An August in Dusk

I have watched this blog defy all that is natural these past few months. As it stands, untouched, frail, without proper end one would expect it to decay. Such is not the way of the cyber age. This will stand for years beyond my years. Embedded in web language for all time. I had stopped writing it because the aura of the project had left, and it was time to move on. I would often revisit it though, namely because the last entry was my least favorite and stood glaring out in a apathetic mood so anti-climatic and weak. That wasn't my intention.

The winter was incredible. I doubt I'll ever have one like it again in my life. The house we found was on a mountain. We had bears and wolves in our yard regularly. It snowed almost 3 feet a week the entire time we were there. We snowboarded almost seventy days between the resort and the back country. We met some amazing people. Friends from home came out and joined us in the middle of the winter, and we had five grown men living in a gingerbread house pretending we were kids. It didn't matter. I loved every second of it. The cramping, the personality, the fact that one of us slept behind a bar, that three others slept on air matresses for months, that I learned the true meaning of exhiliration leaping off the edge of a rocky abyss only to be doused in a cold white mist of snow. I look at Tahoe now as home, now that I am not there, now that the tragedy of it has once again taken its course.

If you have ever concentrated on something so intently that you suddenly feel disconnected from you body, your head feels miles above your arms and the space between you and the computer screen the length of a football field, you have tasted it. It is a disjunct and it is how my life and my mind were related for quite some time upon my return. I have found the thirst again, for writing, for laughter, for travel, for life. I hope the next endeavor I make in the cyber world reflects where I've been and where I have come from. I hope that I have learned as much as I believe I have, and I am grateful that this will be here for years to come in which I can reflect on a time in my life that can be defined by curiousity and a thirst for experience. I lay this to rest.

The Night Was Locked in South Lake Tahoe

So where are we now? Lost somewhere between the bay area and the sierra Nevada's with a handle of Jameson half empty in my lap in the middle of the night. Our luck had changed a bit because we were so close to the our destination we have run out of ideas. We left San Francisco prematurely because we had no money, nothing to do, and nowhere to stay. Fed up and tired we bought some whiskey and figured we could take our chances on Tahoe even if the first image of the lake we get is a black abyss marked by rocky cliffs and a drunken swagger.

The drive to this point has been nothing short of incredulous. The same folk songs we had listened to through out the trip were now old and played out. The mystery was gone and there was nothing left to do but drink whiskey and pray we could find a job before we were on our way home on account of the seventy two dollars and thirty three cents in my bank account. What I didn't speak of was Vegas, and for reasons you can probably assume it left us in a different place financially (and morally) than we had been in when we arrived. It cleaned us out. I don't know what we had expected to happen but moving to a new town in a new house with no job and no money just flat out does not happen. The fog surrounding the trip had clouded our judgement and made it difficult to see the cold facts of our situation. It is getting colder and we are far too north to camp.

The lights were beginning to make me feel a little dizzy so I was concentrating on the ten feet in front of the car lit by the dim headlights. I took a sip of whiskey and handed it to Domenic and he sat on it for a minute sipping slowly like it helped him pace his thoughts. We had left in late afternoon but the traffic leaving San Francisco had hurried the night upon us. It really wouldn't matter if we arrived at ten or two the day felt like a domino that would fall away and crumble in our memories - a small piece in a long line of days that serves little purpose beyond a catalytic connection. We entered the pass and it looked beautiful but we couldn't see it so we had no idea how beautiful it was. It passed us by as ordinary as the night.

There are certain people I miss and I wonder if Tahoe will feel like home. I can't imagine it will. I am not sure what I expected to feel but this place is foreign and unwelcoming. I remember having to pee. It was a serious strain on my abdomen and the car was moving at seventy miles an hour so any thought of dealing with it was gone. Before we left Brandon had booked a few nights at a cheap motel somewhere in South Lake. When we arrived it was dark and nothing was open. The town was packed full of the night and a few lights reminded us how alone we were. We found the hotel. It was closed up - locked. I looked at Domenic and he smiled motioning at a drop box drilled to the siding just to the right of the door. Our key was in an envelope with our room number, 209, scratched in sharpie, quickly, barely legible - our grail. I smiled and wondered how much unpacking would take place before I fell asleep on the bed, so tired, so drunk, so content.

