Insomniac

"Beat-Up, Eight Second Exposure Lit by Cell Phone, 2007"

I long for sleep. Every morning, on my fifteen minute walk to work through the dirty side streets and vacant lots I desperately look forward to later that evening when I can crawl into bed. Just the idea of a warm, inviting bed and a crisp, cool pillow has a calming effect on my constantly tense neck and upper back. This satisfaction ironically never happens when nightfall actually does come, at least not lately.

The last few weeks my sleep schedule has been more erratic and confusing than ever before. I've never had the reputation for being the most fit and sound sleeper in the world, but lately I've begun to even worry myself. Going to bed at 9:30pm will cause me to wake up at 2am with an inability to go back to sleep. Other nights, forcing my tired and restless self to stay up late, my 1am bedtime will only leave me tossing and turning hazily until the sun comes up. I've tried several different physiological experiments like drinking a fair amount of alcohol, working long hours with few breaks, and intense exercise. All of these were done in the hopes of wearing myself out to the point of exhaustion in the vain attempt to get eight quality hours of sleep. No dice.

I'm not one for making long term goals or plans, mainly because in an ever changing world they never work out the way you intend. But a year or even six months ago I could have made a rough sketch of a minor goal I was trying to attain or a basic frame work of what the next few weeks or months would hold for me. Not so any more. I honestly can not foresee what I will be doing next week or where I might be.

It seems since I've returned from my month long trip I've been in a daze. It would be nice to think I'm a smart enough guy to give a little rudimentary psychoanalysis to the situation and be able to personally figure out what this is all about. Am I actively or passively trying to figure out some complicated problem in my life? I don't think so. Am I worried about my abilities in some uncertain task or future development? No, not really. Is there someone I can't get out of my mind? Of course, but that hasn't changed for the last year or more. Given the answers to those questions, I am left searching elsewhere.

It's been said that most problems faced by modern man are internal. As a species we are used to working hard and dealing with intense adversity, eking out an existence watching for predators while trying to survive in harsh environments. With thousands of years of aggression and determination hardwired into our chemistry, who could blame us for finding it hard to adapt to a relatively calm and peaceful world of collared shirts, expressways and Netflix?

Personally, I've always functioned better in a challenging, frenzied environment where I questioned if I was going to be able to continue on. In that situation I know full well that I have every confidence in my ability to handle even the craziest of times and situations, and that in turn kept my body moving and my mind occupied. Often in the drudgery of my every day life, I now go out of my way to put things off until the last minute simply because the tasks I would have to perform would be too mundane otherwise. All of this directly stems from my month away. Sleep deprivation, mixed with hourly, daily, and weekly goals that were not only expected but proudly achieved, pushed me to an extreme, almost laughable level of exhaustion and accomplishment. It was an almost maddening state of constant flux and I loved it. Sure at times I wanted to quit, but whose brain wouldn't want to hit the pause button from time to time when faced with a life of perpetual motion?

When I got back, friends who wanted me to visit them a few hours away were afraid to ask, saying that I must be sick of driving. On the contrary, after driving over thirteen thousand miles in a month I was conditioned to the life of a trucker. The first several days back I found it hard to stay still, fearing I had someone waiting for me eight hours away whose time I might be wasting by sitting alone in my home. I miss meeting new people, seeing new environments, not knowing what was around the next bend. I miss the unknown.

My greatest fear is one that seems to be coming true, that there are no more challenges left here for me at home, or at least none that I find worth taking on. Even creatively I am dry. Aside from documenting my family or a few paid gigs for loyal clients, I've essentially stopped taking photos. The few shoots I've lined up with my reliable models I've cancelled days in advance because I just don't have the heart for repeating myself, even in the attempt to keep my skills sharp.

All of this is good, I suppose. In the life of an artist, it's been said that one needs a period to create and a period to live life and recharge one's batteries. It's an ebb and flow, a yin and yang, a delicate dance in which one can easily lose the beat. So how do all of these realizations help my sleep pattern? Hell if I know, but I'm doing my best to figure it out. At least I'm catching up on a lot of crappy late night television I've missed.

THE EVIL AMERICAN NIPPLE!

