Winter Travels 2022: Searching for the Soul of America…(and my own)

Winter Travels 2022:

Searching for the Soul of America (and my own)

By

Neolud

Preface:

My path begins;

Six years ago I underwent multiple traumas that lasted for 24-36 months, and which the results I will live with physically the best I can. Mentally, between the ‘new’ research into Truama and Nueroplasticity things might be on the upswing. I begin here as my entire life changed, my thinking, feelings, existing... all due to those years.

Then two years ago in 2020, the Pandemic hit us all hard, well all of us who are working class, all of us who have always felt the costs of consumption. Those of us (actually most of us, economic class notwithstanding) who trade 2/3rds of our waking hours just to survive in America.

I refer to this trade of waking hours, as the “Unacknowledged American Deal”. You give us 2/3rds of your waking hours to make money so you can have a roof and food, and ‘we’ give you unlimited distractions; sports, malls, celebrity culture, political opinioning, anything you desire.

We are all born into this deal/social contract, but who among us has given much thought to the nature of the deal, its fairness, or its across the board applicability?

Yet this construct has done more to shape the soul of the American psyche, then wars or insurrection, natural disasters or even access to healthcare (legislated or just financially incentivized).

So, here we all are trodding along, and BAM...global pandemic. American society gets shut down. We isolate in our domiciles (those of us who have them) and wait. We Zoom, we Netflix, we just consume. But, do we contemplate?

The 20th century brought such change; Societal, Governmental, Technological, even steps toward addressing longstanding ongoing injustices. Yet, one could argue that things actually got worse not better in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. We became upwardly mobile, but isolated, we grew distant from each other, but more comfortable, we work multiple jobs not to save for the future but to simply survive, or we have excellent high paying jobs yet only focus on the next lavish “escape” vacation. We have instant communications, but do we connect? We know more about so many things, but is our understanding any greater, our sympathy, our empathy?

Do we have strong values that define who we are today as Americans, as we did in the past?

This book is dedicated to searching for the state of todays American Soul, its 21st century soul, who are we?

The essence of America and Americans is not found in the Mall, or on our screens, its found in the small towns. It’s found where the TV’s are the lowest and the stars are the brightest. It’s found inside each of us, individually and collectively.

We are going somewhere as a country, as a people, as a Nation. I set out to discover some sense of what that direction is (both for the country and myself).

What follows are my observations along these lines during my ‘keep it warm’ Winter travels.

Part travelogue, part retelling of my own American story, part searching internally and externally for an understanding of what American life is today. No answers, only questions.

I hope you enjoy the ride.

-Neolud

Chapter 1: Escape From Orange County

Sure, we could begin with some crazed drug filled Hunter Thompsonesque observations of the escape from Orange County, but it wasnt that crazed.

It was as if it was all new. Not in the excited looking forward to new adventures kind of way, more in that first day at the new High School way. The nervousness coupled with the realization of no choice, leading one down the hallways of a new adventure, be it for better or worse, only time will tell.

Like that wide-eyed student, I drove familiar to unfamiliar freeways, alongside all the other ‘busy’ people running to and fro. The 405–to the 22————————————to the 10, until I was able to leave the major ribbons of asphalt and the unquestioned consumption behind.

Day 1, Week 1: January 2022:

It begins: but first a little background.

I’m rolling SE of all the glitz of Palm Springs and the soaring sky scraping Native American casinos. Leaving this island of unlimited water flows I find myself marveling at the costs of these distractions both in terms of finances and wasted water (life in the desert). These landscape altering projects offering only hopes of luxury lifestyles and only nurturing out of place golf courses.

But I digress, once out of these affluent areas, life is dry. This area of land I am driving through is technically part of the Sonoran Desert. This whole area of South Eastern California is, but goes by several names, most commonly the Colorado Desert.

Leaving the capitol of consumption (the Los Angeles basin and surrounding areas) and driving through dry, arid lands of inescapable beauty, one is awestruck by the familiarity of the view. A forever unchanging landscape ringed by beautiful mountain ranges (the Chocolate mountains, the .....................)

The unending hours spent with the TV babysitter of my youth had populated my mind with far off places; the Sahara Desert, Ghost towns, battlefields, and far off times; the old west, wagon trains, battles with Indians vs settlers, Indians vs cavalry. All exciting far away places, although unknown to me at the time, each actually not so far away, and each teaching an unseen lesson. In this land that I now travel, lives the memories of my youth sparked by these familiar landscapes (as I was to later find out so many movies were shot in the deserts outside Los Angeles). Each of these movies often times purposefully or not, teaching lessons or building notions of what makes an American.

But I am here today. This land is ethereally familiar but all truly unknown to me. Before I hope to discover, or more precisely stumble upon the ‘New American Ethos’ I first must take a moment or two to consider my own beliefs, ethos, understandings. The desert seems to be a good spot to pause, breathe and prepare for some reflecting.

**************

For the last 19 years I have lived on a sailboat. First a small 27’ then a more comfortable Catalina 30, and for the last 7 years on a 42ft sailboat, each amazingly more adaptable to ‘comfortable’ living, as far as that goes for sailboats.

