjoying the nice, wide streets of Buffalo. The homes in the neighborhood nearby were enormous! If my camera hadn't been dead I'd show you. Breaking into the window of the place we were staying, Sasha and I encountered and angry by-passer, who claimed to own the building. I guess he did, after all. It was a step up from a squat-- floor caving in in several places, plaster falling off walls, drywall scattered on the steps--this guy charged the tenants very little to live there. He let us in after we explained what we were doing there, and after he initially pretended not to know the person who lived there. Once inside, we found a ton of dumpster goodies in the cabinets and fridge, all fair game. We had some hot chocolate and artichoke dip, hung out with Ludwig when he broke in, and then went to sleep.
6/30/10
Earth First! Journal Roadshow plus author Rik Scarce w/ music by The Pleasants
Date & Time:
Wednesday, June 30, 2010 - 7pm - 9pm Admission:
by donation ($10 suggested, $5 student/low-income) 
Just added!Activists from the radical environmental group Earth First! will speak at The Sanctuary For Independent Media (3361 Sixth Avenue in North Troy) at 7 PM on Wednesday, June 30, 2010. They will be presenting the Earth First! Journal Roadshow, featuring a program about the international ecodefense movement called “Earth Nightly News” followed by a multimedia presentation on the history of Earth First! (which is celebrating 30 years on the front lines of ecological defense).
The event will be introduced by Skidmore professor Rik Scarce, author of "Eco-Warriors: Understanding the Radical Environmental Movement." As a Ph.D. student in 1992, he was conducting research on the radical environmental movement when the federal government came knocking, believing he had interviewed people involved in a break-in at a federally supported laboratory at Washington State University, where he was studying. He refused to answer some of a prosecutor's questions on the grounds that compelling him to do so violated the First Amendment's free-press provisions. He was locked away by a judge for more than five months. He subsequently wrote "Contempt of Court: A Scholar's Battle for Free Speech From Behind Bars."Here we are in Albany. Well, Troy, actually. We got on the wrong connecting highway and had no idea which direction to go once we got into town. It might be mentioned that Nettle, who was driving, is notoriously horrible with directions. Adding to the chaos of it all, the hilly, bumpy roads were under construction. Maneuvering the bus proved to be further complicated and terrifying. We found The Sanctuary for Independent Media, after a search much like the Cleveland episode. We were welcomed with a feast of vegan food, and an array of accommodating hosts.
Rik, above, was as nice a person as you could imagine, and I got to sit by him during the Journal's presentation, which he had gave us the pleasure of introducing. We have his book, Eco-Warriors, on the bus. I am hoping to read it soon! We shared a lovely conversation, though it was mostly about my walk and I wished we had more time so that I could have asked him more about himself.
Afterward, we were given the grand tour. Behind the scenes, we got to see all the equipment, most of which was secondhand, acquired through donations. The basement also houses an extraordinary gallery of local art, all of which would have taken hours to peruse with the attention it deserves. Again, I wished I had more time.
7/1/10
Yay it's July!
The day starts much like any other, with delays of unpredictable length. The cloud cover brings an inexplicable comfort. Perhaps its the tangible sign that we aren't so hopelessly landlocked, or a reminder that it still rains somewhere in the world. Listening to commercials masked in white noise at Dunkin' Donuts--sadly that's what passes as a coffee shop in these parts--I'm contemplating just how much white noise it takes to destroy one's mind. How right angles are a human construct. How, because bureaucracy annihilates human reason and input, a refill manages to be arbitrarily and unalterably more expensive than the coffee itself.
But the clouds are beautiful. The brightness and variation of green elicit in me such a sense of well-being, despite the mounting claustrophobia.
For some reason, we managed not to leave Albany until like 6pm. We were able to get some food from the co-op though, like 4 boxes of produce actually. When we returned to the bus, not having realized we parked in front of the local radio station, we were unexpectedly interviewed by a girl with her portable equipment.
7/2/10
As usual, Sasha and I got up early and stared the drive. We woke with Portland already behind us.
Veggie is, again, on the fritz. We'd gotten it worked on in Cleveland, but coming through the mountains proved to be too much for it. There is still the possibility that the tank isn't getting hot enough, but it seems to me it's doing the same thing as when there was air in the fuel lines. We drove on diesel, which sucks. We arrived at the site of the Round River Rendezvous, outside of Stratton, ME, in the late morning. The Rendezvous, or "Rondy," is an Earth First! event, where chapters from all over the country get together for a week of camping, direct action workshops, swimming, all kinds of stuff. Approaching the main camp, I look up into the trees to see people in harnesses making a suspended upward journey toward a floating picnic table.
