September 2012
1 month. 3,500 miles, 20 states, 15 National Parks & Monuments, 100 old friends, a whole bunch of familia, and 2 oceans. Now that it is a road-trip. That is something for which I might justify the use of a car – or at least an old used one that gets about 40 mpg. It began and ended in two of the so-called great urban centers of our society, San Francisco and New York City. In between, I went through more of God’s beautiful Earth than most ever get to see in a lifetime, or two. As well as seeing a few of the saddest and most pathetic places one might ever visit. Along the way I think I discovered just how truly ‘American’ – as in from this land – I have actually become, as well as how correct I probably was in my last blog proclaiming that, “cities [are] not reality.” Of dozens of amazing road trips I taken in my life, this was The Epic. Coast to coast in several symbolic snippits.
1 month. 3,500 miles, 20 states, 15 National Parks & Monuments, 100 old friends, a whole bunch of familia, and 2 oceans. Now that it is a road-trip. That is something for which I might justify the use of a car – or at least an old used one that gets about 40 mpg. It began and ended in two of the so-called great urban centers of our society, San Francisco and New York City. In between, I went through more of God’s beautiful Earth than most ever get to see in a lifetime, or two. As well as seeing a few of the saddest and most pathetic places one might ever visit. Along the way I think I discovered just how truly ‘American’ – as in from this land – I have actually become, as well as how correct I probably was in my last blog proclaiming that, “cities [are] not reality.” Of dozens of amazing road trips I taken in my life, this was The Epic. Coast to coast in several symbolic snippits.
1.
The Night Hike. During the first
stop of The Epic, and for the first time in my life, I took a long night hike.
Just me, the stars, the deity of your choice, and 6 miles to go in Yosemite
National Park. Arriving at the parking lot after sunset, I thought I might be a
bit scared, to be honest, about what could happen bumbling around in pure
darkness, further and further away from anything resembling ‘civilization’, and
so contemplated just waiting until the morning. But sometimes I get in these
Taurus stubborn I’m-gonna-do-this-no-matter-what mindsets. When it involves
creative endeavors it usually works out pretty well - don’t think too much, trust
your instincts, and just go, just let go.
So by the time I got into the
clearing of Lyell Canyon, it was completely dark. The late Summer Yosemite
chill was in the air. I had been steadily cruising through the thick Lodgepole
Pine groves that cover this part of Yosemite, head down, focusing on the beam
of my small headlamp lighting the path ahead of me. I stopped for a moment, and
looked up for some reason. Above me, a radiant night sky simply glowed with
millions of celestial lights. I stood hypnotized. “Wow,” is again appropriate.
Why hadn’t I done this before?! Slowly I continued on, staring up as I went,
almost falling over several times as I bumped into trail grooves or rocks. The
night sky was stunning. I didn’t feel the cold, nor the miles… nor any fear. In
my first night time Wilderness Trance, I sauntered deeper into Lyell Canyon
towards my final Sierra Nevada rendezvous of the Summer. The peacefulness and
silence of that dark sky is not something I shall soon forget. It seeped into
my very being that night. I was immediately certain that my dusty boots and
this overwhelming sensation gained by the pure solitude and tranquility one
feels hiking inside of an enormous night sky were to meet again many, many
times in the future.
Blessed Ahwahnee.
2.
Why the Terrorists Hate Us. Las
Vegas is why the terrorists hate us. That’s right - Las Vegas, NV is why half
the world seems to hate The USA. Walk down ‘The Strip’ and think about the
debauchery and stupidity and greed and excess you witness. Then think about
economic and foreign policies that allow children to starve to death and wars
to be fought over oil in every corner of the world in its name, in the name of this… this “freedom.” It might make some
folks dislike what it all stands for a tad bit, eh?
At least that’s my perspective on
these places. I suppose I could just have a few drinks, enjoy myself, and not
deconstruct the hell out of everything I run into. But that would be dishonest.
So I allow the historian and world traveler in me to speak. I actually did have
a real good time in that awful pillar of Babylon, due to a spontaneous reunion
with two of my old band mates who just happened to be there as well – that sort
of goodness and friendship can wipe the stain off of any location.