After moving west half my lifetime ago and living in Santa Cruz and then San Francisco, I found sailing something I hadn’t done since my youth in summer camp in upstate New York. One day while sitting in a SF skyscraper cubicle, looking at boats on the bay, something just clicked inside, so I decided to pursue it. This led to buying the first boat, which led to me learning about the lifestyle of traveling the world by small boat slowly and inexpensively, often referred to as Bluewater cruising, or just ‘goin cruising’.

Overall, I discovered I didn't need much but also didn't lack for any creature comforts. Eventually having hi speed internet, cable tv, even central heat and air, just not space as most Americans define it, when it comes to housing.

Also during this time (2005-2010) I delivered boats on the ocean and hired out to perform mechanical repairs for other boaters, all in preparation for joining the long term cruiser community. Nights I spent studying maps, reading articles, learning of other community members, their journeys, struggles, experiences. I spent countless evenings searching map routes, reviewing old wind logs kept by the the British Admiralty detailing when and where and how to cross oceans, dreaming of places and exploring new skills I would need.

Well, as often happens, one thing led to another and in 2010 I started a marine waste management business, and all my plans for leaving America and doing life a different way, subtly shifted.

******

One cold rainy March morning a few years back, somewhere around 2018 I would guess, as I was dreading going out in the grey, wet, get under your skin and freeze your bones type of cold Bay Area breezy morning, and doing my daily run I was dragging. Dreading leaving the warmth of my floating cocoon (S/v Nonchalance) but having clients depending on my not shirking my duties, finding that forced motivation, I set out for another days run. Only to find that within minutes of being out on the water, no others in sight, a weird calm peacefulness came upon me. No longer thinking or even noticing the cold and grey this peacefulness allowing me to reflect upon the circumstance I find myself within, my life (at 5mph) and contrast with those around me.

Above me, on the Bay Bridge, those commuting souls headed to start there day after a long hard drive, after an ‘early alarm’ after yesterdays team won and the ensuing celebrations still felt this morning on the crowded freeway drive. Somehow (thankfully) I realized I was still seeing America differently.

One reason I originally set my goals on going cruising was I felt America had changed deeply in my lifetime. It wasn’t because I changed with age, its because the ethos/pathos I was experiencing in the Bay Area changed.

Wether it was the big tech jobs, or the invention and mass adoption of social media, the 24hr news cycle, virtue signaling or whatever. The growing cynicism, the divide, the ‘its mine’ get yours if your ‘not lazy’ this, combined with the overall notion (or realization) our generation will be the first modern generation who wont statically due better than our parents

...well, simply put; things felt very different.

Everything was, indeed different, but strangely it didn't seem obviously so, and certainly few others seemed to notice.

All these thoughts flooded calmly through my mind as I slowly moved along at idle speed, on my way to empty holding tanks (human waste) to be taken away or ‘flushed’ for those who choose to live differently/alternatively to the dominant paradigm; the irony not lost on me.

******

Today sitting in Little Box Canyon, a small slotted canyon, the walls casting shadows, providing relief from the desert heat, I reflect back on that day. The simpleness of those pre pandemic times, when I was in control (or believed it to be so) and simply wrestled with the effects of trauma and used big thoughts as my distraction contrasting with where I sit and what I see today.

In March of 2016 my personal trauma journey began and continues today, as it will tomorrow. In July of 2021 I sold the marine business created a decade plus before. Partly as i could no longer do the repair work (as I could no longer tolerate being in small confined spaces) and partly as I died inside. I was just going through the motions, the bare minimum motions, to earn a dollar to be able to pay for rent and food. The effects of several years of ongoing traumatic activities had changed me, everything about me, and even my thinking (well mostly).

Each day was a battle to make it to the next second of that day.

If anyone has ever experienced a cut off airway, choking, struggling to even breathe, the body contorting, gasping desperately to simply catch a breath; that was the experience of every waking second of my life.

That summer (the summer of 2021) I found a moment of relief during backpacking weekend excursions. Back to the basics; just sleeping, eating, moving (and not getting eaten by bears). Simple stuff; that and the silent healing power of nature and non societal distractions. So i set a plan in motion to take a few months, in search of more of this natural healing, and hike the PCT (the Pacific Crest Trail). I started planning again, and started playing music again, and writing songs, and poetry again; clearly healing was possible.

Alas the burning of California and Oregon in 2021 allowed only a taste of the grounding and potential possible healing, it could provide.

And so, with Winter quickly approaching, and an absolute hater of cold (learned from long winters of SF Bay and cold ocean weather) I set out to find warmth and nature, isolating and grounding in a different way. A journey through America; no plan other than not being cold....

Of course, Life, as is often the case had a different agenda.

*****

Chapter 2: Wandering the Desert

The Salton Sea

Where to begin:

The anchor of my well being, my first Port after my last triggered knockdown will forever hold a special place in my heart. Like all sailors overtaken by an unexpected gale, overwhelmed, and by sheer luck, stumbling upon a protected anchorage, a respite from all that is swirling around me, this is a place to be remembered, marked, and honored.

