The Manifest Destiny Tour - Update

Just so everyone knows, Jordan and I are safely back in Texas in real life. In blog life we are standing on the beach of Playa del Rey contemplating the mysteries of the universe. In metaphorical life I suppose we're still doing that. The main reason for the delay is that I haven't finished documenting our travels. I have a few more entries planned and am just searching for the self-discipline to put them on paper. School starts back in a couple of weeks, so my plan is to wrap up the The Manifest Destiny Tour travelogue before then. Then, back to classroom hijinks. Thanks for all your thoughts and prayers while we were on the road; they were much needed.

The Manifest Destiny Tour - Day 15

Standing on the beach of Playa del Rey near Santa Monica and looking out at the Pacific Ocean, I get that feeling again. The one I get when I see pictures of deep space and consider the limitless universe. The one I get when driving through the Texas Panhandle or Central Nevada and wonder about the few inhabitants. The one I get when looking down on the Grand Canyon, at all those striations in the cliffs, designating all those millions of years. The one I get when listening to Stravinski’s Rite of Spring, or reading Bukowski, or hearing a woodblock. The feeling I get when smelling honeysuckle, or eating an apple, or looking through a microscope. The one I get when flying, or hearing babies cry, or thinking about π. The one I get when I try to ponder eternity, that there is no beginning and no end, no lines nor circles, there is no perfect center because there is no center, so there are no perfect halves, no equality, no compromise, no marriage and no divorce, there is no space and no time. It’s the feeling I get when I think about God. You know the feeling I’m talking about.

The Manifest Destiny Tour - Day 14

San Francisco to L.A.

486.7 miles/142 songs

Neil Young – Harvest
Okkervil River – Black Sheep Boy
Rolling Stones – Through the Past, Darkly
Eisley – Room Noises
The Blow – Paper Television
Dave Matthews Band – Stand Up
Colin Meloy – Colin Meloy Sings! Live
Low – The Great Destroyer
Simon & Garfunkel – Greatest Hits
The Smiths – Louder Than Bombs
The Beatles – Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
Spring Break Mix ‘06

9:27 pm

California intimidates me. I’m not sure why. Could be that I’ve never been here before. But I had never been to Nevada or Utah either, and they didn’t intimidate me. Maybe it’s because I expected all Californians to be beautiful and intelligent and rich and socially conscientious. And while the requisite handful might match that description, as I look around me, they all appear fairly average. Maybe it’s because of the Pacific Ocean. That might actually be part of it. We drove down California 1 today, from Monterrey to San Luis Obispo. And there was certainly something awe-inspiring about those cliffs and beaches and mists and endless blue off to our right. But I don’t think it should be enough to be intimidating. I don’t think there is anything physically intrinsic in California to make me feel this way. It’s more of the mythology surrounding the place. It’s the names and stories, the movies and celebrities, the music and fashion, the Steinbecks and Kerouaks, the Hepburns and the Nicholsons, the Merle Haggards and the Beach Boys and the Dr. Dre’s. I think maybe it’s how others might feel when visiting Texas for the first time. At least I hope so.

Of course, we still have L.A. to experience. If California is mythology, then L.A. is Mount Olympus. It may yet live up to the hype. We have several days to find out.

“Now let me welcome everybody to the wild, wild west
A state that's untouchable like Elliot Ness;
The track hits ya eardrum like a slug to ya chest
Pack a vest for your Jimmy in the city of sex.”
“California Love” – Tupac (featuring Dr. Dre)

[I had fogotten about this ridiculously awesome video.]

The Manifest Destiny Tour - Day 13

In San Francisco

8:49 am

While in San Francisco, we’re staying at my friend Lauren’s. She lives on the third floor of a townhouse overlooking Castro Street, the unofficial heart of the gay district. The gay district of San Francisco. I know. I’ve experienced enough world, especially living in Austin, to not be too shocked. Although my Southern Baptist upbringing did cringe slightly while walking past The Sausage Factory, I’ve been more amused than anything. Jordan, I’m afraid, whose Billy Graham sensibilities are still firmly intact (which, ironically, I’m glad of), has been a little more than weirded out. Last night, after skirting around the Moby Dick patrons, he muttered something about his concern for our safety. I reassured him, saying that we were probably on the safest street in America, that we could take anyone in a fist slap-fight. Of course, we were immediately passed by two large men holding hands. Not fair, I remember thinking. Gay men are supposed to be sweet and funny and small. But what do I know about these things.

