wanderingwho

Thu, 06 Jul 2006 07:11:11 GMT

One of the things I've found surprising about this trip so far is the total lack of fear I feel most places I go. The media spends so much time pumping out fear mongering stories about the stranger waiting around the corner that one can't help but anticipate some sort of attack. But the truth is, even as an interracial pair going everywhere the worst we've gotten is people who are just not nice, maybe rude. It's amazing what most people will open up to you about just from a "Hello" and how helpful people can be, especially in the campgrounds. I wish more of my friends were into camping because it's such a unique, relaxed experience. At worst it's a collection of quiet types looking for a place to sleep between hikes and at best it's a block party with grass, beer, volleyball, music and no police. At No Name City the guy next to us gave me pancakes one morning.

If I had to say one thing that stands out about this trip, perhaps not the most but in a significant fashion, it's that most of my time is spent around intelligent people. Be it in the car with Latasha or stopping at either her or my people's places it's nice to be around people who get it again. All of her people were really nice and she really like Jaimie and Dani, which made me happy.

This trip has also really made me want to travel more and more in the future. I went a lot of places but there are still places I want to go. I need to spend some time is Boston and Philadelphia sometime in the near future and I'd love to get back to NYC for a weekend sooner rather than later.

We stopped in for a potty break in Richmond a couple days ago. It caught me right in my chest how much I missed the city. I'll always have love for VCU, but there's just something about the place in summer that feels unique. It's watching the door guards plays cards instead of being assholes and that emptiness in the dorms that exposes the energy that's usually hidden by the masses of people.

More than anything I'm just excited about life again. I'm ready to come back so I can get started on the rest of it, I put it off for a year that I can never get back. My hope is to shove enough life in the years to come that it'll make up for the lost time. There's just so much to see and do that I feel like I've been missing. The first part is going to be some heavy partying once I can get back to RVA.

I had meant to write something somber and reflective but I'm just not feeling that tonight. It's too late for that nonsense, not to mention too hot. Plus, Corinne Bailey Rae is too cute and upbeat.

It is weird being back home. Being away made me realize how much I love this place. I'm an East Coast guy through and through. It's not that the other parts of the country were bad, but they just didn't have that sort of east coast swing. The banter was just a half-step or IQ point too slow, perhaps in the case of out west it was because too much energy was being put into maintaining appearances. If I could have two characters meet in a bar in Oklahoma City I suppose the dialogue would go something like this:

"Please, the West Coast is the shit. We have everything you guys have out East plus our women are better looking."

"Hardly, your women are just turn Halloween into a year-long event, and besides you don't have everything we do back East."

"You're right, we have more."

"Prove it."

"Los Angeles."

"New York."

"Seattle."

"Memphis."

"San Francisco."

"Boston."

"Lake Tahoe."

"Martha's Vinyard."

"San Diego."

"The Triangle."

"Las Vegas."

"Atlantic City."

"Yosemite."

"Blue Ridge Mountains."

"Golden Gate Bridge."

"Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel."

"Whatever man, besides The Triangle is more than one city."

"Alright, fair enough...but we've still got Philadelphia, Atlanta, Miami and wait, oh yeah, D.C., which is the real center of the universe, not L.A."

Also, I've been brainstorming ideas for a comic my friend and I are supposed to put together for a competition. Right now I've got a Jewish vampire hunter, a peasant in a fantasy land caught up in destiny, a story I started to write about a poker game between two friends, Merlin, Death and the Devil and a four-issue series about trying to find a Beta player in Richmond that inculdes a scene with a deaf child playing Marco Polo in the middle of the Fan.

So yeah, tomorrow we're supposed to head to Savannah and then from there to the Florida Keys for a couple days. Maybe while I'm there I'll think of something serious to write about my trip. I hope you're all well, peace.