It’s overwhelming, so I begin at the beginning. Or more precisely, way before....the beginning.

*******

Today I am standing gazing at Sea Shell Reef. A reef of fossilized sea shells, crumbling in front of me. My eyes look down and even there, right at my feet, a fully fossilized sea shell some 3.5 million years old that had at some time in the recent past separated from the pack and rolled down disconnected from the reef towards where I am, 30 feet below. Awestruck by the easily overlooked reef or the weight of the eons past, I just stand and think about this area.

This part of the greater Sonoran desert is called Anza Borrega and has much ‘modern’ history besides its ancient geological past. De Anza’s expeditions, the trials, tribulations and travels of western settlers, the ancient ongoing Native American societies that stewarded this land and survived and thrived in this environment, and how it went from an pre history ocean to a dry arid desert.

The reef shows clam, oyster and scallop shells, 3 plus millions years old. Clearly this huge valley was an ocean, millions of years ago, perhaps even before the active faults juggled the land, and long before the ancient societies and peoples who came to inhabit the area. This desert is different (as they all are) its sand mostly vs. the hard pack one more commonly sees in these lands (more on that in a bit).

The Salton Sea (and inland sea) is an enigma. Anza Borrega and Sea Shell Reef sitting at the foot of the San Bernardino Mountains forming its western shores, and ringed on the eastern shore by The Chocolate Mountains and other small ranges. This area today referred to as the Coachella Valley, with the Salton Sea filling much of the valley floor, even being a shadow of its former self.

At XXXXXX square miles today, in a desert where water equals life, its creation story and its short but seemingly long lifespan in so many ways can be seen as a model or a representation of 20th century America.

To begin with; one cannot swim in the Salton Sea (any longer) nor can dogs play in the water.

It’s there as a giant mirage, a representation of what once was, an economic catastrophe turned into an ecological disaster by the short sighted actions of those who either didn't care, didn't understand, or thought they knew better. A freshwater Sea now 5x saltier than the ocean and life threatening to humans as well as the fish, local animals, and migratory birds.

*********

The Road

Today (at the end of February) I am back at the Salton Sea having been in the Mojave Desert, The Colorado and Sonoran deserts I find myself needing water views. The possibilities that grazing on the ocean brings, the everlasting view of water to the horizon the grounding. The closest I have is The Salton Sea, the beach campground under the palms, serves that same purpose. It is not the same place where I started this journey, it, as I, have changed.

The road comes with many expectations. Excitement, anticipation, wonder, and even fear for those who know it rarely leads to places that one has mapped.

Today I also find myself in one of those unmapped places. All is fine, but it is not. All is more, representing something else. I know not as I write this, but I know I feel a difference, I have had this feeling before.

One day long ago, I stood in such a place. The day before I was aboard a sailboat in the ::::::::dodectities;;;;;;;;;;a part of the Aegean Sea, between what appeared a small narrow crack in giant multi story boulders rising like solitary sentinels from the surrounding sea. Slowly moving through the chasm created between these two monoliths as it widened and led to a small outpost, for a lunch stop. Life, and people there still depending on those who sailed through the magical slit for respit from the sea, as it had been for a thousand years.

But that was yesterday. The next day that same boat brought us to an ancient island, but uninhabited and unreserved. We landed upon this island, and were alone. Surrounded everywhere by ruined, crumbling antiquities, unexplored, unclaimed and unexplained.

One can feel the history, thousand of years of human history surrounding me; Greek, Roman ruins everywhere, but while the eye can see it the should feels it. The brain can only sense the meaning but not know it.

This feeling, this memory is like being on the road. Time experienced differently, more intimately. The mind truly seeking meaning but unable to do so, opens.

New, unmapped places reveal themselves. And once again anticipation, wander and a calm sense of fear pervade. Where this journey, this winter trek, is unknown.

I sense there is much ahead, my feet and my understanding barely wet.

And so, I have come back to the place of beginning seeking...a sense of respite before...continuing. Older, wiser, knowing it cant be as it was. And yet, comforting to my souls, be it the water views, or some comfort provided by the land itself, the Salton sea....yes it is an enigma.

But for me, a power place....a special place.

**********

Campgroundia

So today, somehow, I got roped into a conversation about our former president. Well, no, that isnt exactly accurate. A pleasant conversation with a campground host drifted towards the dangerous political curve with talk of Ukraine leading to conversations of American Response. There I was, horrified, seeing the dangerous curves ahead and yet powerless to stop the inevitable.

It perhaps is one of those signposts for the new century. Intellectual conversation detonates to diametrically opposed opinions based on biased facts on both sides. Each side not only incapable of seeing the others point of view but not even being able to agree on “facts” thereby nullifying any chance of intellectual debate.

This goes for both sides, be it MSNBC or NEWSMAX, those political ‘opinion’ channels posing as ‘news’ channels are but one of the problems (albeit a leading cause) creating the quagmire we find ourselves in today, where facts are not and pseudo journalism has run amuck.

I remembered one of those chants heard in my yourth that was often referred to as an example of why America is great or a noble experiment it went something like;; I may not agree with what you’re saying but I will defned with my life your right to say it, as an American.