11:37 pm

We went to the Giants game tonight. It was fun, a baseball game. Because parking can be a nightmare anywhere in the city, and especially at AT&T Park (will we ever go back to names like Candlestick? [sigh]), we decided to take the San Francisco Municipal Railway. Muni for short, it’s a sometimes underground, sometimes aboveground subway, trolley-car, light rail thing. Despite its confusion for tourists (perhaps purposely so), I believe San Fran’s public transit is extremely efficient.

And it’s diverse. All types were on board with us: different races, nationalities, religious affiliations, socio-economic backgrounds, personal hygienes. And all of us it seemed were heading to the baseball game. Packed in, sardine-like, picking up more sardines at each stop. Packed so tight that we can’t change position. So tight that there’s no need to hang on to the railing anymore, just squeeze forward or back. So tight that all our differences bleed and melt together. I become the Indian storeowner from Mumbai. He becomes the young black boy with cornrows and a hard face. The boy becomes the elderly Chinese woman clutching her groceries. His groceries. My groceries. We are ash-colored Agnostics from everywhere and nowhere. We are the Socialist’s quixotic dream. Only we don’t talk to each other, don’t even look at each other, just bowl unapologetically through and over each other and ourselves to get to where we need, disrupting the dream, alone again or not at all.

“Yeah, I heard a funny thing;
Somebody said to me,
You know that I could be in love with almost everyone;
I think that people are
The greatest fun.
And I will be alone again tonight my dear.”
"Alone Again Or" - Love

The Manifest Destiny Tour - Day 12

Reno to San Francisco

225.1 Miles/66 Songs

Led Zeppelin – IV
Bloc Party – Silent Alarm
Eagle*Seagull – Eagle*Seagull
Josh Ritter – The Historical Conquests of…
Smoosh – She Like Electric
Mates of State – Our Constant Concern

12:07 pm - 32 Miles Before Sacramento

Reno treats the interstate much the same way Austin does—by closing as many lanes as possible, slowing traffic to a standstill, so that 18 workers can lean against a guardrail and watch one guy operate some mammoth piece of machinery. Leaving Reno was something of a nightmare. We found ourselves in one of the lanes that was coned off and were forced to merge into the lane to our left. The car in front of us merged fairly early on, a couple hundred feet before the cones. I figured it only practical to use more of the merging space, so I motored ahead. There was a line of about seven or eight 18-wheelers. Not wanting to merge in the middle of them, I zipped ahead to the front of that line, but the trucker closed the gap, refusing to let me in. So I moved up to the next car, a Honda Element with Virginia plates, expecting a normal highway civilian to let me in, but as I moved into position, he raced ahead, also cutting me off. I looked to the driver to plead my case, but he responded by slowly shaking his rakishly scruffy, sunglassed head side to side. That pissed me off. I caught a glance at his wife/girlfriend beginning to slump sheepishly in the passenger seat, eyes lowered, as if to say that she was ashamed of the asshole she was married to/dating. I began to point emphatically at the closing space between his front bumper and the back of the car in front of him, meanwhile mouthing obscenities I hoped would shock his wife/girlfriend and piss him off.

In that instant I understood road rage. Guys like us—me and the Element-driving, sunglass-wearing asshole from Virginia—have no real territory to fight for. Not like in the old days. We can’t raid the neighboring village like the people of this area did hundreds of years ago. The only defendable/raidable territory left to us is the six inches of space between bumpers. We are men. We are hunters. We are road warriors. The slumping blonde in the passenger seat couldn’t understand that, couldn’t appreciate it.

I saw that I wasn’t going to win this particular battle, so I slid in behind him, which is actually the preferred position in this sort of skirmish. I guarantee he was feeling more unsettled with me on his 6. I didn’t do anything malicious or menacing beyond glowering at his side-view mirror and the back of his head. We maintained this position for several minutes, holding steady at 4 mph, exchanging cool asshole glances into his mirror. Several hundred feet later, our lane was again coned off and we were forced to merge left into the last remaining lane. I merged quickly, before the Virginian. This gave me the upper hand, and a decision—two ways I could be an asshole. I could race ahead, cut him off, exact my revenge, even the score. Or I could be more creative: hang back, allow him a wide berth, give him a sarcastically benevolent wave, show him how decent people behave on the highway. I like creativity, so I chose option #2. Judging by the smile in his side-view mirror, I think he was also impressed with my tactic.

