I think about Everett Ruess...

 a lot each and every time I meander off in the Southwest deserts. The region is wrinkled, contorted, tortured and beautiful. It’s an equal opportunity area. Fools or those who come prepared, can meet the same dismal fate. America’s SW is a harsh land.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Who’s Everett Ruess? 

Everett wandered the SW from 1931 to 1934. Then the land wasn’t fenced in. There were few National Parks or Monuments. Towns had the feel of outposts rather than bastions of civilization. Roads were rudimentary. Everett’s means of transport was his feet and a few burros. One day he went into a Utah canyon and forgot to come out. He was last seen in Escalante, Utah. His body was never discovered. He was 20 years young. Mr. Ruess is a mystery that’s never been solved.

 

Everett gained fame after his death. There was poetry in his letters to friends and family. There was teenage angst in others. His love of Wild Places was palpable. He was a starving artist. He was sort of a slacker. He had no problem with asking his parents for a handout. Mr and Mrs Ruess supplied the cash for him to go along his merry way. Maybe this was their way of keeping their eccentric son from becoming a family embarrassment. 

In contemporary times, Everett would reek of cannabis, have dreadlocks and reside in Telluride. He would be a Trust-a-farian. 

So why do I think of Everett? 

I too venture alone into the Southwest canyons, mesas and cliff sides. It’s a is vast landmass.  There’s plenty of rugged terrain devoid of trails. The few that are out here might have been made by game, old miners or intrepid hikers. When I spot them, I follow them not knowing where they might lead. I tiptoe into mine shafts until the light fades away. This isn’t smart. Things can go wrong out there with no one to hear your cries of “HELP!” 

At times rocks which have been stationary for eons might decide to shift. This occurred to me on a cliff a few years ago. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/02/as-i-was-falling-over-backwards.html

If you don’t believe me ask Aron Ralston. 

Mother Nature is a beautiful thing until she decides to maim or murder you. 

I take less risks now. I’ve become much more conservative overall. A twisted ankle or a sprained knee would be a bad thing. I don’t have a desire to hike into a canyon and forget to come out. I’m not sure if people would find poetry in my blogs or beauty in my photos. I might not ever get famous! 

I promise to be careful out here. 

Cheers from colder than average Tecopa Hot Springs,

Jeff

“Yet what is travel...

If not the art of creative homelessness?”

From “No-Man’s Lands” by Scott Huler

It’s been six months since I’ve resided in Barley the Van.

I spent four of those months overseas. I had no choice but to leave my four-wheel  Buddy behind. Barley won’t fit in an airplane’s overhead bin compartment. 

The other two months, I slept inside a thing called a bedroom. There were no wheels beneath me. I had indoor plumbing!  So this is how the other 99.8% live. 

 

For half a year, I’ve been living as large as a 6’3”, 239# Lying Scumbag President. It’s now time to readjust to Barley’s 66 square feet of living space. ( most of which is a Queen-sized bed. ) 

I’ll be reading by headlamp, drink my water from Nalgene bottles and cook on a Coleman stove. I’ll be showering outside with solar heated water. I’ll admit it. It’s sort of a feral existence. I can’t  dwell too much on how strange my life must seem to “normal”folks. At times, it’s even strange to me. 

I’ve now been in the Greater Death Valley Region for over a week. On my hikes, I’ve seen two jackrabbits, one Desert Bighorn and a docile Dude from Washington State. I knew he was harmless since his pick up truck sported a “Kill Your Television” bumper sticker. That’s a Peace-nik. 

It’s been quiet. A little too quiet, as I’ve noticed nothing but couples in the campgrounds. The few single travelers own dogs; which in  their World makes them a couple too. The stigma of the single man in the white van, is once again, becoming my reality. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/04/the-stigma-of-single-man.html

I might be going through the motions of solo traveling. There’s only so many times in a day, I can say out loud, “Look at that! Isn’t that beautiful?” But there’s no Significant Other on the receiving end to appreciate the scene. Nor a companion to clink drinks with at Happy Hour. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/12/i-fear-im-losing.html

I’ve been at this WW J thing a little short of six years. Maybe there’s an expiration date to this solo kosher Wandering? 

With all that said, ( No One writes a more honest blog than me. No One. It’s 100% Fake News Free ),  for the next three months I’ll continue on my way to remote places in the SW.  I’ll have plenty of time to wander, wonder and ponder. I’ll keep looking for a sign to show me the way.