Beware dear friends, that you may not fall victim to that most wretched and vile of body parts, the Great North American Female Nipple. Even the most meager mention of those words sends a shiver down the straight, moral spines and bulging trousers of those most important lawmakers and purveyors of all that is righteous and pure, those protectors of our society at large and our individual souls in total!

Take warning children! Gaze not upon its warm and swollen eroticism! For even the briefest of glimpses will render the instantly corrupted viewer with surely nothing short of an unquenchable lust and moral laxity! The power of it in its engorged, aroused state has wrecked countless ships on rocky shores and sent otherwise good and decent men out into the cold night bellowing indecipherable nonsense up to the unforgiving heavens!

At all times should those disgusting protuberances of condensed sex be hidden beneath shirts and sweaters, as much cloth as the bearer of such burdens can withstand. They must be restrained and contained so as not to tempt the weak of heart and mind! Surely, no one, especially the poor female souls forced to ferry these delicious and provocative mammaries of misfortune, should ever be in danger of being forced to experience such a wicked display!

Not one of you lucky few who have yet to fall victim to this evil should even be given the choice to witness or not such a ruinous enterprise as the luxurious and sublime spectacle of those toggles of titillation. There is no hope left for us unlucky few, the initiated who have beheld one, if not a mouthwateringly matched pair, of these insipid swaths of demonic flesh. Our eyes would best be plucked out, though even the faint memory alone of the round, tanned dermis will surely guarantee our eternal damnation in the deepest corners of Hades!

The world needs constant diligence if we are to remain secure within our sanctity, safe out of reach from the terror that only exposed female flesh can create. Never shall supposed art forms, filthy and unsanctioned, ever be allowed to be shown to the masses for fear that millennia of culture and learning should be brought to it's knees by the mere hint of aureola!

May those who have the power, nay, the responsibility to censor and protect their fellow countrymen every tarry from their task, remaining earnest and true in this most holy and honored rite. Surely in most other parts of the world the aversion to this forbidden flesh is lessened only due to the fact that the power of the native born American teat is imbued with far more sexual intensity, therefore much more capable of bringing down society as a whole. Envy those fortuitous European reprobates, for they know not the dread and consternation of knowing that in every dark corner lurks those warm, sweet disks of destruction!

I pray each night that we have the strength and courage to hold steadfast to the core values that this nation was founded upon, to reject, destroy, and denigrate all that is shameful and ungodly: the naked, human form. May we all be so blessed as to survive in a loathsome world where these woeful bits of skin still exist. May God have mercy on us all!

(Author's Note: Forgive the frustrated rant, please. This diatribe was written after having the cleanest of my images become censored on multiple websites in a few short days and after having read "Fahrenheit 451" twice during the same time period.)

"What do you want for your birthday?"

("Coke Whore", Lawrence, KS 2009)

Thankfully, I am at a point in my life where if I really want something I can just go and buy it or easily save up and purchase it myself. The last few weeks people have kept asking me what I want for my birthday this coming weekend, a question that is tiresome before it leaves the person's mouth. Though I appreciate any and all intention people have in wanting to get me gifts, sadly 90% of the gifts I've gotten in my lifetime have been of entirely no use to me, not-applicable to me personally in any way, or confusing as to why someone would think of me when acquiring the item in the first place.

Admittedly I am a very difficult person to get gifts for. Unfortunately, my practical side tends to lend itself to a perception of rudeness. Truly, rather than wasting money on a gift that I am not going to like and never use, I would prefer a thoughtful hug, a chuck on the shoulder, and the knowledge that you were thinking of me. However, this response never goes over too well.

One or two friends of mine are pretty consistent with making me little cards or weird art packets filled with collaged notes and scraps of papers or books that they think I will like, which I always do, but they are the rarity. Wonderfully, the last few years I have been honored to get really thoughtful, hand made gifts that required complex packaging or FedEx drivers to deliver, which I must embarrassingly say was pretty surprising and magical. Again, these types of gifts are few and far between as I guess they should be.

(As a side note, I love surprises. The good kind, not the "surprise, I gave you herpes" kind.)