Again we fell into a holding pattern, this time for 10-15 minutes. Long enough for the adrenaline to die down and for me to evaluate the situation with a calm and level head, to remember that road rage is dumb, that raiding the neighboring village is cowardly, that we have evolved beyond that sort of base barbarism, that the Element-driving, sunglass-wearing Virginian is my brother and I should be looking out for him, that the spark-plug anger in both of us is a product of the discontented culture in which we live, and that we can and must do better for ourselves and the ones we love.

After we passed the 18+1 work crew and regained our coned off lanes, we shot forward with purpose and speed, like babies newborn and baptized by fire and light into a new and knowledged world. And for the next 50 miles or so, the Virginian and I stayed within several hundred feet of each other; sometimes I was in front, sometimes he was, even after being slowed by the California Agriculture Department checkpoint. Our closeness was unintentional—at least it was for me, I can’t speak for him. It was probably just a matter of coincidence, both of us setting our cruise controls at nearly the same speed. But I like to think that maybe it was our destiny to have our lives tethered together for that hour or so, to remind us that we are made for love and not for hate, that our end is good and not evil. And each time I passed him or he passed me, I looked over at him trying to communicate that I was sorry, that sometimes the road makes us assholes for no reason and maybe it’s because we each carry the history of violent men, but that we can move beyond it because our lives have been tethered together and we are good now. I’m pretty sure with the proper facial expressions and hand gestures I could have done that. But he never looked over. I think maybe he was afraid that I would do something obscene, but all I wanted was to tell him I love him.

The Manifest Destiny Tour - Day 11

Hite Campgrounds to Reno, NV

698.6 Miles/157 Songs

Margot & the Nuclear So & So’s – The Dust of Retreat
Rilo Kiley – More Adventurous
Michael Jackson – Thriller
Islands – Return to the Sea
Franz Ferdinand – Franz Ferdinand
Fleetwood Mac – Rumours
Elton John – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
Elvis Perkins – Ash Wednesday
Coldplay – Viva la Vida
Bon Jovi – Crossroads
The Who – My Generation: The Very Best of the Who
Yeasayer – All Hour Cymbals
The Go! Team – Proof of Youth

6:37 am – Hite Campground on the shore of Lake Powell, Utah

Looking back over what I’ve written, I see a theme recurring. It was unintended and undesired, but nevertheless it is there, quietly pervading all other thoughts. Am I really so prone to loneliness that I don’t even notice it? Last night, lying in our tent, sweating, trying to sleep, it was bad. I felt terribly lonely. Why? Is it me—do I isolate myself from others, even those I claim to love, just so I can avoid attachment? Is it America—is that why some of us live so close together, stacked on top of each other, that we can hear each other breathing, in an attempt to smother or loneliness; while others of us spread so far out, miles from our closest neighbor, that we can’t hear him at all, in an attempt to further or loneliness? Is it humankind—have we evolved so far that we’ve outrun our need for each other, or think we have? It’s hard to say, but already I’m feeling better. This Utah sunrise brings me hope.

10:10 pm – Reno

As fate would have it, we drove most of the day on a highway dubbed “the loneliest road in America.” Between Ely and Fallon, Nevada, a span of about 257 miles and a grand total of three towns, lies a stretch of land that roughly 1200 people call home. That’s an average of 4.6 persons per mile. That’s lonely. Of course it’s very beautiful too. Isolated mountain ranges separated by sprawling valleys, so that our drive consisted of slow ascensions of mountain passes and then diving down and cutting through the open valleys. Up pass, down valley. Over and over, like an enormous roller coaster.

We drove a long way today, nearly 700 miles, more than 12 hours, but through some of the most beautiful landscapes I’ve seen. As stunning as Nevada was, southern Utah was more so. We saw rock formations I wouldn’t have thought possible, defying the laws of physics and the limits of creativity.

Finally in Reno. We’ll splurge tonight and stay in a hotel, hopefully get a good night’s rest to make up for last night. Going out to explore the city.

12:04 am

I’m not sure what I was expecting. I remember seeing a movie once where the principle characters drive into Reno in an old Cadillac convertible, and as they pass under the illuminated archway welcoming visitors to the biggest little city in the world, the camera angle changes to the hood of the car so that we can see the lit-up joy on the faces behind the iridescent reflection sliding up the windshield. I guess I expected something like that. And maybe it used to be that way. Before the rise of Vegas and the introduction of Indian casinos in California. Now, it’s a remnant of better times, a fossil of fun once had, a crucible where gold pieces are melted down and made into demigods. Despite all the flashing lights, the streets seem dark and glum, the faces cold and hard. The slot machines are busy but quiet. American Dreams are slipping away chip by paycheck. And I’m tired, so we go back to our room where I’ll try sleeping off today’s lonely images.