But I was reminded once again why I
have to keep on ranting and raving about this sort of nonsense. Because it does
kind of seem like a world war is already going on, and it is very much up for
debate as to what “side” of this conflict our nation is truly on. So if we
choose to remain silent about the causes and manifestations of this global sickness, then we are just like those
from a small European country who remained silent some seventy-five years ago
as one of the greatest crimes against humanity took place all around them and
in their name, are we not?
3.
Red Rock Palaces. Southern Utah must
be one of the most spectacular places on Planet Earth. I laughed aloud and
couldn’t stop the smiles as I returned to this marvel of geography for the
first time in several years. Although I did not have the two weeks I had
originally planned on taking to slowly saunter across this marvelous state, I
did have several days and no real schedule as I made my way down towards
Arizona and the momma of them all, The Grand Canyon. Through Zion, Bryce, Escalante, Capitol Reef, Glen Canyon,
Valley of the Gods, Utah Highway 12, Utah Highway 95. I could have just
disappeared into the red rock and it would not have been such a tragic ending.
Day after day of these divine red rock palaces left me just floating through my
dear Southwest desert. The brilliant hues of red, orange, yellow, pink, white,
brown seep into your very essence when in these places. Much like the granite
temples of Yosemite, it is very hard to leave. I cannot count the number of jaw
dropping vistas I beheld. One after the other, around every corner, over every
hill. I could have drifted on for weeks.
In some ways this was indeed my last
wilderness experience of the Summer, for from here on out it would be cities and
grand reunions with friends and familia
and the things of ‘civilization.’ Fully aware of this I held onto the moments
as the Sierramobile chugged along, mile after mile, palace after palace of
sheer geologic delight. If you get to the end of your own humble little journey
and have not once basked in the red rock desert sun of the glorious Southwest,
you will have made a grievous error. Navajo sandstone is the absolute
perfection of red. The majesty of this terrain echoes in its profound silence.
God was not messing around when she lifted these red rock palaces into the sky
from the ancient ocean floor.
4.
Superstition. Washita Creek,
Oklahoma. If you do not know the horrific sadness that this name holds, stop
right now, go to your computer and google it. Take a minute…
Ok,
now that you’re back, let me explain. I generally do not go to these places.
They hold nightmares and restless spirits, perhaps forever seeking peace. My
Navajo friends have taught me to be pretty superstitious about this stuff. The Diné (in their language) and many other
First Nations will not enter or go near places such as these. It rather makes
sense, as do many of these so-called ‘superstitions.’ But something drew me in
on this day. I was only about twenty miles away on the interstate and felt like
I needed to pay my respects, to leave an offering for these spirits, perhaps. I
can’t explain it, I had some sage from New Mexico and it just seemed
appropriate. So I went to the site of one of the worst massacres of Native
peoples that has taken place in these here United States of Amerkkka. Strange:
it’s a beautiful drive, the red soil of the Oklahoma hills shining in the
afternoon sun.
On an early morning in November
1868, on this site, a peace chief of the Southern Cheyenne, Black Kettle, his
wife, and dozens of men, women and children were murdered as they stood under
an American flag, given to them with promises of security and the “good
intentions” of these lost people, these European invaders. Children were shot
as they ran. The village was burned to the ground. Who led this massacre? A
young general by the name of George Armstrong Custer. Some months later he sat
with other Cheyenne chiefs negotiating “peace.” They smoked the sacred pipe and
Custer promised never to attack the Cheyenne again. As they finished, a
Cheyenne chief, Stone Forehead, emptied the pipe’s ashes onto the boots of
Custer (a ‘superstition’, if you will, done to bring bad luck to someone) and
issued a stern warning, “If you break your promise, you and your soldiers will
go to dust… you and your whole command will be killed.”
In June 1876 Custer attacked the
Cheyenne again, at a place in Montana called The Little Bighorn. After the
battle, when some Cheyenne and Lakota women came upon his body both his eardrums
were pierced with sewing awls, so that he would perhaps be able to listen
better in the next life.
Yea,
crazy superstitions, right?
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