We made it to Tahoe. I wasn't sure if it was where we would end up because it was so open ended the entire trip. Most of the time I was thinking about the disparity between my life and the places we left on a daily basis so a destination didn't seem like our destination. And then we were here, in the dark, in the night, in the drunk. It was a lot - the drunk. So much that I fell asleep to the sound of Brandon laughing on the phone so happy we had actually made it. We made it, and I fell asleep.

Big Sur, Sir.

I haven't ever felt this. It isn't much of an emotion, more like someone had been stacking dead leaves and twigs for a few weeks and finally struck a match. The smoke billows first. Then the heat forces a few steps away, watching the leaves rescind and release - the yellow flame flashes in your eyes. It burns and all the while you stand there and watch it like you are waiting for something to happen, but the reality is you aren't waiting because what you are looking for is happening just a few small steps away from you. You can't touch it. You won't ever be able to touch it.

It was late afternoon when we stopped for gas somewhere along the Pacific coast highway, a few hours south of Monterrey. The day had been warm with a sea breeze and now it was cooler but the breeze had stopped. It was an average stop for gas, like most of the stops on the trip. Domenic fiddled with the gas pump and noticed it was five dollars a gallon. Brandon went in the store to find some local beef jerky and a bottle of wine. I was stretching my back because it was sore. There was an attendant and I said hello and he smiled. His teeth were like ivory tusks and his skin worn like charcoal. He was wearing a bucket hat with a string that hung limp below his chin. When he smiled I asked him how long he had lived here, in this place, with his hat and his tusks.

"Goin' on about ten years 'ppose," he paused. "I ain't too sure why, but I guess it has something to do with trying to feel that balance of your mind and your spirit."

"Did you find it?"

"It isn't something you find. Some days I know I have it and some I don't, like anything else. It is a constant in that it always is changin'. It ain't like one day I can look in a mirror and be satisfied that I got it. Once you do that, you may lose it forever."

I nodded and looked at my feet then towards the sky. It was hard to see through the redwood canopy.

"How do you feel today?"

"Hungry. A little tired." We looked at each other and we laughed. Brandon was back outside. His boots were untied.

"I'm Will."

"Naidis, pleasure."

"I hear there are some hot springs in the area? Any idea if we could get to those from here, heading north?" Naidis looked around as if trying to scan the hills. We were close to the ocean but we couldn't see it. We were on the top of a hill but we couldn't tell. The road hooked right about one hundred yards up ahead and we couldn't be sure to where.

"You'd have to head back about twenty miles. There are some up ahead but it is at least an eleven hour hike. If you are up for that, then sure."

"Nah, we don't have the equipment for it, thanks though."

"No problem," he smiled, "you fellas have a good life, now."

"Yes sir."

We drove off and the sun was losing strength. For such a beautiful place it was rather expensive. We pulled in Pfieffer National Park and found a place to rest for a few days. After we set up camp we sat around the fire and heard other campers laughter sizzle in the night. The sound of barbeque filled the air. The trees made it very dark but stars punched through holes in the canopy and the fire was all the light we needed.

It was near the end of the trip and we could feel it. It wasn't that we were ready to settle down but it just felt about that time because we expected it. I am as happy as I've been and it is fleeting. I suppose before I left I expected to know more as I sat on the other coast. That after an 'epic' trip across the country I would uncover some kind of wisdom that would help me explain why we do what we do. Wisdom is just a change in perspective. As time goes on it is easier to get an idea of what is real and what is accidental and what is amazing and how silly we are. So much of our lives are spent pining for change that we are rarely willing to accept when it arrives. So much of our happiness is based on what we hope will happen in the future. It is clear now that these expectations are misguided. I think back to the conversation I had with Margaret years ago, and how literal I took it at the time. "This is it, it won't ever be more or less." She was right though in her tone it was more pessimistic than it needed to be. Probably because she felt somewhere deep inside her she could have made 'it' more. That part is up to each of us I suppose. 'It' is all we have - but we have it in us to make it whatever it is we want or believe - or at least thats how I felt amongst the redwoods at Big Sur.