Some call this free speech, personally I dont care for the term free. FOr much of my life ‘free’ has proven to be quite costly, at a number of levels. I prefer to think of it as one of our ‘Noble Values’. The ability to disagree civilly, and yet recognize the privilege we enjoy, the example we set, to be able to speak our minds, crucifer the government, the system, and each other.

Alas, as we all know today this ability to analyze a policy, a position, and idea is no long debate ble. There is nothing that can be termed scholarly debate that exists, there is only entrenched discussion, at best.

Where can this lead other than polarization?

Where can polarization lead, except to extremes?

When we cannot change our minds, our path, our beliefs when faced with new facts, when we cannot learn, when sources of information are dammed up, what is our ultimate fate?

If one was to ask Galileo, Copernicus, Ghandi, or Martin Luther king, they would probably all agree that truth is inevitable and ;time will always bring forward positive change. Always will, had and does. (Or so my mind can assume they would take this position).

So, I would say, what of America between now and then? Surely as we enter our 21st century paradigm we should surely choose our path, our collective beliefs, the structure and substance of our societal constructs, not simply wander into them via chance?

What are these base structures and substance, or more importantly can we even agree on base American values at all?

The pledge of allegiance says Indvisibility, Liberty and Justice.

Are these our Noble Values, our truths we will can and have built upon?

And what are those definitions?

Who are we, really?

Sometimes down days on the road take; the form of an organized campground with water, and bathrooms, maybe even a shower. Sometimes down days and luxuries are simply disguises for unexpected questions and opportunities to explore where we are, together or separate, agreeable or disagreeable.

*******

Crater People

Ten thousand years ago a vast explosion, blowing out a wall of a volcanic crater, the cone, created by the three previous eruptions in the thousands of years prior, still standing today, the surrounding desert still visibly scorched from long ago.

I am at Amboy crater, a small remote stop off Route 66 in the heart of the desert. Try 66 no longer the vibrant life ribbon to California, or the exciting rural rout of Americana of yesterday. Replaced by I15 as similarly as Route 66 replaced older railroads that crossed this inhospitable place, as had the railroads done to the wagon trails of the time before.

Silently for eons, Amboy Crater has witnessed this change.

Many people dont know of this crater cone as its off the beaten path. This sentinel standing from the before time, such a perfect ;example of a volcanic cone, it was designated a “National Landmark” in 19_____. Separating it in stature from the surrounding expanse that is called the Mojave Desert.

And yet and only a twenty car parking lot, 2 pit toilets, and 5 shade shelters. A mile hike to the crater to ascend and enter the blown out section, to walk the rim, to stand on the nw extinct crater surface, a dried lava lake.

;Signage stating leave three hours for the 3 mile hike (there, back and around the rim) seems to discourage many. Left with only the elevated viewing stand from the parking lot, viewing this vast structure, as on TV, passively.....its a cone, its black.

Out walking the sands, seeing the pumice, seeing the steam colored red rock ribbons, as your approach is ‘cone’ getting ever larger, with each approaching step. Only to ascend this volcano to look down from the rim, both into its crater and the also at the surrounded effected desert, to walk the solidified magma inside the cone, now forming a hard surfaces over the former bubbling lava lake, ;Amboy create feels powerful. Power from the past still resonating today, this is not something one can do without getting there feet involved.

(PS:: if visiting in the winter with 70/80 degree temp, and in reasonable health 3 hours is a crazy over estimate of time involved.)

The people who came to this place, this Presidents’ Day weekend are few but diverse. Wether they climb the crater or not, there not overly interested in common American pursuits, as Amboy is not a common or well visited place.

An older couple ‘full timing’ in a Winnebago van, families on a day outing, Oregonians, Iowans, all seemingly not planning but simply finding this silent desert landmark.

And perhaps thats why they seem different, unplugged? Unfocused on the ‘typica;’ perhaps my conversations, of course, focused on teh land not the events of the day imparts no insights about Americans other than what i can glean from brief tidbits and interactions.

WE have always been a land of travelers, seekers, finders. Our destiny always just beyond.....

**********

This morning I find myself sitting on the banks of the Colorado River, 14 miles from my next adventure, The Bradshaw Trail.

I woke today after several days boondocking at Bombay Beach, an art infused seaside beach further down the eastern edge of the Salton Sea to 35+ mph wind driven waves turning the Salton Sea to a fierce wind whipped caldron.

The wind will be everywhere today, as it was yesterday, as it is in this part of the world, at this time of year....And so I head out early.

Its only 11am and I’m already at Oxbow campground. A little BLM campground on the Colorado River. After several days of boondocking, hard bathrooms and designated campsites with rock fire rings and steel bbq’s is more than welcome as I prepare for the trail so many have taken before...the Gold road to La Paz as it was known (Arizona not Mexico).

Sitting here by the river I’m struck how much it touches me internally, fundamentally. It seems important for me to recognize this. In some ways I am not surprised. I grew up on Long Island just 5 miles or so from the Atlantic Ocean. I lived in the Rochester area close to nearby Lake Ontario. I lived in Santa Cruz, then San Francisco and then on boats in the SF Bay.

