Inside camping

Unrolled the sleeping bags in front of the fireplace.
Uncorked the bottle of wine.

Our eyes and the blank walls made wild plans
of the domestic persuasion.

The home where I hang my toothbrush
now tangible
grows lumps and piles of boxes in corners.

It grows a Christmas tree.
and slowly the home on my back
unfolds itself around this crackling fire.

Base Camp.

How to Sew

Written Saturday November 29th
.................................................
I feel extremely lucky.
Today I realized what it means to be without health insurance.
Yin and I did a little doctor shopping.
Take a guess.
Question: How much does it cost for 10-15 stitches on a Saturday night in Durham?
.................................................
While the skin on my leg was still one, I waited for a phone call.
The ring came while I was mountain biking down Suburbia Street.
We got the apartment.
Translation: passed the credit/background/criminal/employment/rental history checks (standard these days)... we had the apartment.
The most perfect, tiny, walk to work, sun-baked writing room, fireplace apartment.
All I needed was dough for the down payment, and maybe a little something for ramen.
But life was good, I had a week of solid work ahead of me.
Cakeride.
Time to work on my bunny-hop... ride good fortune's wave all the way home.
If I could jump half as high as I was, I'd clear the vinyl-sided burb-box beside our wood-planked hurdle.
Mountain bikes have spiky pegs on the pedals.
Purposed to help your feet lift your back tire over the crocodile pit, or whatever you aim to clear.
This is called a bunny-hop.

My feet didn't stay on the pedals.
Instead of staying on my feet,
the pedals carved a canyon in my shin.

Pretty deep. Wanna See?
(Not for the hemophobiacs)















Time to shop for medical attention.
Yin spent an hour on the phone describing my laceration to walk-in-clinic and emergency room receptionists.
We got a decent number of quotes for extremity sutures before saying screw it.
Answer: Stitches by a doctor cost anywhere from 400 to 750 bucks.
Now there may have been a tinsy $130 first time visit fee, but you also got a special!
Pay up front, get 30% off.
Goody Gumdrops.
Incidentally, if you can't pay upfront... shouldn't that indicate you need the discount more than someone who can pay? Ahhh the smell of capitalism in the morning.
And, god bless em, emergency rooms won't turn your distressed ass away. But they will at some point during your happy stay with them, introduce you to their financial "advisor" to set up a payment plan.
I know what that is, I'm still working on a couple payment plans for the diploma.

Basically my first month's rent (and therefore any future rent) was on the line.

Now, many Americans don't have health insurance. I'm guessing less have a friend willing to sew up an un-anesthised gashed and grinning Nate.
Strangely, I feel lucky saying that.
But hey, people have done this type of thing before,
in times of war on battlegrounds I'm sure.
I prepared myself by drawing a booze drenched curtain over dancing nerve endings.

Fortunately, via a connection, we were able to pick up supplies from a medical supply store.
I now keep surgical strips and tegaderm readily available. The tape worked, and the wound stayed closed.
I was drunk for nothing now, but felt genuinely pissed anyway.

Now, what happens if you don't have someone who can buy medical supplies for you?
This health system is bullshit.
Americans, the first step to fixing a problem is admitting we have one.
A-greed?
Yeah, there's nothing wrong with privatized, free-market run health care...
as long as you're cool with shopping for docs while you bleed all over the place like you shop for auto mechanics.
Or maybe you prefer paying every month for insurance and still paying for an injury because of a legal free-market-backed loophole in your coverage.
I chose neither, but I was lucky.

We are so afraid of the big bad socialist under the bed that we let capitalists get opportunistic on very important things:
Homes, Health, Education.
In this get-now-pay-later cosmos only one outcome remains.
Debt.
I'm not asking for all out Red, just a little Pink regulation maybe.
Draw the line somewhere. Behind that line no person can be exploited in present or future.
Let's start with the children.

Enough preaching, I'm going to go heal.

By the way, I only ended up spending $40.

Does Unity Exist

A while since last I wrote...
More humor to laugh...
Too much to candy coat.

Like a PC with too much back noise
slows.

Do you ever freeze,
See the moan
fear the crow...

Of ghosts and king.
Of martyred mass and upturned pinky toe.