A Morning Walk, Tomato Soup, Fish, and the Burning Sun at Lake Cachuma

It was the sun that woke me in the morning. The heat rained on my face and it was early - about six. I woke up in a fog as a result of the late night fire activities. It was quiet but I could hear birds chirping, I think a blue jay, and the sound of light breeze through the leaves on the Cyprus trees. I was the first to wake, and I unzipped the tent and heard Brandon roll over probably half awake or in a dream. I stood outside the tent for a minute and looked around. There was not a cloud in the sky, and a few flies were already buzzing around our camp. I looked at the still smoldering coals in the fire and the empty beer cans in a pile next to the fire pit. I smiled. I was in my underwear but there was nobody around so I slipped on my sandals and took a walk to the water. It was seventy degrees early in the morning and the sun had that strength promising of a hot day. The water was calm near the shore and a few light ripples sparkled like snow near the center. The land around the lake was a dry brown and green trees were littered on the hills. I heard something splash and saw the residual ripples from a jumping fish head towards the shore losing speed like tick, tock.

I dipped my feet in the water and it was cool. It felt nice in the early hours of waking like the last moments of a dream before the sun forces consciousness upon you like a wave crashing on the beach. I walked back towards the camp and saw Domenic standing confused scanning the tent for clues of the night. I laughed at him and he saw me and smiled with his hair matted against his face like he hadn't moved all night. It was going to be a good day. I could feel it in my nerves.

After we were all up we cooked some hash and added some hot sauce we had taken from a diner in South Dakota. It wasn't very good but it was better than a granola bar. We packed up our hiking packs and broke down our fishing rods and strapped them to our bags. It was about ten o'clock when we were ready to go, and the heat was overbearing. I wrapped my shirt around my head and we started walking around the lake with no real direction. We had packed the Jetboil, some cans of tomato soup, saltine crackers, powerbait, nightcrawlers, water, a flask of whiskey, marijuana, and cigarettes.

"I am casting a line right here."

We had walked about two hundred yards and come upon a cove. I could see the shadows of small mouth bass moving slowly in the depths of the cove. The bank was eroded so there was a place to sit. We all in silence began unstrapping our rods and baiting our lines. Brandon cast first. There was a tug on his line almost immediately. Domenic packed a pipe and we all puffed on it slowly. The heat felt cyclical like the hands on a clock. It was turning slowly and pressed reality on us slowly and powerfully. There wasn't escaping the moment.

"Do you have one?'

"Yup." Brandon was in a small battle with a fish that leapt from the water and twisted awkwardly in the air. Brandon's rod was bent to almost ninety degrees. As he was reeling Domenic began a fight of his own. I could see the sweat on his brow as he struggled to keep the fish on his line. It was like a game of chess. Brandon and Domenic paced down the bank trying to land their fish. It was very peaceful. A fly buzzed in my ear.

"Got 'em." I grabbed the net and waded to my ankles. I scooped the fish and held him out of the water. It was a small mouth bass about three lbs. I smiled and Brandon wiped the sweat from his brow. Domenic had lost his fish. It was probably a pickerel. His line was cut clean.

"Glad I didn't catch that. Can't stand those Goddamn teeth."

"This is a beauty." Brandon held up the fish as he tried to unhook it. It had swallowed his line almost to its stomach. He finally was able to free the fish and we admired it in the sun for a minute. With out warning he dipped it in the water and helped the water run over its gills. He released it and the fish remained still for a minute. Suddenly it flicked its body and with a splash took off back to the deep, where it belonged. We smiled and packed up our rods and continued to hike around the lake.