Tue, 04 Jul 2006 04:32:41 GMT

A giant sequoia in three parts

The first nuclear reactor used to generate electricity

Tasha

Zion National Park

Grand Sequoia National Park

Yosemite

Driving through a cloud in Yosemite

Grand Canyon

Craters of the Moon

Mt. Rushmore and recumbentgoat

Death Valley

Badlands

Yellowstone

Random

Pronghorn Antelopes

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 05:11:16 GMT

I like animals. I think they're neat and it's always a treat for me when I see types I've never seen before. I think it would be a shame to deprive someone else of that same feeling of "Oh wow, that's cool" just so I could have an exotic type of meat -- or even worse, just to put a stuffed head on a wall. However, I have been collecting photographs of animals during my trip and Wyoming was a hot spot. In Yellowstone alone I saw elk, bison and some weird little beaver type thing. One species I wanted evaded me, though...the pronghorn. The pronghorn is a subspecies of antelop and the fastest animal native to North America. The two days we were there I kept waiting and waiting and looking and didn't see one. About an hour out of the park we see one chilling in a field off the road. Without anywhere to turn around or park we keep going, just excited for having seen one. Then, about half an hour later we see a whole slew of them and this time find parking. I didn't get very close -- they are the fastest animal native to North America after all -- but I did get some shots to add to my collection. Hopefully, they -- as well as the picture of bison, a rather large male elk and some lovely lady elk -- will come out clear so I can share.

In that respect, I guess I could become a type of hunter. Armed with a camera, the essentials and my will braving out into the woods to capture yet another animal on film. I think I would like to take pictures of owls, wolves and bears is the opportunity presents itself. Every year the National Parks Service does a photo contest to see what goes on next year's park's pass. I'm going to put in as many entries as I can and hope for something good.

Before we went to Yellowstone we spent a day in Grand Tetons enjoying a lazy Sunday. I bought "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" in Idaho and was wanting to get started. Tasha had a book she was reading, too and somehow or another we just couldn't figure out how to get moving that day. It was beautiful, the type of day I haven't had in far too long. The sky was clear blue, the grass was a wavy green and white mountain tops peeked over the horizon. There was a hot sun, warm breeze and cool shade. It was the type of place a story should end. In fact, it's the type of place all stories should end.

I know I didn't go on this trip to do a book report, but if you've never read "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" then go buy it or check it out from a library or steal it or whatever and read it. If you've read it and didn't enjoy it, you have no heart or soul.

So far, the weirdest place I've been is Craters of the Moon Monument and Preserve in Idaho. It's more or less made up of lava sand and various craters from a massive eruption that split the volcano in two, spilling all the contents over the ground. It was really neat. In a testament either to God or the sublime stuborness of life, there were flowers and bushes and trees and animals everywhere, which was a real surprise to me given that they came up in a volcano field. But I suppose if yucca can grow in White Sands then syringa can grow in Craters of the Moon.

Oh, and if you're ever in or around Sturgis, South Dakota you have to stay at No Name City RV Park & Campground. It cost us $10 and for that there's free WiFi, a heated outdoor pool, a jacuzzi and the friendliest service yet. I'm not sure why it's only a 2 out of 3 in the AAA Campbook...about the only thing not offered here is Matt coming out and giving a reach around before bed.

Speaking of bed, I think it's time for me to shuffle off to slumber. I think I'll start either my book on kabalah or the Idiot's Guide to Jewish Spirituality and Mysticism next. Until next time, be good my friends.

Wed, 14 Jun 2006 06:00:19 GMT

An ode to photographers:

Next time you see a really, really cool photograph of something amazing, think about something. That bolt of lightning, that young man hanging off the side of a mountain or that eye-level view of a parachute opening fair above the ground, amazing images and the focal point of the image usually gets the glory. "Wow, can you imagine climbing up that high...that guy must be very brave." On the other side of the picture, standing right behind you, is the photographer. Those men and women whose only glory is finding that perfect shot. Hanging right next to Roger Rappeler is some guy with at least five pounds of gear waiting for the light to be right or Roger to get his shit together before he can take the shot. She's the one out there at 4:45 on a Januray morning waiting for the sun to spread over the horizon, basking the valley in a soft, natural glow as shades of orange play off the white blanket covering a sleeping landscape. They risk their life to bring praise to others and when it's done they collect their paycheck, look over their equipment and get ready.