For as much as cash is always appreciated and can go a long way, the idea of people making things is a much more special gift than anything that can be purchased from some store. I personally go out of my way throughout the year to send handmade postcards of varying degrees of labor in them as well as other random fabricated, painted pieces of art. These go out only to those people I deem truly important in my world for no other reason than I was thinking about the individual and took a few moments to make whatever thing it is.

Still, even at moments of my most honest and selfish, when asked what I want for my birthday, I can't just say "a well thought out item that took you time and effort to create knowing I will appreciate it on multiple levels," though that really is the truth.

So I guess my official answer is nothing. Whatever you want to give me would be fine, but its the thought that counts. Thanks so much for asking, I really appreciate that. When is YOUR birthday? And what is your mailing address...?

Absurdity in America

(Grand Ledge, Michigan 2009)

People have accused me of not being able to live fully in the moment and usually they are right. Thankfully though this trait of mine to constantly feel like an outsider is perfectly suited for being a photographer and recorder of life. My dad always makes a big deal about documenting family events, recording the dates and times things happened, again instilling us with the motto to "Be observant".

One of the coolest things is that he used to turn a tape recorder on at large family gatherings in unknown spots, so now we have these great little snippets of audio tape where my cousins and I are talking as children, people are laughing and telling stories without censoring themselves, wives are yelling at husbands, grandparents cooking in the kitchen, etc. True windows into a life and time that is no more. I value such things as priceless.

All of these examples have led me to do what I do. Though it may get exhausting to constantly be documenting life, I am always thankful a week or a year later when I look back and can remember with fondness the experience more fully because of those images. Along with the photos I take, I also write down absurd, odd quotes I hear. In context they are funny or interesting, but with no description I think they might be even funnier. Here are a few I gathered from my trip with brief descriptions:

"If you're a girl from Colorado and can't pee in the woods you've got a problem."
-Model in the mountains outside of Denver during a bathroom break

"There's shit all over the place!" "Yeah, smells like money!"
-Two indians at a cattle round up on an indian reservation outside San Diego

"I don't remember what religion they are, but whatever it is, they're very THAT."
-A friend describing family members in Kansas

"Baby, I need some cootchie medicine."
-Model in Florida who got her period earlier than expected, talking to her boyfriend

"Great, just what I want to do, hang out with bells all day."
-Sarcastic teenager's comment after being told by his mom to stand by the Liberty Bell for a photo-op

"Keepin' it tiled, baby."
-Discussing whether "the carpet matched the drapes", a model in Philadelphia replied thusly to my "you probably have hardwood" comment

"Its blacker than the inside of a cow."
-West Virginia native describing the night

"You can't go wrong with a nine dollar bottle of wine."
-Drinking at a friend's house in Seattle

"My eyebrows are only partially on!"
-A Florida friend whose photo I wanted to take though it was a little too early in the morning

"You're as cool as a microwavable hot pocket."
-Neff's description of me at a bar in NYC

"I was on the floor barking with a pomeranian!"
-Waitress in Brewer, Maine describing the effects moonshine had on her years before

And my personal favorite...

"Enjoy it."
-Megan McIsaac's response when asked what she was going to do with the rest of her day


I'm sure there are more quotes spread randomly amongst my various notebooks, but these are the best ones available for now. There is a daunting amount of data for me to review, edit, filter, and disseminate from this trip. The last couple of days looking through it all has given me a chance to relive my time on the road in a much more relaxed, free way than when I originally experienced it. It has been a blast. More coming soon.

A little analysis.

(Self-portrait, I-5 outside Stockton, CA)

I've discovered a few things about myself from my thirty-three straight days traveling around North America. Many of them have to do with what I can handle, what I am willing to fight and strive for, what I am and am not willing to finally put up with, and the things I need to do to make myself consistently more content. Being away from my "real life" has given me a fresh perspective on a few universal truths regarding beauty, the insecurities and flakiness of others, and the inevitable measure of time.

I can foresee some of these personal conclusions being lauded by many and a few not being terribly liked by several others, though frankly I don't care about either reaction. I am clear-headed, focused, resolute, tired, and smiling. Though there are personality traits I will never fully conquer such as not being able to live fully in the moment or getting over my "home-body" comfort zone, in the last month I have squarely kicked those traits asses, though maybe only temporarily. It was grand.