As we walked we could see how dry the lake was. The old shore line was cut into the land and small trees and shrubbery had began growing in the muck. In the shade it was nice, and the sun fell through the branches like broken glass. In a few areas the cliff was steep and we were struggling in the loose rock and dirt, hoping someone would slip and fall in, praying it wasn't you. We moved inland on the west side of the lake. It was too rocky on the shore. Brandon stepped on a bees nest and we all ran away from the angry swarm. We heard the rattle of a snake and saw one slipping through the dead leaves and grass. We finally found a path down to the lake on the opposite side of our camp. There was some kind of structure that was abandoned and looked like a cement dome. Confused at what it was and needing a break we walked towards it and began to break out our rods again. It was about noon so Domenic set up the jetboil and Brandon began heating our soup. The waves lapped against the rocks and the flies were buzzing around our heads. There was nobody anywhere that we could see. We were isolated and content with each others company. Domenic caught a fish and he released it and I sat in the shade and let my eyes close and suddenly I was being shaken awake and handed a bowl of soup. I broke up the crackers and enjoyed the meal under the umbrella of shade. I had forgotten who I was.

The day waned and we kept fishing. The walk was slow but we weren't in a rush. We caught a few fish but didn't keep any. There wasn't any need. The battle on the shore was enough.

That night we relaxed by the fire. The stars were out in full force. After Brandon and Domenic went to bed I just sat by the fire with a headlamp and my journal. I was writing well. It felt right. I heard something move in a tree by my camp and looked. There were a family of raccoons peering inquisitively into the light. Their eyes flashed like lightning. I smiled and gathered up the chair and doused the fire. I unzipped the tent and climbed in my sleeping bag. Brandon was snoring. I smiled and elbowed him and the side. He rolled over but didn't wake. The snoring stopped. I fell asleep to nothing and felt nothing until the morning.

Cloud Road to Cachuma.

It was still raining in the morning. I was disappointed. The mist from passing tires sprayed in the air and everything was wet. Puddles were unavoidable and we gathered our things and trekked across the lawn to check out of the hotel. It wasn't raining hard but it seemed like whatever water was in the air couldn't find a place to land so it just hung there, grabbing onto whatever was near like a spider's web. By the time we reached the lobby water was running down my face to my neck. The air was muggy and I was sweating in my jeans already. I headed towards the bathroom to change. My raincoat was too hot but I couldn't take it off. Dreary, dismal, dead. I walked into the lobby and Domenic was checking out. Brandon was trying to look up the weather on his laptop sitting on a vinyl couch that was squeaking when he took a breath. I walked to the coffee machine and put a cup under the brew. It spit out discolored water and some loose coffee grinds and then it was finished. Disappointed I sipped what had leaked into my cup and my face twisted at the tartness but it was a little caffeine so I forced it down my throat.

"It is going to rain all day here but just to the north it is already clear I think. Right around Lake Cachuma. Didn't Hanna tell us about that area?"

"Yeas. She did. I think we should camp there if it isn't raining."

"At least stop and check it out. I'm not ready to finish this road trip. Let's make Cali last like two weeks."

"I'm fine with that."

We stopped at a Starbucks on the drive out of L.A. There were thirty or forty men sitting around the parking lot waiting to be picked up by whoever needed some day labor and they were soaking wet but looked content. A few of them approached my car when I pulled in but I looked at them and shrugged my shoulders and they knew I was as employed as they were. The line for Starbucks was long and the rainy weather made a heavy fog inside and it was uncomfortable. We bought our coffees and left Los Angeles as quickly as we could.

On the highway we took a wrong turn and found ourselves somewhere near Beverly Hills. It was too foggy to see the Hollywood sign and the only relatively amusing moment was when Domenic stopped short as a man smoking a joint cut him off on a bicycle. I do not miss Los Angeles.

Finally we escaped the grip of the city and were driving through the California hills. It was still cloudy and although it wasn't raining the visibility was low and we were straining to catch a glimpse of something grand.

The ocean was crashing against the beach and my window was open and the salt air flooded the car and sparked something simple inside me which brought a smile to my face - to all of our faces. It was intimidating driving along the highway because we could see in some areas where the rain had eroded some of the cliff and I could visualize our car being crushed turning around a corner by falling rock. I tried not to think about it.