Yosemite:

When last I wrote I spoke of how beautiful Zion National Park was, and every word is true. Yosemite is equally, if not more astounding. At every turn there's either a waterfall or a meadow or a brook or a stream. As I walked down a wooden path in the middle of a particularly soothing meadow it struck me that it would make a great front yard. Then, a second thought occured to me, that it would be insanely selfish to keep something like that to myself. I love the National Parks System for preserving places like Yosemite and Zion from human destruction. When we were approaching the Narrows at Zion I told Tasha that humans shouldn't be allowed in places like that because all we can do is destroy them. I can't do Yoesmite justice in words...the rainbow that forms in Bridalveil Falls when the sun is setting or the fields of grass swaying with a cool breeze.

I will say that they define creek differently out there than we do back east. When I think creek, I think of an almost imperceptible flow of water that comes halfway up the shins. You can walk down it on a hot summer day with a friend or splash around taking pictures of tadpoles and budding trees. Apparently, at Yosemite a creek is defined as a crushing flow of water that could kill a man or throw him over a cliff side to his death. So, keep that in mind next time you're in Northern California.

Phoenix:

Phoenix exists inside an area known as "The Valley of the Sun." I know this to be true because while I was there not only was it 90 degrees at night but I actually saw the sun strolling down the street. He had two scoops in his back pocket and I said, "Hey, aren't you the sun?"

He looked at me kind of annoyed and said, "Yeah man, but this is where I come to chill when I don't want to be bothered."

"Oh, my bad dude," I put my hands up in that east coast sorry.

My thoughts on White Sands National Monument:

WHY IS IT SO FUCKING BRIGHT AND HOT?!

Grand Canyon:

I was, underwhelmed by the Grand Canyon. I had been before, and yes it is awesome. It's funny to think that you could take the Empire State Building and lose it in there. It makes you feel small and important all at once. Small in the obvious ways, but important because there is, to me, proof of something in that hole in the ground. That something as vast and beautiful as the world could be created and exist at the same time sentient life became evolved enough to appreciate it cannot be chalked up to mere coincidence.

Maybe by the time I got there I was all deserted-out, though. Because while it was pretty spectacular I wasn't grabbed by the same urge to explore I was at other places. I could spen a lifetime in Yosemite alone and find more and varied beautiful things than I can imagine now. At the Canyon, I was struck by how big it was, but how uniform it looked no matter how far around we hiked. Even looking at pictures others have taken I get the feeling like they could have been taken from any point in or around the canyon.

Graceland:

I've never really been an Elvis fan. More than anything I'm fascinated by the reaction of people to the king. Graceland is kept in immaculate condition, a sort of bittersweet contrast between the velvet rope keeping the upstairs private and the lonely signs reading "Keep Off the Grass" that serve as a foreground to fields full of footprints. Even years after his death thousands flock to Graceland for different things. Some to learn, some to celebrate and some to pay homage. When I went I found myself doing all three at different times.

I didn't know much about Elvis, or at least not much more than the mythology. Leader of the next wave of the youth movement, the "pelvis," B-movie star, inspiration to many, drugs, karate, weight gain, fried peanute butter and banana sandwiches, platinum records, pink cadillacs and death. I thought his music was fun, but watered down. Uninspired but energetic, safe enough for mass production but innovative enough to scare parents.

What I never knew about Elvis was how much money he gave away to charity long before the practice was chic. Or that more people watched "Aloha From Hawaii" carried live via satellite than watched the moon landing. Or just how many gospel albums the King cut. That when he started doing movies he wanted to focus on serious roles but instead kept getting fed kitschy roles stereotyping him in goofy parts that focused more on rock single than plots.