I was reminded of things I love, made aware of things I hate tolerating, and was pleased to rediscover so many of my strengths that lay dormant in my daily life. Across forty states virtual strangers made me feel like a part of their family, as well as funny, intelligent, clever, desirable, reliable, and trustworthy. Feeling special is not something I have ever been comfortable with, but the last few weeks have been a constant reminder that others think I am. That was nice.

I also learned about my country and my fellow Americans. There really are no such things as "red" and "blue" states. There are only hard working Americans of various ethnic and economic classes that are trying to better themselves and the qualities of their lives, raise their kids well, pay their bills promptly, and get laid as often as possible. Thankfully, some Americans are still optimistic and hopeful. Many have dreams, and a few even have plans on how to achieve their dreams, though sadly those individuals are few and far between.

Most Americans think that their lives are nothing special, not all that terribly exciting. In many places across this country, citizens think there isn't much to do, that they would probably be better off somewhere else. We as a society are just not that satisfied. I'm not sure if the myth of the great and invincible America, where anyone and everyone should be able to succeed and thrive no matter how high the cards are stacked against them, is doing more harm than good. Life is not a Little League, not everyone gets to play their desired role or deserves a medal for showing up. Life is hard, and those with the most skill, talent, and work the hardest don't always get the awards. There is a sad lack of entitlement that so many of us cling to as a floatation device in the rough seas of the world and it is an illusion. Yet that doesn't mean we should stop chasing our goals, we should just be aware of what could or could not happen and be prepared for that.

Thankfully, I did get to see a wide variety of both positive and negative aspects of my fellow citizens. Witnessing a white couple in Kansas refuse to be seated next to a black mother and son left me speechless and terribly confused, while seeing countless acts of kindness by Good Samaritans on the roads, in restaurants, and in every state I visited filled me with hope.

I don't have any conclusions or helpful advice other than the phrase I have uttered before: Do your best and enjoy the moment. I have essentially been sleep-deprived and sore consistently for the last thirty three days, pushing myself, constantly on the move, living out of a bag, unsure of where I was going to lay my head the next night. That lifestyle is not for everyone, and at some point it wasn't my favorite thing either, but in the end it was well worth it.


Here is the last photo taken of me on the trip, a portrait by one of my favorite photographers, Megan McIsaac, in Portland, Oregon after she modeled for me. I think it is an accurate description of the dualistic aspects of my personality as well as showing my exhaustion and readiness to go home. Now I am left with about twenty thousand images to sort through, as well as a month's worth of stories to record, edit, and regurgitate to family and friends. Thanks again, North America, it was great getting to see you again.

American Strength

(or "What is it about Mexicans and Borders?")


Here's another long tale of my trip...

Leaving the lovely and talented Katie West in Toronto around 8am, I headed off to Lansing, MI as fast as I could to meet up with a fun model named Leyna. While Neff was with me a few days previous, we had crossed the US/Canadian border in Maine/Nova Scotia with little to no hassle. Since we had gotten through even though Neff had forgotten his passport, I didn't expect much of a problem this time since I had all my important paperwork. To remain consistent with the previous twenty seven days I'd been traveling, I took photos of the "Welcome to Michigan" sign while driving across the bridge that eventually led to the official border guard post. After waiting in line for a while, when it was my turn the guard gave me a hand sign to stop where I was in line rather than advance like everyone else. After a few minutes of being confused, I was relieved when he finally waved me forward. I shouldn't have been.

When I pulled up, the officer looked far more stern and no-nonsense than the previous guards I had dealt with. The first things he asked were for my ID and if I had taken photos "coming in", to which I answered "no" because I thought he meant coming into the border post. He immediately put on that authoritative "gotcha" tone of voice, saying they had surveillance footage of me taking photos on the bridge and asked for my truck keys and for me to "stay put." While trying to remain calm and in good cheer, I complied without hesitation.