At times humanity
Tastes like bile's dry heave.

And then you see something like this:

Musicians on streets
Sway to the same beats.

Like Grandpa Elliot
in the French district,
no talker can compare.
Politicians beware

the day the masses sing in unity.



http://www.playingforchange.com

Steer Riding

So here we have a video edited by Lindsay Ludwick, one of the wranglers, of some steer riding.
I am so jealous I missed this by a few days.
Brittany, my badass woman, is the one in the converse with the long hair about midway through.
Her ass has recovered.

Emigrant Peak pics

Clip from the top of Emigrant.

A few Pics

Me and Tonto






Me on Tonto
Dusty on Shy

Dos Stories

First of all: very sorry folks for the delay in updates.
It seems the working season has declared a free for all on free time: sleep, hike, ride, read, write, so much to do with so little time.
My deepest apologies.

Nevertheless, even in my silence... I have been busy.

------------------------------------------
1. My first horsey ride (in a very long time):

"Maybe I should have started at the beginner level."
The thought barely existed before being immediately replaced.
"Too late now."
Joining the advanced group made sense at the time.
The front wrangler gave the signal to start loping and the riders ahead of me took off.

I tried my best to appear calm and confident.

A definate challenge considering my inner voice was doing an impressive impression of the Home Alone Scream.

Hands barnacled to the saddle horn, body bent forward, mouth set, teeth grit.

We were hoofin it.... fast.

I knew I had a rational sense in me somewhere because at that moment it was rather loudly insistent on my certain impending doom.

Sure, a possible outcome... but again, too late now.

The wind-press on my eyeballs reminded me of driving my motorcycle.
But this was no machine.
Machines don't huff and grunt, fart (a lot) and bite other machines, stumble, or spook at scary pieces of shit on the trail.
Horses do though.
Loveable, skittish, hilarious, and terrifying.

The heat from the working horse-muscles made my saddle hot... I could feel the huge lung bellows pump... hear the metal horseshoes pound and clack on rocks.
Yes indeed... I was hurtling forward atop a moving blacksmith shop.
Release the saddle horn, move with the rhythm, grin... I caught on. I got hooked.
Have been trying to ride a lot lately.
Last ride I was practicing my posting and totally sat on a testicle.
Yeah it hurt that bad... but everything still works, so don't worry.
--------------------------------------------------
2. Solo Summit

Yeah, noon is a little late to start up a 5,000 foot ascent.
But I had slept in, and was going to climb Emmigrant anyway, dammit (a 10,900-ish ft. peak).

I had my bear spray, lunch, gps, and four bottles of water.
Hot day... the water was done by the summit.
Emigrant was a fairly strenuous hike with steep inclines on loose shale.
This meant that, until I got the hang of it, one step up slid me two steps back. That is unless I slipped off one of the dramatic drop offs skirting knife blade ridgelines... but that didn't happen.
The trick is baby steps.
There were at least six false summits.
Which means the inner monologue went something like this six friggin separate times:
" I can see it!
The TOP!
Almost there... pant* pant*... I did it!
[behind a rock the next false summit murderously reveals itself well above and beyond]
... shit."
But after 4 hours I made it.
The peak was very exposed, which unfortunately didn't mean much as the weather was perfect.
If you know me, you know I like a little rough weather or at least some wind at the top of a mountain.
A six hour solo hike, complete with a summit, is a wonderful thing. I highly recommend it.
I practically ran down the mountain, racing the setting sun and reached the car just as the light went out.
Shavin it close.
----------------------------------------------------
Coming next:
Skinny dipping in Yellowstone

Bear Sighting

Finally happened.

I know you're supposed to stay away from bears...
but we were kinda excited so we ran toward it.
For pictures.
I will post them when I can.

Coarse and shiny black,
His coat seemed heavy
as it rolled with lumbering
paw steps.
Muzzle of gold,
he panted throught it.
Saw us and ran...
and didn't seem so heavy any more.
He nimbly bounced over the grass, head up...

right toward the softball field where Jenn was about to sit down and enjoy a cigarette.
A shriek and a rather impressive fence hurdle later,
Jenn was standing on top of Brittany's car
yelling if the bear was gone yet.