Perhaps I have always taken water fro granted, never having lived away from large bodies of it, never going long periods of time without it as visual stimuli. And when parched by the desert heat and winds on the journey thus far I return to the Salton Sea to seek replenishment.

I fundamentally know water is life, and as I have looked for land, my first criteria is groundwater or survive water/water rights. But, perhaps I have focused on the need, not the relationship, or the connection.

Its the movement of the river I first notice. Not just the gentle flow southward, but the distinct difference I feel, then when I’m at the (mostly) calm, flat Salton SEa.

Immediately I feel....I’m not sure how to explain.....hopeful. The water moving towards its destination, flowing.

I am taken by my deep sense of calm or stillness. Sitting in my campsite feet from the river, a slow melodic morning Dew from a live greateful Dead show (8/12/81 in SLC, UT) gently playing in the background I drift through my memories.

;Maui, the Dodectianies??????, Greece, turkey, Mexico, St. Thomas. It seems I am always drawn to water or woods or both.

Laughing I think to myself....

I am Earth..

I am Water....

I am both........I am MUD. Lol.

************

Chapter 3: Off-roading and Overlanding

As I was planning this journey, Covid was still raging through my State and the Country. After two years of this, I no longer wanted to explore small cities and populated parks. I wanted that same backcountry feeling, the connection with Nature, the solitude only broken by a pleasant chat with a fellow journeyer.

I have never driven off road, or even on a beach, but more and more it seemed if I wanted warmth and discovery it lie on the backroads, literally.

And so, I purchased a Jeep Grand Cherokee Trailhawk and set out to follow a new pursuit, as I had with sailing.

The off-road and overlanding communities like so many sub cultures I have experienced; Dead tour, Sailing, Festival music communities, backpackers, each has their own set of rules, norms, expectations and even language. In this way creating a bond, becoming a community by shared understandings, core beliefs, and knowledge.

FIrst principle; in the Overlanding community, is the value of Self/Group reliance. Prepare the vehicle, the supplies, the route and be prepared for what you have not prepared for in advance.

This logic I understand deeply, wether its Sailing, living in Earthquake country, or generally wanting not to feel vulnerable (some might say that’s being a control freak) but nevertheless, preparedness/self reliance is a value I can appreciate. But even more so, that understanding or appreciation of this first principle, seems to me to be a classic American Value.

A fundamental part of independence, is self and even more so group reliance.

“A house divided, cannot stand”.

A classic American quote to go with a classic American value. Also, inherently implying another value. Self Reliance is important but Group Reliance has always been our road to success. Group Reliance involves trust, and trust involves tolerance.

As we need to trust, then we find we must trust others who are different than ourselves. Different norms, cultures, taboos and therefore as we move from self reliance to group reliance, we must not only trust, but be tolerant of differences.

I started talking about sub cultures and niche communities, and off-roading only to find myself thinking, wether its looking at history, like the challenges of the Pilgrim settlers or Sailing or now Off-roading, that we can find Core American Memes/Values, not simply overlanding ethos, permeating our lives, our history and our culture. These universal appearing crossover values across time and circumstance can be said to be Core to our sense of self in that they help illuminate where we were yesterday, where we are today, our psyche our cultural norms, and also be illustrative as we decide which values we communally desire, for tomorrow.

Self Reliance, Group Reliance, Trust & Tolerance.

For me, the test of any hypothesis always seemed to be; Apply this idea across diverse groups, times (decades or centuries) as well as newly developing situations and see if it holds true across the board. If so, I have always felt comfortable saying, to me this seems like a ‘truth’.

Self or group reliance, check. Throughout history we can easily see demonstrable examples exhibited of this.

Trust and Tolerance?

In not sure Trust and Tolerance could truly survive the above test. To be fair trust and tolerance are more of a spectrum, shifting over time., like a sine wave. Flexing to meet the current American situation.

So, where is the level of trust and tolerance today in America?

A thought to ponder as I set out on the 78 mile long Bradshaw Trail, known not long ago as The Gold Road to La Paz (Arizona). My first long trail, as different an experience as are hiking for an afternoon and backpacking for a week.

In the last few weeks, I have started to trust my vehicle. From deep sand roads, to my first rocky trail climbs, to thin slot canyon jeep trails, I have started to learn and trust and rely on my 4x4 if not my own skills.

All that I have learned now to be put to the test, 78 miles, alone crossing between old wagon trails and dirt roads, between mountain ranges, cell signal...doubtful. Self reliance, trust, preparedness, and a desire to travel in the footsteps of centuries of people seeking a better tomorrow, has drawn me to this adventure.

*******

The Bradshaw Trail

The Bradshaw trail, named for William Bradshaw is an old route across the desert, between, over and through three different mountain ranges to reach a gold strike in the now non distant town of La Paz.

__________ _________ first found gold in_________and as others quickly flocked to the area, the remoteness and difficulty of getting to the strike led a group of interested parties to approach Bradshaw to plan a shorter route. Bradshaw famous for being with Charles Fremont and a party to the first crossing route of the Mojave desert, along with his knowledge of the Indians and the desert crossings and water holes, he was tasked to find a quicker route than the long arduous journey currently using the Colorado river.