He walked behind my truck and got frustrated when he was unable to open the latches on my camper shell. I yelled out which key it was to unlock it, and after rummaging through my various suitcases and duffle bags, he came back to his kiosk, still with my passport and keys in hand, slammed the door closed and got on his walkie-talkie. I watched nervously as he mouthed heavily articulated words for several minutes before he wrote something down. He came out, handed me a slip of paper, along with my passport and keys, then directed me to pull off to the side for further inspection. My heart began pounding unsteadily.

My dad always says if you've got nothing to hide you should feel confident when questioned by the authorities. In this case that gave me very little comfort. I parked where directed, being greeted by three other agents, and was told to leave my phone and all my other belongings in the truck except for any identification papers. Inside I stood amongst several Canadians, East Indians and Germans talking in various languages, guessing that they were saying all the frustrating, nerve-racking things that were on my own mind. I finally looked down at the slip that had been handed to me. On it was written "Two points: Check out his story. Women's clothes in bags." Uh oh.

When called, I was greeted by a new investigating officer who looked younger than the last, about twenty five years old. His demeanor was slightly more relaxed and jovial than the previous agent's, the difference being the same between a glacier and an iceberg. He asked me several questions about where I had just come from, where I was going, where I had been, etc., often asking me the same questions over again in different order, obviously in hopes of tripping me up somehow. Unfortunately, it seems the more answers I gave, the more questions he had:

"Why are you driving across the country shooting models? Who are these women? Is this a hobby or a business? How could you take a month off of work? You work in a restaurant? I thought you just said you were a photographer? How can you afford this? How long were you in Canada? Why were you in Canada a few days ago and are now back? Why are you on the move every other day? Traveling alone? Who was with you?" And on and on. I remember jokingly telling him that even though my way of life might sound a bit weird to him, even some of my closest friends don't get it. No reaction. Uh oh again.

I was still fighting a cold that started last week, hadn't really slept well since then, and was feeling the strain of being gone so long from home these last few days. All of this only added to my confusion over exact dates and times on the road, which of course added to their disbelief of my story. I showed my business cards, offered to go grab my journal with polaroids from my fully documented trip and more. They reviewed my websites, then Neff's website, then our TomsTakeOut.com site, all in an attempt to catch me up on some lie. I was asked to sit down and then come back up to the counter to answer more questions about four times over the course of the hour, along with being asked to go out to my truck to retrieve my camera and any cash I had in the vehicle. When I went outside, supervised of course, I almost laughed at seeing the entire contents of the back of my truck being rifled through by two men wearing latex gloves. I can only image what they were thinking while sorting through the odd combination of clown noses, a straight jacket, various styles of panties and knee high socks, my dirty laundry and lighting equipment.

At some point I was informed that taking photos while on the bridge was illegal and that I had lied to the original border officer. By this time the original agent was inside helping process other "offenders", and when I tried to say I misunderstood what he had meant, things got even more tense. I said that I had assumed that I was being asked if I had taken photos of the border post itself, which immediately prompted the original guard two stalls down to lean back and say defiantly "NO! I SPECIFICALLY ASKED HIM if he had taken photos on the bridge, and HE SAID 'NO'!" Upon saying this he immediately returned to what he had been doing and didn't look back at me the rest of the morning. I started to feel a bead of sweat trickle down the back of my neck, which if seen by them would have confirmed any last doubt of my guilt.


My young inquisitor, obviously a military man, began shuffling through the business cards I had provided him, and when he got to my "American Justice" image, he looked at me quite frustrated. "You think its okay to put American flag hoods over the heads of half-naked women?" he asked angrily. I hesitated for a moment debating the repercussions of my possible answers, then I finally just said "Um...yeah." His silence and look of disdain told me I was treading on thin ice. We reviewed together the ten or so images on my camera that were taken on the bridge, mainly various wide and narrow shots of the Michigan sign with the scaffolding behind it. I offered and he commanded me to delete those images, but I refused to delete the whole CF card like he originally suggested. He said "You've heard of September 11th, right?", which I all but ignored. When I brought up that there were no signs saying it was illegal to take photos on the bridge, he ignored me right back.