It was cloudy the entire drive that day. Domenic saw a sign for Cachuma at the last minute and took a right turn inland and up a mountain road. The fog settled as a heavy white. It wasn't fog anymore. It was more like a cumulus nimbus. Domenic was following closely the tail lights of a van which was driving under twenty miles an hour. Frustrated with the speed Domenic passed the van and nearly immediately jolted his brakes and pulled off the side of the road. It was impossible to see anything except the tail lights of the van. When we reached the crest the clouds were thick like cream. We were all pressed forward staring into the white as if our eyes would eventually adjust like they can in the dark. It was too heavy. Rather than an absence it was more like an explosion. In the dark the nothing creeps on you like emptiness. Everything is there but vanishing. As you sit patiently what little light penetrates begins to slip and spring around the dark. As if a lack of light is intimidating - as if a lack of anything is. In this cloud we were overwhelmed - flooded with a rush of something that matters until we couldn't comprehend it or see anything at all regardless of how hard we strained. It was as if we were staring at the sea to find out what was hiding in the deep. It felt as if it would never clear until suddenly blue skies fell down upon us. We were a few thousand feet above the lake and it was beautiful and eighty degrees. I realized my heart had been pounding against my ribs and as we descended it relaxed until the sweat felt cold on my face and I wiped it with my shirt. We pulled up to the kiosk and payed a small fee to get into the park and when we stopped we knew we were in the right place and thankful to be out of the dampness of the storm. Brandon parked and we all laughed for a while in the sun and above the weight of our worries. The driving was done for a while. We set up camp but the day was not done, not even close.

We had parked on a small cliff above the lake. We set up our tent and built a fire pit with some rocks we saw laying around. We had a few bundles of wood in the car but it wouldn't be enough to last the evening. We wandered off to the trees to find some dead wood and we found some, actually an endless amount, and we were happy. After we had settled we doused ourselves in bug spray and found a path down the cliff to the lake. We brought a few beers and our fishing rods and cast out into the lake for a few hours until the sun was gone and the temperature had dropped dramatically. It was quiet by the lake, a peaceful weight to the air and we watched the light fade into brilliant colors and then dark. We didn't catch anything that first night because we were using sinkers which were getting caught on the very rocky bottom of the lake. It was perfect, though.

We sparked a fire back near the tent and cooked some chili over the flame. Fish would have been nice. We laughed and joked in the silence and we could hear crickets and critters stirring in the woods all around us. We played guitar and planned out the next day and figured we would take a hike around the lake with our fishing rods. I fell asleep in the night under an umbrella of burning stars.

The Salt Coast

I feel like I have been here before. Not in any specific terms, but it all feels so familiar. It didn't take long to feel comfortable. I miss my family but sense them here. Summer was suddenly thrust upon us and that could have been why. It had felt done but now it seems it never left. There is something lacking, though. I know it is probably something lacking in me.

We stayed on couches for a few days. A storm had terrorized the California coast but we were just below it in the sunshine in San Diego. It was the first real rain of the season and the mudslides were a concern because of all the fires California was dealing with during the dry months. Plus, we had a certain idea of what the drive up the coast would be like and drowning in rain and mud was not a part of it.

The sun fought strong in San Diego. We spent most of our day moping around town and walking along the pier. I was writing a lot there. It felt right and nearly effortless. I smiled at the sun and the calm waves crashing on the beach. Again I had a strong sense of home but then I would wonder what home really is and I became frustrated. The most I could gather was I enjoyed it when I felt it and sometimes it makes me want to cry. I have a few times in my life.

We played disc golf which was the most fun I have ever had with Frisbees. We drove around the city and the wind was warm and didn't provide relief. I could feel my pulse slow and didn't feel a need for anything. We had fish tacos at a shanty shack and it tasted authentic though I don't really know what authentic fish tacos should taste like. They were delicious all the same.

It has been close to a month since we left. We have driven almost six thousand miles. Time feels like nothing except still frames of images piled as if in a landfill and it is far too difficult and rancid to organize. I can revisit some moments whenever I want and sometimes I think I have actually traveled in time when in reality I have because I have gone from that second to this one like tick, tock. We are all traveling in time but maybe not moving anywhere except around and around and I wonder how I change so much that I cannot recognize myself in my thoughts. This trip is almost over and it no longer will define me but I know at some point I will revisit it and realize how much it has changed me. But for now I feel the same as I did yesterday.