Today the Bradshaw Trail begins close to the California/Arizona border, twenty plus miles south of Blythe, CA and ends Seventy-Eight miles later at the Salton Sea (if one runs it East to West) following much of the original historic route.

Starting innocently enough with a short paved road ending at the edge of a commercially cultivated field, lies a little sand uphill turnoff. Taking this tight right turn off from the county road, this is the both the First Dirt of todays trail, and the last Road for the next 78 miles.

The route is considered easy in teh 4x4 world, with only some deep sand spots and a few rock gardens, to those of us who have never experienced anything like this, the adrenaline flows, the fear palpable, only masked by the excitement and wonderment of the possibilities and adventures that lie just ahead, past this first climb.

While high clearance is necessary, others than deep sands spots the ;;maps and apps show and say that even a 4x2 could conceivably make the journey successfully.

There are also plenty of optional explorations as you make your way over the route. Old mine sites, more challenging 4x4 routes and canyons. Perhaps most interesting were the boats. Yes, boats.

Now, while it is true that before the Bradshaw Trail the main route to the strike outside La Paz was down to the Sea of Cortx or Fulf of California and to come up the Colorado via paddle boats and other vessels. There’s are not those boats. There is another story that the military placed these boats here in the 1940s to be used as precision target practice, and much of todays trail does border live ordinance/bombing ranges, and one does come across fenced off old unexploded ordinance and there corresponding warning signs, the condition of these boats tells me, that all is not related.

I have come to understand through experience that one often sees abandoned or burnt out cars and trucks in teh desert.

These boats, the couple I have passed or found exploring a side trail are an odd site, even by desert standards. To new to be old, to destroyed to be new.

Out of place, Out of time.... oddities, there stories lost to history gently pushing one to think even more about this place, yesterday and today.

*********

I could tell you more about my experience on the Trail, the difficulties, the joys, the discoveries. I could show you pictures of the high pass and the others, or the old mines, But to be honest I have been distracted, my mind unsettled.

I have very been thinking about those values from the other day, from the pledge of allegiance. A pledge we each take to our flag, our country, or way of life.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic, for which it stands One Nation, Under god. Indivisible, with Liberty & Justice, for all.”

Liberty, Justice, Indivisibility.

While I had been focusing on self/gourd reliance, trust and tolerance as they relate to indivisibility, I had to take a step back. Those words I said everyday at public school, every day of summer camp, that’s truly the place to start and to focus if we want to boil it down to look at Core American Values or our Noble Truths.

And I’m sad, which is what’s distracting me today, here among this natural beauty, at the very beginning of Spring in the high desert. Alone, surrounded by stark, colorful mountains and knowing the hardships of the last centuries Americans who traveled this road.

Are we indivisible, truly?

I do not, as many do not, believe there is justice for all in our country, and Liberty, how do we even define liberty.

The words of the pledge invading my inner calm, overwhelming even the vastness of nature that surrounds me, the stark beauty leading me forwards as if it in itself is the road to this gulch, this road, knowing there are challenges ahead, but also knowing, feeling....this is the road, to be taken.

“One Nation....Indivisible, with Liberty and Justice, for all.” These words reverberate through my mind, as I roll forward....miles to go, before I sleep.

*******

Where does indivisibility begin?

Is this a relic, and artifact in our pledge, because of the Civil War?

Or is it a Noble Value, that not only is a lofty goal, but something that defines us, cements us together as one people?

Indivisibility comes first of the three core principles. A position of prominence, even in such lofty company as Liberty & Justice. It’s important enough should be recognized and known.

So...I think as I roll, there seems to be two threads developing on this line of thought. Core American Values, as clearly sated as we pledge our allegiance, but also a distinct thread how we all as individuals act, day to day. Walking the walk, so to speak. Yet I find wonder do we as Americans even think of these noble values?

Its been years, decades since I Sid the pledge in school. I had to look it up to make sure I wasnt changing any of the words, inadvertently. At sports arenas we play our anthem before each game. The retelling of a great battle, we all know it, we can sing it, we hear it frequently (if one enjoys watching or playing sports).

But, we PLEDGE our ALLEGIANCE to our flag, our Republic, our values clearly stated.

Why the disconnect? Without even delving into the justice system, and simply staying with one nation...indivisible, why the disconnect? Why the division?

But not only why, I find myself asking what for? Why is our divisibility not called UnAmerican, why is not pointed to as anti-American ?

Of course, its not that simple, nothing is. If we as a nation are attacked, we mostly are not divided, certainly not if we believe our cause is just (as when attacked defending one self is). We in times of strife have certainly always pulled together.

But this isnt the 19th century, or even teh 20th century. This is the new century. The time of Covid. Will the previous ways, memes still serve, inspire, trap or be something left in our wake. The times to come will define what teh 21st century was, and when the new century truly began. Just as each century before, the thinking the view of the world did not change with the calendar, and just as in history a generation typically goes by before (in retrospect) we can see this change, these years may be this change.

I find I can not let the previous days question go.