At this point I had been there about forty-five minutes and could feel myself getting much more frustrated and vocal with this guy. My patience was dancing on that fine line between defending my rights and not sounding like a confrontational ass. In a moment of clarity I smiled to myself, remembering the blog I'd written wondering what kinds of authority figures I would have to have patience for on this trip before I left.

Finally, after sitting back down for another few minutes, he called me back up to his counter, saying that I was in fact guilty of lying to a border officer, which is a federal crime. He was giving me the benefit of the doubt because the rest of my far-fetched story checked out, handing me back my edited camera and passport. Lastly, he got out a slip of paper and wrote three words I was very happy to see: "Free to go." I handed the slip to the officer guarding the door, got in my truck and left.

I realize it is better to have our border be too secure than not enough, so I'm trying not to hold a grudge, and I'm not. That said, not only did they cost me an hour of my drive, but later in the afternoon I found that they had cracked the rim of my ring flash, a $500 studio light. Again, the flash is still functional and fine, so not that big of a deal. At least it is a great story to tell and I'm sure I will retell it for years to come, but from now on I will definitely be far more cautious when entering or leaving a border. Sheesh.

Tall Tales of West Virginia

"Talking With His Hands" 2009

There are just so many great experiences that I could relay about this trip so far, I almost don't know where to begin. One of the truly great and probably most unexpected to many people would be my stop in West Virginia. I spent over three days there last week and am still trying to take it all in.

Mike Adkins, a photographer born and raised in Huntington, contacted me last year some time, one of the first people asking to be a stop along my cross country trip. He was hoping I could give a talk about my photography to his local camera club, of which he is president, as well as visit some of his favorite spots of the state, all of which sounded great to me. Little did I know just how great it would really be.

When I finally arrived late in the afternoon, Mike immediately made me feel at home with his extreme hospitality, openness, and excitement to have me there. While giving me a tour of the enormous house he had personally built from the ground up, he continued to reinforce his love of my work, repeatedly asking question after question. It was equal parts embarrassing and amazingly flattering. He has lived enough life for three lifetimes, is an entrepreneur, family man, jack of all trades, Vietnam Vet, and seems to have the respect of everyone he knows.


There are simply too many highlights of the time spent with Mike Adkins and his friends, so I will just touch on a few. First off was our lunch at Hillbilly Hot Dogs, a favorite lunch spot that has been featured on the Food Network and has it's very humble origins starting in a local dilapidated bus off a back highway. They specialize in food challenges, like this monstrosity called "The Home Wrecker", which if eaten in under twelve minutes gets the unlucky connoisseur a free "I Eat Home Wrecker" t-shirt. The dare devil in this case was a twenty-nine year old named Clint, though I had to have him pronounce it at least twice to understand what he meant when saying "Cleent". Just FYI, he ended up taking home about a four inch portion that he couldn't get down. I encouraged his friends to tease him mercilessly about it, of which they very willingly indulged me.


Next was the dinner and photo talk for the camera club. Most of the members are nature photographers from the Huntington area, so I was unsure of how my work was thought of. Originally Mike had assured me that there were a lot of fans of my work, but as the start of the party neared I got a sense that it was going to be a much more "guilty until proven innocent" type of situation. Everyone was of course polite and welcoming, but I did feel a bit of pressure since all they knew about me was my work. The sense of hesitation from them was palpable, and instinctually I found myself stepping up my wit, charm, and self-deprecating jokes to diffuse the situation. I was pleased to find that all the men there, like me, are Eagle Scouts, which immediately gave me a bit more credibility in their eyes. Then, my mentioning and showing pictures of my nieces, along with my continued referencing of my close family ties, helped my standing with most of the ladies. By the time we were done eating I felt confident that my work was finally being understood in the vein of irony and thoughtfulness that I intend, instead of just as pseudo-pornography. Thankfully though, there was a range of opinions present, from one woman I clearly could not convince that I was not a horribly despicable person, to a nice guy who thought I was the coolest dude around. I enjoy both types of opinions for various reasons.