A huge yellow and gray tent emits the smells of nearly done lunch, and a line of people stretches out before it. We'll be here nearly a week, enjoying the green drenched ambiance of Maine's north woods. Hell yes!
7/3/10
Being here has provided such a welcome escape from the mechanical problems and strain of communal living in close quarters. I cleaned the bus from top to bottom and am looking forward to sleeping in it sans roommates for a couple nights. It's beautiful here, but sleeping outdoors definitely isn't new to me. I have no romantic notions about it, although it is wonderful when you aren't being eaten alive by bugs. This is not the case here. But, where we are situated, there's a perfect spot to sit in the river under the abundant shade of pines and cedars.
The Rondy is far friendlier than Feral Futures was. Walking into the community area, I am greeted with friendliness by each person I pass. There are 3 community meals a day, which a vegan option for each, and there are workshops all day on anything from tree climbing to free trade. And it's worth mentioning again, the scenery here is breathtaking.
7/4/10
Another holiday has sprung upon me without me noticing. I can't even remember what I did last year. The only noteworthy part of today was that Sasha and I decided to go vegan again. I would *gently* encourage you to do the same!
7/5/10
The 5 of us had a meeting today; I feel a tension mounting, and the focus of the meeting was "group dynamics." Not that I don't value dialogue and compromise, but I do feel that sometimes interpersonal static cannot be solved by these alone. Who knows what causes some to rub against one another the wrong way; but I do perceive that the outcome of this meeting was much like those of several other discussions we had, only to end up with the same tension. Because this is so short and important a trip to me, I don't want to waste any of my time feeling unduly stressed. My independent travels have been nothing short of incredible, and I aspire to the same standards when traveling with others. If it doesn't happen this way, however, I'm quick to do my own thing. I'm a little sad that this prospect is becoming more and more viable for me and Sasha, because I have so much enjoyed traveling in this group, and on this bus. This really is the pivotal point for me. But... I suppose we'll see after a few days. It may not be a lost cause...yet.
7/6/10
The earliness of this morning's rising makes all other mornings seem silly. At about 4am there came a tiny knock on the window. Soon we were all on our way to the grand finale of the Rendezvous, a day of direct action against local mountaintop removal. We arrived on the scene, which was a blocked entrance to a privately owned mile stretch of road leading to public use land. Armed with dance music and "Save our Mountains" signs, we stored the sidelines of the truck-dominated highway.
Earth First! Blockade in Maine
Stratton, Maine- At about 8 a.m., Tuesday July 6, at least fifty Earth
First! activists blockaded Goldbrook Rd, the access point to the Kibby
Mountain wind project outside the town of Stratton, halting the
construction of 22 industrial wind turbines on the delicate Alpine
ecosystems of Maine’s western boundary mountains. The action comes just
before the Land Use Regulation Commission’s (LURC) meeting July 7 to
consider a proposal for a similar project on neighboring Sisk Mountain,
and on the heels of the national Earth First! Round River Rendezvous,
hosted this year by Maine Earth First!...
First! activists blockaded Goldbrook Rd, the access point to the Kibby
Mountain wind project outside the town of Stratton, halting the
construction of 22 industrial wind turbines on the delicate Alpine
ecosystems of Maine’s western boundary mountains. The action comes just
before the Land Use Regulation Commission’s (LURC) meeting July 7 to
consider a proposal for a similar project on neighboring Sisk Mountain,
and on the heels of the national Earth First! Round River Rendezvous,
hosted this year by Maine Earth First!...
Read the rest of the article, from Climate Voices, here...
What it forgot to mention, though, was the epic dance party that ensued!
The police line monitoring our activities looked like they wanted to dance, but unfortunately, as one Earth First!er pointed out, they're probably paid not to. Or maybe they were too tired at 5 in the morning. Whatever the reason for their subdued demeanor, they gave us little trouble at first. They were there to keep everyone out, everyone meaning indiscriminately, but their priorities were somehow muddled by corporate interest. Several activists who had made it to the top of the road before the cops knew about the action said they saw several joggers up there. So not everyone was kept out. Basically, the police line served to keep us out by way of political profiling, protecting the interests of a private logging company who needed access to the road in order to clear some unfortunate trees. Our blockade was an inconvenience, to say the least. We were ordered to disperse after about 7 hours, so those of us who were "unarrestable," including myself, pretty much had to leave. When the windmill blade arrived, several were able to lock themselves to the truck, creating a difficult situation for the police. They were arrested, taking a huge one for the team, but all were released within 24 hours, some on bail.
We returned to camp to discover that, despite all the mechanical help we'd had all week, the bus still didn't want to run on veggie. We'd replaced a couple of fuel lines, and that was supposed to fix the problem. As always, we created another problem, though, during a routine procedure, this time draining the fuel filter. This bolt, like the one in the oil tank, was stripped and wouldn't go back in. The integrity of the seal was thus compromised, creating more bubbles in the lines. EVERY. LITTLE. THING.