Who knows? One day, I might drive into a campground and there will be a pink Barleian Van owned by a WW (fill in the religion) Woman. It could be a match made in heaven.

Don’t get me wrong. I still love traveling. I just might be losing my Mojo for going solo. Only time will tell. 

Cheers from chilly Death Valley National Park,

Jeff

I’m posting this from Pahrump, NV. There’s more gun dealers and casinos than grocery stores. There’s no brewpubs but I can buy plenty of Bud Lite. It’s not on my list of possible places to settle down. 

It’s now politically correct to say this, it’s a shit hole. 

“The True West Differs from the East...

 in one great, pervasive, influential, and awesome way: space." 

“Blue Highways” by William Least Heat Moon

For a wee bit over three weeks, I was lying low in Flat Florida. 

Yes, I loved my quality time and Happy Hours with Mike and Robin. (AKA the best brother and sister-in-law in the World). Yes, it was wonderful to view mellow manatees, stilt-legged shore birds, pelotons of pelicans and playful porpoises. Yes, I loved the endless miles of beach walks while listening to a soothing surf. Yes, I enjoyed my ocean sunrises and sunsets. Yes, I thrilled at the Fire and Fury of witnessing a NASA rocket lift-off from Cape Canaveral. Yes, it was great to wear tank tops and baggy shorts for days on end. 

The only negative was when an alligator ripped my flesh. Well, not exactly, but it sounds a lot more heroic than being filleted by shrubbery. ( I’ll never look at those green predators the same again )

Despite this blood loss, I had a relaxed, easy going 22 days of Beach Boy bliss.

But, I found myself missing the West. I needed uphill. I craved canyons, mountains and passes. I was lusting for Zip Code sized Big Views devoid of people. I desired Space. 

The definition of the what the West is, or where it begins scores opinions from authors, explorers, the US Census Bureau and one Wandering Wondering Jew. 

Wallace Stegner described the West as “the geography of hope.”

Gertrude Stein said: 'In the United States there is more space where nobody is than where anybody is. That is what makes America what it is.”

John Wesley Powell that one-armed adventurer and long time director of the US Geological Survey believed the West began to the left of the 100th Meridian. A line separating moist from arid lands. Or another way of stating this: Mother Nature provides the water for crops vs. the necessity of irrigation.

The US Census Bureau gets right to the point. According to this Governmental body counter, the West is comprised of the Rocky Mountain Region, the Great Basin and the West Coast. They tossed Hawaii and Alaska into the pot as well. I guess they didn’t want America’s newest states to feel left out. 

For one WW J, the concept of the West is pretty simple. The better part of America begins on the hilly side of Interstate 25. This 1,068 mile north-south road doesn’t run from Canada (Eh!) to Mexico (Si!), so I conceived an imaginary four-lane in my mind for completion. ( Sort of like Borders;  just human drawn lines in so many places.) 

Jim Morrison of the Doors sang it all so well. “The West is the best.”

I’m now in Snobsdale, AZ. I’m provisioning Barley the Van for a month’s stay in Death Valley National Park. From there, I’ll visit the Mohave Desert, Joshua Tree National Park, Bishop, CA ( an eastern Sierra Nevada town on the 395 corridor), Zion and Bryce NPs, Grand Staircase/Escalante and Bear Ears National Monuments ( what’s left of them after they have been desecrated by President Short Term Thinker ) and a bevy of other beautiful places in the Southwest. 

My ETA back to Colorado is mid-May. Right in time for a blizzard of heart attack heavy wet White Death. Once there, I’ll see Family, friends and Rockies and Junior College World Series baseball. 

So...if you find yourself on the sunny side of the Southwest, feel free to look me up. I’ll have a spare box of Macs and Cheese and extra IPAs (AKA the Nectar of the Gods). I’m willing to share. My library is well stocked with history books too. Does any American really desire a future President who isn’t well read? I think not. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/11/my-2020-presidential-campaign-begins.html

The last photo is one month’s worth of Happy Hours. A fella can get mighty thirsty in the Desert.

Fun folks are always welcome at my campfire.

Cheers

Jeff

Here’s some extra reading if you are curious about a WW J’s typical day.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/05/a-day-in-life-of.html