The day after the party Mike took me up to the peaks of the Appalachian Mountains where he and his brother share a cabin with a few friends. Over the next two days we toured various natural wonders, from Black Water Falls, pictured above, to Seneca Rocks. At Dolly Sods, a lovely outcropping of rocks overlooking the entire Canaan Valley, we had quite the adventure fishing his GPS unit from out of a deep crevice as we balanced ourselves on the tenuous, jagged position. It sounds weird but the teamwork and ingenuity required in that hour or so was a whole lot of fun to me.


Lastly, what probably was the most fun of the entire time in West Virginia was also the simplest. After eating dinner in town, we drove back up to the cabin to hang out with his older brother. Roger is a fun loving, deep thinking, passionate and sincere guy, the kind that seem to be in increasingly short supply these days. He is pure West Virginia, likes to drink, smoke, and tell stories. When we showed up the cabin was pitch black due to a freak power-outage. Although I was really looking forward to a shower after the intense day we had survived, the electric pump from their well was obviously out of order as well and thus thwarted my desires. So, instead we opted for sitting out on the front deck. Mike and Roger made a fire, we drank whiskey and homemade cherry schnapps from a neighbor, ate junk food, and just shared hilarious, personal, and unbelievable stories from each of our lives. We talked politics, religion, sex, and food. I had mentioned several times that day just how exhausted I was from not only my two constant weeks of traveling but from all the exercise I'd gotten recently, and yet I didn't want the night to end. Finally, around 2AM or so as the fire died down, I excused myself and for the sixteenth night in a row fell asleep in a bed that was not my own. In the morning I felt refreshed, renewed for my next big adventure.

All of my friends and family have made jokes about West Virginia whenever I have mentioned it, the same "white trash/inbred/redneck" jokes that I'm sure everyone tells. Only when you go somewhere and truly experience the place and it's people, deciphering what is stereotype and what is not, can you really talk about it. I can honestly say that I will defend West Virginia and my new friends there from now on, knowing both it's limitations and it's grandeur. Thanks Mike.

The Rude Traveler

I pulled into Salina, KS late this afternoon excited to finally be back in a city that I remembered so fondly from years ago. I stopped at the first affordable looking hotel I could find, not realizing it was the exact same one I had stayed at years ago until I drove around it later. As I walked into the lobby, I was immediately confronted by a wall of loud, vitriolic attitude.

A mother of three tween-agers, who looked about seventeen herself, was using the desk clerk's phone to scream at some faceless booking agent. She was making quite an embarrassing spectacle of herself, causing an awful scene in an otherwise empty hotel lobby. I felt bad for the two poor attendants behind the counter who tried desperately to appease her while trying not to roll their eyes in disgust.

Apparently, from what I gathered by the woman's blaring public declarations, she had booked a room at the hotel through some faceless agent only to discover upon her arrival that the pool was out of service. This was completely unacceptable to her, a total deal breaker, making her insist that she be comped a room, get a full refund from the agent, etc. Interestingly, her children stood quietly, conveying much more tact and patience than their mother could seem to muster.

Listening to all of this while getting my own room, I couldn't help but joke with the clerks, rolling my eyes and sharing knowing smiles with them. All the while, the woman was insisting on blowing things out of proportion, exaggerating how upset her kids were and how this one incident was ruining their entire vacation. I was reminded of just how many Americans act like this when traveling abroad, which just adds to the list of things that cause us to have a bad reputation in the world. Maybe I'm too easy-going, but Jesus Christ, a lack of a pool is not the end of the world. I'd hate to see how this woman handles a real crisis.

I finally got my key and was about to head up to my room when I turned around quickly in the doorway, making sure the upset woman could see me. Sounding completely sincere, I innocently turned to the clerk and asked loudly, "Is your pool open today? Y'know...never mind." As I walked out I heard the clerks begin to laugh out loud, the tension finally being broken.

The Endless Drive.

Inevitably there comes that wonderful time in a long, all night drive when I have to sleep, whether by reaching my destination or knowing I am too fatigued. The level of adrenaline that has allowed me to get to this point is usually too much to overcome so I will continuously roll over in a vain attempt to get comfortable. This can last a while.