The more I walked through and read and listened the more Elvis seemed like just another country boy. He despised the nickname "the pelvis" and called it "the most juvenile thing a man can call another man." He was a momma's boy and kept that famous pink cadillac because it was his mother's favorite, even though she never could or would drive it. Before he was a singer he was a truck driver and before that he was a clumsy school boy who was unluckier at love than even I. Upon being drafted into the Army his monthly pay went from $100,000 to $78. He was a huge James Dean fan.

It's hard to imagine fame on the level Elvis attained. For one it's because this society is inundated with celebrity at every turn. In commercials, on specially made television shows, on billboards and on tee-shirts and no matter how many units a singer moves they can't put a dent in Presley's legacy. The man was internationally famous despite never doing a concert outside of North America. Fame didn't exist before Elvis and a fame like his hasn't existed since. Alone, he had 104 singles in the Billboard tope 40.

Was Elvis a cultural appropriator? Absolutely. Was he a thief? Here the lines become blurrier. It's true that he made his fame and fortune utilizing a style lifted from black performers kept down by Jim Crow media practices. But was it something he consciously did or was he just singing the style popular in Memphis -- the birthplace of rock music, home of Sun and Stax.

As a rock fan Graceland was a place for celebration. A look back at a time when rock music had balls and energy, when it was dangerous. Now it's an emasculated shadow of its former self, a bunch of tiny, whiney boys crying into their microphone. There's no heart or feeling anymore and where energy exists it's either in the form of three-chord screaming from punks with more tat ink than originality or testosterone freaks who've ingested too much bovine growth hormone to be healthy. I've cruised the radio dial in almost every state I've gone through and come across almost no rock stations. What do exist are usually, if not universally, owned by immense corporations. There is no more regional music...no more Sun or Stax.

No more Elvises.

Route 66 Museum:

Nothing proves to me more the need for alternate fuels than this monument to the dance floor of the old gas greats.

This country has always been a beacon of freedom. And it's not the freedom that the militias kill for or that politicians try to forcefully export to other countries. It's the freedom of the people to choose and then move upon those choices. Nothing represents that more than Route 66.

From Chicago to Los Angeles, the road stretched from a home of the blues to the promised land. Through the dust bowl and past countless roadside diners and gimmick hotels. Round barnyards and neon lights guided the way for millions of Americans moving along the nation's aorta. Running from Dust Bowls and looking for work in orange groves. It wasn't always ideal, but it meant something. It was freedom for some and work for others. And then the highways came. Long, straight impersonal stretches of road with hotels and rest stops no more than a mile off any given stretch of road. Jump out, dump spent fuel and get new gas, jump in and then drive off for the next 400 miles of faceless America.

And they killed just a little bit more of this country's essence.

I hate flying. I don't hate it because it's scary or expensive, I hate it because it's not traveling. People who say they love to travel and then jump on a plane to wherever kill me. You don't love to travel, you love to go places -- that's what flying is, going places. You don't see anything or meet anyone, you just jump in a plane in one impersonal terminal and get out in another spiritless brick building.

Yesterday, I met a couple camping next to us in Yosemite. Their names were Dave and Susanne and they raise llamas. Apparently they got into it five years ago and they love it. They travel around with their animals in the Llama Limo -- a converted parks bus -- doing promotional events and shows. Maybe they do it because it's fun, or maybe they do it because they attract a crowd wherever they go and it can give them a feeling of being special. A feeling they never got anywhere else in their lives being rather plain, even unattractive. It doesn't matter why they do it. They've found something they enjoy and they've found each other, and at the end of the day that's all anyone can ask for.

That's travelling.

Picture post!