Let’s look at the indivisible when attacked thought, I had mentioned. We know rom our history books in the past this was a strong facet of the American persona. Is it true today, still?

We, as a country were attacked, by a virus in March of 2020. Each of us, remembers that time well, and we came together even as we were physically separate. WE made each other home made masks, we thanked our medical people, we applauded our fist responders. We were under direct threat, and that ‘take care of each other’ mentality and mode kicked in: (aka) indivisibility.

But, as we all know that spirit did not last long. Be it teh lack of available supplies in the grocery stores or some other reason, we quickly saw indivisibility fracture, and the veil of police, carrying society quickly change.

I find myself questioning all three values of the pledge, as I sit quietly under a tree for shade (a rare sight on this road) while eating lunch.

Indivisibility, Liberty, Justice.

This is not how America truly works, this is not how America truly is.

As such, perhaps feeling disconnected, distracted or sad is appropriate. My soul, via observation and experience, inherently knows something my brain is just wrestling with, do the values above even truly exist in todays America?

Knowing the Sisyphysian task involved in changing the world, and knowing observing while important doesnt bring change, I stand amongs this vast ancient openness, seeing across harsh land, stark beauty, surrounded by teh Chocolate Mountains, and the Chuckwallas, on this historic trail and wonder, what is there to be done, that truly matters, that will last?

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Up till now (mid March) my winter travels have been Ina fairly defined rectangle of 200 (or so) square miles. From the Southern California beaches and teh Pacific Ocean in the West to the Salton Sea in the East. North above and east of the Mojave to Arizona and Lake Havasu, and South towards Yuma, all bordered on the east by the Colorado river, flowing in canals or tunnels or even under the grand deserts themselves.

As planned, I let the weather not the map or desire, dictate my path. Other than the South of Florida, this area, this quadrangle has had the best weather in the Continental US, in February and March.

I have been searching, and playing and grounding and discovering new things all throughout this land, lingering, learning.

But I must leave now. Leaving the beautiful weather behind. For will all I have seen and learnt, I still seek to discover the new American ethos, to test the developing hypothesis my wonders about as I travel on back roads, or hike slot canyons. Inescapable, as even the sighting of an unknown petroglyph calls me away from the moment, wandering more than just in amazement. Some unknown force pushing me forward on each of my journeys.

I leave this area now, that has nurtured me as I know I must.

For true understanding come on the road, be it trail or highway. As I ended the Bradshaw Trail, and modern society crept closer, the very ancient Bradshaw Trail itself ending in a 6 mile unremarkable drive along an unimproved rocky aqueduct road to end at the Salton Sea, I know I must too get back on the road.

Not many things are more American than ‘the road trip”

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El Camino Del Diablo

I could start talking about Organ PiPe Cactus National Monument in Southern Arizon, or the stunning green desert, or my time exploring El Camino Del Diablo, or the ever present multitudes of border patrol vehicles and technology; ;but as impressionable as each of these are, they are not what touched me most.

;;Two weeks ago I saw my first coyote on the way to the Bradshaw Trail, driving up Rte 78 towards Pablo Verde. He ran up to the road looked and went back to the desert. I had never seen a coyote and figured my car noise on the road made him not cross the road (thankfully). I continued up the road thinking of the coyote and how I knew nothing b it what I had read decades before in teh Carlos Castenad books. But I clearly remembered from those books and pieces of other memories, that the coyote had significance.

Last week, my first night dispersed camping on the Camino Del Diablo, ;quietly siting in my chair just enjoying the scenery, as the sky and desert started to come alive with the setting sun, a coyote walks right on front of me. Not 10ft away, it was just strolling through the desert, seemingly not noticing me, my vehicle or anything else that doesnt belong as a natural part of these surroundings.

I wasnt ;startled as much as amazed at the proximity and the fact he(?)j;; didnt seems to take notice of even any smells that ;were me or my vehicle or my food. Well,, until I stood up, still not making a sound, at which time wether it was the movement or some crunching of the dirt, he stopped turned his head and just looked at me, and I him.

The moment seemed to last for a long time, and certainly left a lasting impression on me. Ended by an approaching vehicles tires loudly crunching along the nearby rock and gravel sections of the El Camino.

The next morning choosing to explore up and past the Bates Well and further up ;the El Camino I was following my waypoints in a suddenly sandy but smooth section of road, enjoying some speeed, when another coyote bolts across the road, directly across my path, full speed, just not far in front of the jeep and I.

Ok, three sightings all daytime (I was to find out later that any daytime sighting coyotes are a rarity), and two in the last twelve hours both we;mainly out of place, time and context. ;I had to learn more about Coyotes and there meaning.

So I started searching on the inter webs at the next good cell signal, which turned out to be later that afternoon, and found tons of stuff on coyotes. Not just the basics, but I started finding lots of both similar and seemingly different if not opposite information. Not in the way one can find crazy differing thoughts and opinions on the inter webs but in a way, that seemed to credit different mystical qualities to coyotes. Not just one society but many through time and location,each associating certain meaning, or qualities to this animal.