Sorry bout that Jenn.

After a few days and a few mischievous bear visits,
the head chef made an announcement as follows:
Now we all know there's been a big black bear hangin around,
so lets step up the cleaning
and try to clear the outside grill as best we can.
We don't want any incidents with the guests.

I love working in a place where "bear safety" is an agenda in staff meetings.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I drank a Fernet con Coca at a bar in Montana.
The taste,
bitter sharp and herby.
The buzz,
heat emitting vines crawling up arteries to flower in my brain.

The whole experience was an amputation.
I was in Argentina again,
but all I could see were cowboy hats and glowing gridirons above them.
I was suspended between two times and two places.

I am no stranger to the paradox of position:

The most random insignificant stimuli
feeling rather ambitious
passes through its choice of my sensory organs
and arrives in my brain.

This is where most good little insignificant stimuli
are assigned a predetermined meaning and promptly shelved.
Not our little rabble-rouser.

Yelling "stick em up"
He holds up my Memory Bank
and high tails it
to the forefront of my consciousness.
Where, after an epic gun battle,
our outlaw goes down in a fiery ball of glory...
spilling his stolen memories before my eyes.
Becoming a legend.

This is why a smell,
rice ready for harvest.
A laugh,
forced guffaw or tinkling cascade.
A sight,
setting sun glint on the tiny-veined wings of millions of insects in a grass field...

Can each hijack my static here-ness
to another time and place.
No one can see when this happens.
You can never be prepared for it,
You can never force it.
but you can ride it.

And so I call myself wind...
with my brothers and sisters like me.
We are always going somewhere.

Contact Info and Videos on Ice

As requested folks, my contact info in Montana.

For Mail:

PO Box 1219 Emigrant, MT 59027

For Packages:

480 Big Creek Rd. Emigrant, MT 59027

I had to taste the ground to make sure it was salty.

Ever wonder what life looks like for a dog chasing a frisbee?

Coatis... the South American Raccoon. Watch out, they bite.

Iguazu: these falls in Argentina were mesmerizing. Like the Niagra of South America.

See how the jungle wraps the falls?

Rainbow by the falls.

Boat ride up the river to the falls.

The Boat ride under the falls.

Fear and Loathing

Below is a short piece I wrote in the airport, shortly after being overcome by sudden anxiety. The wave of terror passed as soon as it arrived, but it left an impression on me.
This is for anyone who has ever grappled with fear.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
A heart cramp.
Cool prick of a vaccine needle in some vague muscle
in some vague spot
in your torso.

It wallops into a tinkling crescendo...
the sound of an acme anvil dropped on a pyramid of beer bottles.
Jump Spasm.
You realize that there is something fragile in grave danger...
in your gut.

Creeping terrification.
Bland taste of ignorance.
Static panic:
Doubt.

Unbeknowst to you.
Tiny pranksters TP'd the tree limb-like tubes in your lungs.
Someone throws a maltov cocktail down your throat.
Don't choke on the smoke.

It's a good thing you are well practiced in dealing with the paralysis of fear.
Otherwise you wouldn't be able to wiggle your big toe.
Wiggle, toe...
------------------------------------------------------------------

I think I'm a cowboy, but I'm not...
I'm actually a housekeeper, dishwasher, driver, and waiter.
I did learn to dance the two-step in cowboy boots though.
So I'd say I'm heading in the right direction.

This is a high end guest ranch.
People pay more to stay here for two weeks than I did for my whole trip.

It stunned me like a coco butter smack to the face.
I have seen poverty...
Families shuffling through garbage.
I have been poverty...
stretching every last euro to the max.
Surviving off ham and bread and beer.

Some people live very differently.
Some people leave half of a $300 bottle of wine unfinished.

Don't get me wrong,
They are very nice... not uppity or snotty.
But the fact that they exist in the same world as the other extreme...
rattles me.
Somehow between Spain and here,
I must have entered a wormhole.
Too dazed and confused for loathing,
but I wouldn't know what to loathe anyway.
Who's fault is it...
the sprawling wasteland between really-haves and really-have-nots?

-------------------------------------------------------------------
Setting is epic.