Wed, 14 Jun 2006 03:57:29 GMT

Tasha, me and Dottie

Flowers along I-81 in Virginia

Alpha and Omega Antique Mall

Hawk's Nest State Park, West Virginia

Me, contempltative

Gauley Bridge, West Virginia

Somewhere, West Virginia (this shot is great, but I'm not sure you can see it, because right behind and to the right of the giant ADULT sign is a sign for a Presbyterian church, which is right across the street from the adult store)

Serpent Mound State Park, Ohio

Cincinnati, Ohio

Me in my uncle's 1956 MG

Me, my uncle, and his wife

Mammoth Cave National Park, KY

Tasha

Memphis, Tennessee

A sample of Elvis' reading list

Two apropos Elvis costumes (the tiger because his sensei apparently called him tiger and the sun god emblem because Sun records is where Elvis got his start)

The tail of one of Elvis' planes with his logo from the 70s (TCB stands for Taking Care of Business and the lightning bolt symbolizes how quickly business will be taken care of)

The only off-limit part of Graceland...the upstairs

Elvis used to write notes in the books he read (this one is about the age of aquarius and the emancipation of women, in his own words...KARATE)

Hot Springs National Park, Arkansas

Tasha outside Granny's...home of the best breakfast I've ever had

Oklahoma

Capital Building; Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

Oklahoma Route 66 Museum

Evidence of the damage dealt to the small business owners by major highways

New Mexico

Roswell, New Mexico

Carlsbad Caverns National Park, New Mexico

Whale's Mouth Formation

White Sands National Monument, New Mexico

Truth or Consequences, New Mexico

My Cactus Jack impression

Arizona

Petrified Forest and Painted Desert National Park, Arizona

Petroglyphs

Sedona, Arizona

A few things I've learned on the road...

Fri, 09 Jun 2006 06:46:13 GMT

There is, however, a little snack bar with frozen sandwiches and 6" pizza and some refrigerated drinks.

Despite what Douglas Adams wrote in "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" having a towel is nowhere near as impressive as having baby wipes. In a pinch they can be used to clean car floors, freshen up pits and clean up in general when one cannot find a sink.

Just because there's not always access to a shower doesn't mean one can forego personal hygeine. A restroom sink does the job for the upper body. For the lower body, see above.

Backpacks are waterproof and ants are backpack proof, but backpacks are not ant proof and ants are not waterproof.

It's amazing what people will open to you if you just say "Hello." Or happen to look relatively normal near them.

It is critical to travel with someone who has your back.

That little meter on the bottom of your camera's view is a light meter and when the lines are on the side of the meter with a - it means underexposed, not the other way around.

When last I wrote, I was in Memphis. Since then I've been to Graceland, Hot Springs, the Oklahoma and National Route 66 museums, White Sands, Painted Desert and Petrified Forest, Roswell, the Grand Canyon, Phoenix, Carlsbad Caverns, Sedona and Zion National Park.

Zion is the most beautiful place I've ever been, even in the rain. It's a park located mostly in the bottom of a canyon. Through the canyon runs the Virgin River. Today, we took the Riverside Hike to the end of the park's trail. After that it turns into a backcountry trail through the canyon floor to a section known as the Narrows.

I've been fortunate enough to have been many places in my life. In addition to the ones I've listen on this trip there's also been Canada, Maine, Florida, South Dakota, California, Delaware, Maryland, New York and Vermont. By far, Zion is the most spectacular place I've seen. Coming in from the east and driving through the park is a long road of hair pin turns and tunnels in canyon walls. Reaching the bottom is a two-fold relief, first relief from the ass puckering drive and second relief from days and days of driving through the desert. Down there and along the hike I saw what looked like three different eco system. Including what could best be described as a canyon swamp.

We hiked in early this morning. It was a little overcast, but it looked like the clouds were clearing. By the time we got to the trailhead it was raining (rain has been following us since the east coast, but we ditched it for a while in the desert, however once we got somewhere the humidity reached about - 5 percent it decided to return). We pressed on for the mile to the end of the trail proper, by which point it stopped raining.

We descended off the trail, I grabbed a walking stick and into the Virgin River we marched, hoping to see some cool things. And we did. It was just amazing down there, with red canyon walls stretching up above us and turqoise water around our wastes or bright green reeds surrounding us on the barely worn in ground trails. The rain followed us on and off for about the first hour we hiked on, breaking into bright sunlight for a while.

Soon, the rain came back, but we assumed it would go away again as it did before. Not so, and as we marched on to Canyon Junction the sky grew darker. We walked down into a branch of the Narrows, took a few pictures and were debating how to proceed when a peel of thunder made our decision for us. We headed back with much more hustle in our step than when we came in.