At some point, whether in my own bed or reclining in the driver's seat of my little truck, I will always begin to laugh uncontrollably, hysterically. Maybe I am amused at the absurdity with which I have just pushed myself that day, driving for a dozen hours or more through the night. Perhaps its the silliness of why I am making the trip in the first place. Almost without exception though, this laughter ends as abruptly as it began, with the idea of my dad's voice saying "You did a good job, you've done enough."

It is at this point that I am consumed with the need to cry, illustrating the range of emotions that exhaustion can elicit. The desire for tears probably stems from what such a statement means to me in my relationship with my dad or perhaps some other deep seeded psychological reason. Either way, in that instance I've still as yet never shed a tear.

Oddly, it is at that unlikely moment that I finally, thankfully dose off, knowing I will awaken feeling more worn out than ever. I foresee this happening a lot on this month long trip.

"And walked off to look for America..."

Tomorrow I leave for over a month on a 10,000 mile driving extravaganza to the four corners of the continental U.S. (and parts of Canada). It is an adventure I have planned for almost a year now, though in truth it has been about fourteen years in the making.

This is the kind of trip that one can't be completely prepared for, and I like that. Who knows, any series of unlikely scenarios could befall me. Some of the ideas that have been floated by myself and others are:
a) getting arrested in the deep South in a drunken haze
b) finding God on some extended sleep deprived leg of the drive
c) fathering some illegitimate scion in an orgiastic free-for-all in Appalachia
d) being involved in a horrific fiery interstate pile-up or
e) simply changing my name and never returning
Only a few of those sound interesting enough for me to spend any amount of time pondering, but in truth I can't foresee even the opportunity for most of them to happen. Dang it.

It is impossible to fully describe the emotions I'm feeling about this grand undertaking. Sure, I'm excited and anxious, yet have also been far too busy with the concerns and responsibilities of the normal life I am leaving behind. Mostly though I am overcome with a feeling of total readiness. Not a readiness to leave, though there is a lot of that, but a sense that I can handle pretty much anything that might happen to me on this adventure, and I welcome it. For the next month I will be in a constant state of having to be everything I have ever been, a concept I have referenced often in these blogs and one which I thoroughly enjoy.

Examples of this include, but are not limited to:
-putting strangers at ease enough to pose for photos that must look and feel intimate while in strange, new environments
-be diplomatic with personality types in roles of authority that I would otherwise choose to steer clear from
-remain humble and gracious at my most pissy and flippant moments and
-be confident and professional while at my most weak and vulnerable state

Don't forget that I will be rushed under a traveling deadline when all I'll want to do is relax and quietly explore my new surroundings. Most importantly, however, I'll be forced to retain my focus and productivity under the most exhausting and uncomfortable circumstances. Yes, this is how I define a vacation.

When discussing the ramifications of what I may or may not learn about myself or anything else along this trip, a friend recently stated to my enjoyment, "If you come back the same person that you left, that's going to be a waste of a trip." I wholeheartedly agreed.

It is no surprise that I love a challenge, being pushed to my limits and forced to doubt myself and everything I am capable of, getting to a point where I'm wanting to quit, turn tail and slink home. I laugh at myself often. Maybe all this makes me an extreme weirdo, and I think it might, but I'm never satisfied with what I think I can handle. I constantly want to be made a believer again, have my faith reaffirmed in myself and my fellow countrymen, be shown something that I'm afraid to see and be forced not only to handle it, but to thrive.

I guess the only real way to comprehend the contradictory calm yet ready-to-pounce feelings that have overwhelmed me the last several days is through music. Do me a favor, take a second, close your eyes and nod your head knowingly to the almost seven minute version of Shiela E's "Love Bizarre", circa 1985. It has the necessary undercurrent of sexiness, excited positivity, and a consistent, unrelenting beat that makes you want to groove on to the next chapter of life. If that isn't your cup of tea, maybe a more apt track would be a more traditional one. Join me by putting on Simon and Garfunkel's classic "America".

Sit and listen to it on repeat as I plan on doing tomorrow afternoon for as long as you need to. Then, at some undetermined moment, I'll stand up, lock the door and leave my everyday world behind for destinations unknown, trying desperately not to look back.

Yeah, that's some good stuff. Will let you know how it goes.