The mountains reign here.
Commanding is their presence,
be it bright or brooding.
They bristle with evergreens and aspens tremble at their site.
Deliver down cloud swept frowns
or hawkish sunny grins,
on their back dwelling people-ants.
All we do is beneath them.

And the stars...
wow
It's like someone found a plug,
and singularly tiny-spark-summons
the building buzz of a million baseball stadium lights.
They drown out the black background.
They drown out words.

We are remote, and Wild is not far off.
Brittany has already seen several bears and two (yes TWO) Mountain Lions.
I have yet to see a bear here, but am repeatedly assurred that I will soon.

I like my coworkers.
We knock back brews and trade tales in the lodge with the guests at night...
stretching out beside sassy backtalking fireplaces.
Last night, after a brief tutorial from one of the wranglers...
I attempted and completed a rafter shot.
Ankle locked boots and hanging upside down from a crossbeam in the rafters.
Just picture my shit eating grin the other way around while shooting liquer UP my throat, and you'll have the picture.

The kitchen is top notch.
Manned and Womanned by golden characters,
it cranks out miracles.
I learned how to make pasta today.
That's a miracle itself.

Other things I hope to learn while here:
How to dance better (aka how to twirl the ladies till they don't know which way is up).
How to fly fish.
How to gallop on a horse.
How to hunt.
How to chop wood like a pro.

Pictures coming soon.

Cowboy Nate

It has been quite a ride.

Current location is now Mountain Sky Guest Ranch in Montana. About 25 miles north of Yellowstone National Park. I apologize for not alerting everyone to my stop in Durham, but I was only there for 10 hours and really hadn't slept in two days.

My last night in Barcelona, I stayed up all night so as not to sleep through my flight. The night before I had slept in the park for maybe 3 hours. And the night after, I was in my old bed in durham, but still unable to sleep because I had to pack. So long story short, it was a really really long trip.

Some really surreal moments in the past week.
Coming back to NC, and actually feeling like I had a home. Matt and Diana had my bed made. Weary dirty traveler that I was, I had to smile at the sight of a room with only ONE bed... as opposed to the snoring/humping/partying circus rooms in many a crowded hostal. It was actually kind of a shock.
I awoke in the night in a cold sweat, breathing hard... sitting bolt upright.
I thought I was hallucinating. The room was completely dark, and my sleep encrusted brain was vein bulgingly trying to remember what country I was in, and whether or not I had a plane or train to catch. Momentary panic was replaced by a hard breath out. Scarily Refreshing.

I had plenty to worry about... even though I stubbornly refused to. Aer Lingus had lost my bag AGAIN. This time in Boston. I just got it back yesterday, barely put back together and missing a stuff sack of dirty clothes. Apparently when a bag is left for a certain amount of time with no lost bag report filed (I couldn't file until the next day at my final destination)... they open it.

Unceremoniously would be putting it lightly. But that's ok, cause they found my cell and Josh's number and therefore, got me my bag.

But why go through all that trouble if you're just going to fuck it up in the end? My bag was practically open when Fed Ex brought it. I'm surprised more wasn't missing than just my stuff sack.

I am looking forward to calling them up. For those of you that pray... remember the poor soul that has to take my call. And remember forgiveness for me... for all the things I will probably say about their mother. The flip flops are off, and I'm feelin slappy.

Another surreal moment...

Riding the train from Valencia to Barcelona a good 6 hours after La Tomatina, I decided to scratch my ear. Lo and behold, I discovered... and fingered out a giant chunk of dried tomato ... one in each ear actually. To others it must have looked like I was wearing some kind of organic Buetooth. I sat there, staring at it, and wondered if I would ever have another moment quite like that one.

If you think that's disgusting, you should have seen the shower water around my ankles when I finally bathed with soap... yes, a day later, back in NC. The water was a dirty pink. I knew I was going to have to be tomato ridden on the plane due to the time crunch, but I didn't realize quite how saturated I was. Could you imagine trying to explain my fruit smuggling to customs?

All the tomatoes are out of the dreads now, but occasionally a seed stowaway will still show itself. I want to plant one of them.

The next day was quite possibly the longest of my entire trip. I was too excited about my destination... and two excited about the person I was going to see.