The hike back was mainly uneventful except for a terrifying five-second trip I took down the river against my will. We were crossing a segment of the river that had swelled from all the rain. With only one stick (which I was using because my ankle is still a little swollen and I was hiking in my cast) I was forced to go first. About halfway across the river I put the stick on a rock, overestimated its size and put a foot forward. There was nothing there. Suddenly I was a 6'5" man in about 6'8" of water, floating away from the rocks, Latasha and safety. To her credit, Tasha jumped right in after me. I thrashed around briefly, struggling to roll over onto my back. I met success, and pushed myself toward a large rock jutting out from a bank of the river. Grabbing Tasha's hand and her grabbing our stick we made our way to more rocks and from there to the river bank.

The rest of the hike back was uneventful, save for being soaking wet and freezing cold. By the time we got about fifteen minutes from where we got in the sun shone in the sky above again. We drew our weery bodies back down the paved trail to the shuttle and rode away from our 6.5 mile hike, which was worth every body-aching second. I would reccomend it to anyone who loves being outside even a little bit, although perhaps on a day without rain. It's a gorgeous hike and even if you don't go past Canyon Junction, or even a mile up the river, you'll see amazing sights. There are even pools deep and calm enough to swim in.

Well, until next time, I hope you are all kept well.

Arrested for adhering to Murphy's law

Tue, 30 May 2006 03:48:00 GMT

Murphy's Law Section I, Article 2.a states:

Anything that can go wrong will. Particularly if your name is Jonathan Robbins and you're in the process of fulfilling a life long dream of some sort.

Article 2.b states that:

This is for your own good, really, as it's God way of getting you used to further disappointment. If you can handle things going horribly wrong while doing something you've waited your whole life for, then things going terribly awry while doing something you could care less about it easier to handle by far.

I'm posting this update from the great state of Mississippi (posting up in a hotel for the night so I can go to Graceland tomorrow).

So, in accordance with Murphy's law the following things have gone wrong so far:

-Friday, get rained out leaving Chesapeake and forced off the side of the road in Surry, VA. End up eating at Anna's Home of Overpriced and Bland Italian Foods. Get as far as Richmond and decide to bed down in Tasha's old dorm room for the night. While there, we find that she left her cell phone with Anna.

-Saturday, get up and go to the Cingular store. Cingular recently bought out AT&T, which is who Tasha had a plan with, and maybe they can help us out. They can't. We ride back down to Surry (pronounced Sir-uh) to pick up cell phone. Begin heading westward once more.

-Sunday, synchronicity occurs as right as I utter the words, "Whoa, slow down" to Tasha a cop blasts us with a RADAR gun. The resulting fine for doing 70 in a 55 on route 73 in Ohio? $85. We get as far as Mammoth Cave, KY before deciding to bed down for the night only to discover ants in the van.

-Today (Monday), get up feeling like shit, drag sorry ass to shower. Lay around hotel room trying to feel better, eventually force self to move. We decide to wait until after the mid-day heat (which is no joke in the South) to deal with the ants. About the time we decide to deal with the aforementioned ant problem a thunderstorm rolls in from the south. We attempt to clean out the back of the van and are met with genuine success, except for Tasha's backpack...hello Comfort Suites of South Haven, Mississippi. Oh, and for some reason her cell phone is now mysteriously devoid of minutes.

However, it hasn't all been bad, in fact most of it has been pretty damn fun.