The Coyote seen as both a teacher and a jokester. An omen of change, but what change? Celebrated across time and cultures globally but with little ultimate agareeement about traits or ;qualities. Clearly significant, but also much different thought.

All this was going through my mind as I went to bed dreaming of coyotes (both animal and man) and drones, and drug traffickers and border patrol trucks everywhere, especially here along the Camino Del Diablo.

This was not to be my last encounter....As I was to find out in but a short few days.

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I was thinking about my multiple coyote sightings as I stood, watched, and tended the nights fire, far from the heat and winds of Southern Arizona, back in California. As the fire started to dwindle and not wanting to put any more wood on the fire, I was intensely focused on making a good burn (leaving nothing but ashes) when suddenly in my peripheral vision about five feet away was an animal, just sauntering by, turned its head looking at me, and continued on by, seemingly paying me little mind.

It was surreal, bizarre, a wild animal but feet from me, just walking by as do two humans passing in the park, acknowledging each other, but little more. I had to wonder another coyote, only this time a bit smaller than the ones I had seen.

So, the literature says that not only daytime sightings are extremely rare, but a coyote crossing your path is significant and signifies change.

The next morning up before sunrise, as usual, drinking coffee, almost thinking I dreamed that crazy walk by last night, I looked for tracks.

Sur enough ther by the fire a few feet away, and walking the exact path I remembered, lay the evidence I had not dreamt last nights surreal encounter. Although I wasnt prepared for what I found next, when I enlarged the search of the area beyond just the track and path I saw walked.

Apparently our friendly little guy had walked around in front of my jeep directly up to me, right behind me. Attracted by me or the firelight is unknown but the path waked right up to my standing or crouched position tending the fire. What is known is he then veered 45 degrees to about 5 feet from me, and went unnoticed till walk up by the fire, catching my perferal vision and casting his shadow on the rock walls as he looked over at me.

It was still pre sunrise at this point bu twitch light in the canyon and full visibility awaiting the suns entrance, the quietness and still was different. Yes, I was awe struck at what lie below me in the dirt, and was thinking of the encounter now faced with proof it happened, bu the stillness and light distracted me, at least from my thoughts by noticing the silliness was different.

I have spent many nights at this location over the journey (so many I nicknamed the area the grotto, how its sandy floor is surrounded by painted sandstone walls, creating a warm protected space, that is infused with history, adventure and hourly changing colors as the sun and or moonlight reflect of the layered sands stone....painted canyon road, a gem.

I have become very familiar with teh geography, the light, the flora and the fauna over my times here. Today, this morning not even the paired large black birds were circling. Almost an eerie morning silence, to be honest, not sure with what happened next if I was looking for last nights tracks before or afterwards.

Disturbing the silence was a loud almost Thwack, Thwack, Thwack sound, I couldnt identify. It wasnt an early morning vehicle on the dirt road heading towards the Ladders trail. I searched the sky for the married pair of birds I had seen so often looking for there morning meal, but saw nothing. And then again, Thwack, Thwack, Thwack.

It was an other worldly sound, slightly reminiscent of the audible illusions one hears when under the influence of whippets (NO2, Nitrous Oxide; for those unfamiliar with the slang term). I was only sure it was like a antigen related experience, the way sound and time seemed to be disconnected.

Hearing it again, distinctly above me I searched only to find the tiniest of birds, flying due east. Watching those tiny wings 1, 2, 3 and glide, but hearing each distinct movement of the air that held him aloft, like on a loudspeaker, amplified, it felt like a significant moment.

I had been contemplating my next destination having just returned from Southern Arizona and the El Camino. The Coyote a signifier of change (albeit possibly bad, possibly good) and me wondering about directions, was this a sign of heading due East, towards the change I knew was waiting for me at the roads end?

How could my mind not wonder? Between the ‘walk by’; ;not even nine hours before, and now this clearly unusual bird flight amplification, flying due east; overwhelmed by odd natural examples, I wondered if the changes ahead were being telegraphed by these nature spirits? How could I not wonder, here in this canyon surrounded by rocks that change there color with the days lights, slot canyons testifying to the power of nature, and change...but shaped and sitting here for tens of thousands of years, solid, but soft, crumbling with the slightest water, sandstone as magical as can be...strong but malleable, strength and fragility both equally present, the quality brought forth simply dependent on....the weather; the absence or presence of water.

OK, yes crunchy by even my standards, as I like to say, but it seemed not only the land had been touching my soul as I have always felt when submerged in natures flow, but here now, am I touching the great void? The space between humans and animals, that distances us from the connection and language of the planet?

Have we, as humans, always had this connection, this other language? Has it simply been drowned out by our modern day lives? We are so buys but more so, the pace of our lives, the lack of quietness or more precisely stillness. Are these drowning out our ability, each of us, to hear, to feel the planet and its inhabitants?

I laugh out loud (a surprisingly alarming event when alone) as I think, Does it matter?

We cant hear each other, why would we be able to recapture the lost connection to the nature all world, to the planet, the mountains, forests or animals?

Once upon, now the stuff of legends people had this connection. It is seen in our own historical records. When did we lose this fift? Was it when we made the box move from the farm to the city?

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