Sasha tried forever to fix it, but couldn't come up with a viable solution. Frustrated, he made a comment about the "shitty rig," and this sparked a conflict. It's really been too much walking on eggshells...
As it was, nobody was ready to go anyway, and Boston started to look like it wouldn't happen, despite my attempts to highlight a great looking forward to it. C'est la vie, I suppose, of a solo nomad trying to travel with others.
This simply isn't working out.
We broke the news that we were leaving, and all hell broke loose...
"But that's another story and shall be told another time."
-The Neverending Story
In the meantime...Onward!Love, always,
Shay
ALL of the photos are now here
The blog, which is just a running accumulation of these emails and journalings, is here:
http://fakeplasticshay.
http://fakeplasticshay.
Slow down. Live simply. Seek Wonder.
______________________________
So! Onward!
I am an adventure traveler. I am not a tourist seeking a distraction from my discomforts and worries. I am a lover of life seeking to submerge myself in the world outside myself. The nature and quality of my experience are based on some questions:
-What do I want from the road?
-Why will I travel?
I want to see amazing things
I want to meet amazing people
I want to do a lot of walking
I want freedom
I want stories
I want to see and try new things
I want all of these things at the expense of taking risks and encountering uncertainty.
______________________________
These travels are neither for fundraiser nor for personal profit. I seek to live as minimally as possible while traveling, and in life in general. However, I rely primarily on the kindness of others, and the faith that everything I need I will always find in one way or another. The infinite graciousness of others has kept me moving forward, day by day. Any help along the way is monumentally appreciated, as food and shelter are of the utmost uncertainty on this trip. If you would like to make a small contribution for food you may do so by clicking here:
click the "personal" tab, send it to Fakeplasticshay@gmail.com,
specify your own amount as a gift, and help me get one day and one
city further!
As always, anything helps and is so very much appreciated!
specify your own amount as a gift, and help me get one day and one
city further!
As always, anything helps and is so very much appreciated!
If you'd like to send a letter of support, please contact me for location specifics for general delivery.
Thank you all so much!
Love, Shay
So I stuck out my thumb with a resolve bordering on desperation, there in the middle of nowhere, Texas. Semis screamed by, none of them taking a particular interest in my plight. As one by one they passively denied me passage to home and love, I threw my hands up in a frustrated plea to the sometimes obliging universe.
I encountered another rattlesnake. I camped out under the brightest moonlit sky I've ever seen in my life. It looked almost like sunrise, the sky a bright purple and the moon on fire, a spectacular and unbelievable orange.
5/30/10
Penwell, my 11 mile mark, was deader than dead. Like my camera. This was bad, because I thought I'd be able to get food here. With more than 15 miles to go in the over 100 degree heat, this was a more grave realization than I can convey. My head was swimming, and I had less than a handful of granola. My bag was heavy with water that I needed, and my knees and spine were on fire. 15 miles takes 5 hours, without breaks. I passed out under an overpass on the west side of Odessa, my final destination for the day. I don't know how long I was there, but nobody stopped to see if I was ok. Floating in and out of consciousness I was kind of sad to think about this. I got up to keep walking, to get someplace safe, still reeling with dizziness. At that moment, a white car pulled up, the people in side asking if I was alright, and inviting me to church with them. I accepted, because I saw them as warm and caring people, not to mention, they probably saved my life. Wherever they were going, I wanted to be with them. When we arrived, I was seemingly immune to scrutiny despite my ragged appearance. I'd never been to such a service, so unlike the stoic Catholic mass I grew up with. Everybody was singing, dancing, ecstatic, and I was overtaken with love and appreciation. At the end, I was surprised to find them handing me the collection they'd sent around. Somehow, all these people who had nothing to do with me felt it in their hearts to help me out, and I burst into tears of disbelief and gratitude.
After church, we went to dinner and my benefactors put me up in a hotel. I can gladly say that the end of my day was a stark contrast to the experience I'd had that day on the side of the road all alone.
6/1/10
I've decided Midland is a good place to stop for the summer. With the heat stroke, rattlesnakes, and desolation of West Texas, June through August are too much to handle. This portion of the walk has been the most uneventful, though I'm committed to continuing the walk. The bleak scenery sometimes drags on slowly, filling me with an ennui that endures from sunrise til bedtime. Walking, walking walking... It seems important to take a break so that I can be excited about the walk again. So today was my last day of walking, from Odessa to Midland. Upon my arrival, the sky threatened to wreak havoc, swirls of clouds just waiting to form into funnels. A cool, calm breeze complimented a sky of deranged colors.