One of our first stops on the road was at a little place called Alpha and Omega Antique Mall off I-81 in VA. This little boutique is run by a fella whose government name is Bobby Martin and, in Bobby's words, is definitely a reference to the Bible. As soon as we enter Bobby gravitates towards us, lobbing the familiar "do you play basketball" and "well you're still tall enough to be a model" remarks at Tasha. Brushing them off we go through the store looking for items. I find a set of tombstone themed salt and pepper shakers while she snags a neat wooden belt buckle. As we're checking out Bobby decrees he must show us pictures. Intrigued and a little confounded we agree and he whips out pictures of his black wife (who also happens ot be 17 years his junior) and mixed 7-month-old daughter. Ah, now things are clearer. His particular points of pride are the facts that he doesn't cares about the stares in the valley and that his daughter is on the lighter side, proving that "daddy has strong genes." He also informs us that when his child is of age he will be ready to chase the boys off with a shotgun. Of this, I approve.

Next, we pulled off in a little town called Crawley, WV to get on Route 60. The drive is noteworthy for the hills and the switchbacks, having been updated in the form of I-77 a few years back. There was a delcious -- and cheap -- hot dog stand at a little gas station there. We also stopped off at a little place in Gauley Bridge, WV and splashed around in a waterfall pool. While there, an older gentleman recounted to me a story he said was the "Gospel Truth." In short, Gauley Bridge used to be site to a ferry service used for crossing Kanawha River until sometime in the 1800s a wooden bridge was constructed to cross the river. This man's great grandfather, who was a ferry operator, decided to burn it down as the bridge was obviously bad for business. In remained bridgeless for 22 years, until a new bridge was built, which was sumarily burned itself during the Civil War.

I stopped by and saw my uncle while we were in Ohio. For those of you who don't know, my Uncle Ronnie and I are very close. He's my favorite family member I don't live with. He's always tried, in his own way, to bestow some sort of guidance in my life and I gravitated toward that in lieu of any other male role model. He has a real biting sense of humor and the quickest wit I know. I trained in his shadow to garner and hone some of those skills myself. To this day he still gets the better of me. Usually, he has some smart remark or cutting comment for me, but not this time. We had a good time together and when we went over the particulars of my trip he actually seemed, for the first time, impressed with me. He even let me drive his '57 MG Coup before taking me for a proper ride in it. It was nice.

It's interesting the way the road has its own culture. Campers are a different breed of person, it seems. Not necessarily friendlier, but there's almost always an atmosphere of camaraderie that permeates a campground. I was notoriously shy as a child, in truth I still am mostly, and I never had a problem finding other kids to play with at the campgrounds. It's like a little neighborhood forms right there on rolling hills between the leaf-covered pool and the charcol pits. Bonds are formed and while I never approached being the coolest kid in the neighborhood back home, I stayed playing until the stars were thick in the sky at the campgrounds.

For a brief second this morning when I woke up feeling like shit I contemplated turning around, but after today forget that. We will keep going. There's still too much to see and do. As long as the majority of the bad luck is behind us then the rest of this trip should be a cake walk. But, if much more happens we've decided to turn around and just spend a few weeks hanging out in Key West.

Well, that's all for now -- my intestines are turning and churning. I hope to have pictures when next I post, which will either be from somewhere out West or, if we give up, Key West, Florida.

Peace be unto all of you.

Wed, 17 May 2006 00:56:18 GMT

So, for those of you who do know and particularly those of you who don't, my name is Jonathan and this will be my travel journal. I'm 23, currently unemployed and preparing to depart on a two month journey with my friend Latasha across the contenintal United States. As often as possible I plan to make both written and photo posts here.

Thus far we have our packs, our bags and hopefully our tent. I need to go home and find my compass, renew my AAA membership and see if I can find some NPS maps. I've never done anything quite on this level before, but I'm confident in our ability to do this. I haven't worked at a dead-end job I hated for the past year just to flake out.

I've gotten a lot of "Why?" from a lot of people. There's no answer really. It's just something I've always wanted to do. I hope to get certain things out of this trip and I'd like to think of it as a new chapter in my life where I start doing more things I've always wanted to do, but to this point have been too afraid to try. If nothing else, I'll get lots of pictures and memories to see me through the rest of my life and a person can't ask for much more than that.

Please, enjoy yourselves here. To those of you who know me, I hope you learn at least a little more about who I am. To those of you who are new to me, I hope you find my writing at least a little compelling.

Peace,

Jonathan