The road has been lonely... as I knew it would be. I knew parts would be extremely difficult and parts would be rapturous. And I knew I would crack open a few more coconuts of reality and life. One such realization has led me to Montana.
And my trusty wind has blown me here.

I have returned to the States to pick up a partner in crime and continue my adventure. The plan to date is to reline the old bank account until the end of October and then road trip somewhere in the US. I want to be back in NC for Thanksgiving.
I have a tradition that I will not miss. Nate's Turkey will be returning this year... accomplanied by plenty of spiked cider. All are invited. Chela... bring the pigs feet.

I have so much to write about the shock of being where I am, doing what I am doing. It will come later, as this is already a long post.

Mainly I wanted to let everyone know that I am still alive and that I am in Montana.

Check out the link for Mountain Sky to see some pictures of the ranch. Below are some of Lauren's pictures from Paris.

A toast from the best men.

Remember the story about loosing Tai and Yin and then finding them as they tried to pick my pockets? Lauren caught the moment of reunion.
Of course, I had to try to climb the Eiffel Tower.

Yin and I chugged a beer before racing each other down the stairs.



City Lights

My friend's women make sure nobody's left out in the City of Romance.

Loner moments speak the loudest to me. But there is nothing like a good companion

.

La Tomatina Video

Not my video but yes, I was somewhere in the middle of that.

Tomatoes

Lots of them.
They were up to my calves.

I confess,
afterwords I did have a bloody mary.

I was right by the truck when it unloaded tomatoes on the street.
To borrow a phrase:
All my Christmases came at once.

Granted, at certain memorable moments it felt like getting smacked in the face by a bunch of head circling... rubberchicken weilding stars.
Look right?
incoming left.

But it didn´t matter.
I was in a tomato fght.. a big one.
And I was a tomato weilding fiend.

I didn´t get the ham, fans...
sorry to say
the opertunity hath not presented itself.

But nobody else got it either(which makes me feel better).
The trucks interrupted things.

Crawling toward you...
Accesible first
by the ketchup laden screams of delight
somewhere that way.
The space just above the carpet of heads erupts in pulp ridden catastrophe.
A mist of tomato juice stretches the length of the street
hovering over fruit slinging limbs.
Jostling erupts,
nostalgia.
Taiwanese night markets
Franklin Street bonfires.
Riots.
A mass of juiced bodies swaving... stagger... like red tide.
Only one hour... a collective breath out,
release...
The locals hose everyone down on the way out.


the night before, I slept in the park.
but on a tarp
provided by the Italian fellas.

it reminded me of a music festival crammed into a tiny town square.
Everyone just crashed on the ground.
True to tent village form,
mass-contributed entertainment was born and did blossom and we became a small house.
acrobats and games.

Somewhere in between playing kings´s cup with the Italians, drinking with the hitchiking Poles (nicknamed "tarzan" and "shorty"), ... and wandering the streets of Barcelona with a pierced Swede....
I witnessed yet again, proof that
Connecting conquers
when it comes to humanity.
Different cultures can be savy.
This I know...
they can.

I wish I could tell all the details..
I broke my toe attempting to breakdance barefoot.
No biggie,
all you can do is tape it anyway.


I camped for free, when I shoulda paid.
drank redwine and cola.
scammed friends into the disco.
learned how to bowl for cricket.
got confident and jipped another campsite.
watched kite surfers swarm like gulls.
I strutted scars and traded tales with the most random grab bag of nomads you can imagine.


My European leg is coming to an end.
I gave it a good salut.

La Tomatina

Two days away from La Tomatina.
I am very excited!
Today the campsite will fill with Aussies part of an organized trip package for the festival.
Translation: 300 drunk Aussies and Kiwis are on the way.
Tonight the celebration begins... and tomorrow I head to the small town of Bunol, where the festival will take place.
The night before, the entire town drinks in the streets. I am only taking an extra shirt so I can just pass out in the park that night.
The next morning will kick off with the climbing of the greased up pole, for the hamleg at the top.
As I mentioned...
I want it.
And then come the trucks full of tomatoes which everyone throws at everyone else for exactly one hour.
I will try to buy a waterproof (or rather tomato proof) camera to record the days events.
Promises to be a good time.