"This loneliness ain't pretty no more,
Loneliness, only taking the place of a friend."
"This Loneliness" - El Perro Del Mar

The Manifest Destiny Tour - Day 10

Wilderness Ranch to Hite Campground, Utah

414.8 Miles/125 Songs

Andrew Bird – The Mysterious Production of Eggs
Lou Barlow – Emoh
Marvin Gaye – What’s Going On
Of Montreal – The Sunlandic Twins
Waterdeep – Live at New Earth
The Decemberists – Castaways & Cutouts
John Cale – Paris 1919
Gnarls Barkley – St. Elsewhere
Modest Mouse – Good News for People Who Love Bad News
Arcade Fire – Neon Bible

9:41 am – 8 miles before Pagosa Springs, CO

Leaving is hard. We were only a week at Wilderness, but a week is long enough to make missing. A week of working and eating and playing and talking and being with others. A week is long enough. So as we drive away, I can’t help the hollow feeling in my stomach. But I think maybe the hollow feeling is good. Makes me think maybe I am capable of loving. It helps that my brother is with me. It helps, too, that these mountain roads share the valleys with mountain rivers. Somehow it brings me comfort, traveling the same path as these rivers, knowing that all those drops of water have a history, that they have traveled miles and miles of earth and air, taking the form of liquid, solid, and vapor, picking up pollution, pestilence, purpose, and pride, eventually joining other drops with similar stories, now communing in a common aim, choosing the path of least resistance, like millions of sordid souls, hurrying downward to that purgatorial shore.

2:08 pm – 2 miles past Durango, CO

Spent two hours in Durango. Ate a great lunch. Bought a Crazy Creek camping chair and a Nalgene bottle. Bought a CD [John Cale’s Paris 1919]. Tried to get sold a $300 basket. Went with $30 wooden wolf for Mom instead (surprise, Mom). Bought Jordan a 118-year-old silver dollar for his birthday (today’s his birthday). Now worried about the time, we still have a ways to go today.

7:15 pm – 36 miles past Blanding, UT

Despite my concern for our being behind schedule, we can’t resist stopping at the Mesa Verde cliff dwellings. We are both suckers for antiquity. And the thought of seeing the thousand-year-old dwellings of the native Americans is enough to bring out the nerd in both of us. So we pull off highway 160, pay the $15 (FIFTEEN DOLLARS!) entry fee, and drive 25 miles to the first ruins.

While driving, I can’t help myself from pondering—pondering about America. We’ve seen a good bit of her up to this point, and there’s one thing I’ve noticed. Actually I’ve noticed it before, have pondered over it before, but have been reminded on this trip. It’s that we Americans don’t really like the old. If a building gets too old, crumbling, sagging, dilapidated eyesore, we tear it down and build a new one in its place. If an idea or philosophy or religious thought becomes too old, rigid, stale, monotonous blathering, we forget it and think up a new one in its place. If people grow too old, decrepit, feeble, absent-minded, we ignore them and defer to younger ones in their place.

In the past I’ve never been able to pinpoint why we have such disgust for the old. But I think now I’m beginning to figure it out. It’s a feeling we get when we see something old. It’s the lonesomeness in every run-down and abandoned service station or garage, hotel or house, store or barn that we pass on the road. I think we Americans equate old with loneliness, and we hate loneliness, and we hate anything that reminds us we are lonely, and so we destroy it. Some things survive, sure. We set up a historical landmark sign or build a national park around the thing and then it’s okay. Because it’s someone else’s loneliness and not ours.

One thing I find ironic at first but now makes complete sense to me is that Jordan and I, while at Mesa Verde, are surrounded by non-Americans. Germans, Vietnamese, French, Brazilians, you name it. The only other Americans we see are a group of older women who are rushing through the exhibits because they are craving Diet Cokes. Really. I overheard them. I think maybe other countries, other cultures don’t get bothered so much by the old or by feelings of loneliness. I don’t know for sure, of course, I haven’t been to those countries, so it’s likely I’m just talking out of my ass. But it would explain a good many things I think.

Standing here, leaning against the railing, looking down on the ruinous remains of those ancient Pueblo people, I wonder if they ever thought about things like loneliness. Did they have questions of existence? Did they doubt their beliefs? Did they distrust their spirit helper? Did they wonder if they had the right power animal? The information placard tells me that they didn’t destroy the old and build in its place. No, they buried it and built on top of it.

“For every invention made how much time did we save?
We're not much farther than we were in the cave.”
“The View” – Modest Mouse