I snapped too when a gust of wind flipped the pages of my journal like a deck of cards. I looked out over the water. I was sitting at a table on the pier which shot out to the ocean. There was surf below me and the water had a suspicious red clay color to it. I was staring south at Tijuana trying to imagine what it was like there because as far as I can tell from the stories I have heard it may be the most volatile place on the planet. I've never been, though.

Brandon had taken a walk and he was now standing at the very end of the pier staring out on the water. I saw Domenic laying in the sand on the beach. I took a sip of coffee. We were all lost in thought and spread apart from each other. I am pretty sure we are sharing something we won't ever lose. In the water there was a restlessness that seemed to be taunting. The storm to the north was churning the seas and although it was a beautiful day there was a looming suspicion that things were off kilter. I closed my journal and looped the elastic around the cover to keep it closed. I finished my coffee with a gulp and stood to stretch. I want to stay here, though I know I am the only one. I could get a job and live in the summer for a while and that would make me happy. I don't know why we have to leave. We do, though.

It hasn't been enough to justify anything. That sentence is vague because the notion is vague. I don't know if it is expectations or if I am just waiting for something or if it is just a human thing to never remain satisfied but I am not. It isn't a sadness or a tragedy simply a feeling that no matter where I am it isn't enough. It is only enough when it is gone and I don't have it anymore. That there in lies the tragedy.

We heard the storm was finishing that evening and decided we had already overstayed our welcome. We were right, as no one argued with our decision to head north. We figured we could spend the night in Los Angeles at a cheap motel and leave in the morning and in the sunshine. We started driving and within twenty minutes the wind had picked up and the clouds stopped the light and it was a heavy grey. We were in good spirits but they were definitely affected by the storm like August is affected by the anticipation of fall. We didn't say much but listened to music and studied the coast line when we could until we hit the traffic of L.A. It was stopped dead and raining now so we couldn't open our windows and the air conditioner didn't work. I was so hot I took off my pants in the backseat but that didn't help and it felt weird but I left them off because I couldn't stand the feeling of wet denim on my legs. There wasn't much more to that night. The next day was the start of the best part of the trip.

Someone I Met Once.

"This country man, it ain't right. Thea ain't much that is. I worked my whole life, that damn govment been takin' my money till it left me on the streets. My whole life been like that, now I'm he'a on the streets with nothin but shit grins from people who think it was drugs or sex brought me to it.

"I ain't nevah asked for nuttin but what is fair. Now they keep me on the line for hours just to get a bit of cash that they gonna take away when they damn well please. Where you boys from?"

"Boston."

"Boston. Shit! Good place you got thea. Them Kennedy's was the best thing to ever happen to this country. They knew you can't screw the people cuz that is what we is. People, country, all of it. We's just people, all of us. Fuck man I gotta sleep on the pavement and I'm gettin damn sick and tired for it. If them Kennedy's didn't all croak too soon we'd be's in a better place, and I don't like to think about if they hadn't been around at all. Or if they's was like every other politician, God, makes me shudda."

The man was staring through me. His eyes were glossed over like they had seen too much and didn't feel like looking anymore. His hands were rough and when I shook it felt like cold concrete. He was wearing a tattered plaid shirt and black jeans, a baseball cap and old Reebok's tearing in the toes. When we walked by him I thought about what put him there. What decisions or events had dominoed to this moment, this fifty year old tired shell of a human has awakened each day before this. Every line in his face and rip in his clothes a story - or too many smiles or nights on the ground. It might have been drugs.

It wasn't that he had an audience to complain. It wasn't that he thought we could do something for him. He didn't speak pationately about anything. You could hear it in his voice. It was a concession and just another moment - a conversation to pass the time. He wasn't mad in his demeanor. I suppose he was convinced it is the way it is like a fish believes the sun is on the surface of the water. It doesn't have to be like anything, I thought. It can be like anything, I thought.

I looked at Brandon and reached in my pocket. I don't always give money to people but sometimes I do. I don't know if he died that night of a heroine overdose and I never will. I never caught his name, and his face I couldn't pick from a crowd. It was more a recognition of something and it may have been inside me. Time is cruel how it goes but right now I am not on the ground because of the bad decisions I have made. That is enough for now.