Campsite Summer Nights

Shout out to my long lost Aussie childhood buddy, Adam Jenson.

My two Italian friends and me... drinking Mate (an Argentinian drink similar to tea but different from anything else you have ever tried) and whiskey under the stars.

A few random videos

Throughout my recent walking, and waiting, I started playing with the video function on my camera... doing short interviews.

Here are a few.

Sorry about the second one, I accidentally hit nightview, but I pass some old drunk spaniards that you can just barely see.

Oh where oh where to sleep

The past few days have been somewhere between a whirlwind and a clusterfuck.

I left Figueres a day later than I planned.

On the day I planned, I got to the bus terminal to get my big pack out of the locker.
Bus terminal closed.

A short beg routine later, I am let in and thankfully retrieve my things.

But its just started.

Nate misread the arrivals for the departure trains and got himself stuck with no hostel for a night.

The first night search is on.

So help myself to a little 2km hike to the campsite where I sleep on the ground for 5 euros.

Have been making a habit of counting pennies lately.

Next day I make it to Barcelona and then grab a second train to Valencia.

True to form every single hostel in the city is completely full.

Unbeknownst (sp?) to me, the city was in the middle of a huge Formula 1 rally or race or something.

After hiking all over the city looking for a Pension or a bar with a room ... a hostel worker finally rescues me and finds me a room.

Granted it was the equivalent of 45 bucks, a bit steep, but I really didn't want to sleep in the park with my passport and creditcards on me (shoulda left them in the locker).

That night was hot, very hot... humid room, no fan, no breeze... I had to sweat it out, using a damp towel to cool off, periodically throughout the night.

Next day was a search for housing.

Everything was full.

I finally found a campsite 30km out of the city where I am now. Had to hike across the city for the bus to get here.

The campsite wouldn't give me the cheap price for no tent, but I met an Aussie Kiwi pair of rubbers... car camping across europe.

They offered to let me camp on their site further up the road, so tomorrow that's where I'm heading. They're going to La Tomatina as well.

I'm recruiting guys to help me get up the greased pole.

Tradition demands the festival doesn't start until someone gets the leg of ham at the top.

I want it.

But I have to get past the Spaniards that try to pull tourists down.

We'll see how that goes.

This was their drunk finger puppet.

Two other Aussie fellas I met and their tounges ... and the drunk fingerpuppet.

Interview with a drunk fingerpuppet.











The Bull fighting arena in Valencia.





















This is what I wanted to see.


















This was all they had in August. Yeah, this.

Dali Pictures

Teatro Museo

Gold painted figures threaten to jump.

Gala´s rowboat and umbrella sit attop a giant column of car tires in the center of the museum´s main courtyard.










The Persian Queen atop a steamy vine filled car with water dripping from the roof.

The shocking nature of Surrealism´s use of the impossible.

At last, the blank canvas gives up and just as you expected promptly craps itself.

Who ate all the ice cream?













This was painted on a large ceiling.
Dali from below: see the upside down drawers?

Tristan and Isolde

Which image do you see?

I really like this one.

Dali also designed and created Jewelry. This is the Corset Ring... so you, Brittany

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Casa de Dali

Dali´s house from across the bay.








Quiet Reader in the Garden












Dali´s bedroom through a mirror.

There was random stuff like this all over his house.












The Canaray Room.

Fishnet draped slanted walls, this space was very tight. Unfortunately it was roped off. The statue at the top made it hard to fight the temptation to run for it and see what was up there.












The Pigeon Roost

Below the winding staircase was the model´s room where people could relax after posing in the studio.










Lip couch by the pool












Dining Room, complete with Winged Rhinoceros Head








One of Dali´s unfinished pieces left in his studio.








The Beggar and the Michelin Man.

Giant rowboat carcass

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Randoms

Kids cliff diving. I jumped from the point where the blond boy is. The water is on the other side of the closer rocks.













Inside the Church at Cadaques








Tiny alley in Cadaques










The Amazing Pirate Dog







Sunrise over the campsite












Ah... the Mediterranean Sea

Preparing for the leap

Where´s nude Waldo?

Some little piece of architecture in Paris.