News on the Writing Front

Down to the tacks: I sent off a contract today to write some articles for a motorcycle enthusiast web site which is currently trying to build content. They have very little in the way of articles right now.

The exciting part is that I pitched an idea to the editor that I write a sort of humor column on moto-centric topics. He seems pretty stoked about the idea, so we'll see if he's still excited after he reads more than a "sample excerpt" of my writing.

For anyone who doesn't know, I used to race off-road motorcycles and I also worked at a motorcycle dealership long enough to figure out a thing or two. I still ride a sport bike, shown here:



The off-road stuff beat me up pretty bad, so I retired.

Anyway, this could be my first paid writing gig EVER!

I'm pretty excited. The web site is http://www.sundaymorningrides.com/ if you want to check it out.

It's Not That I Don't Like Cats... (Part 2)

In case you might have forgotten, I was in the early stages of war with a gaggle of unruly neighborhood cats recently. Apparently, in some backroom meeting, they all decided that they should start crapping along a walkway I use every single day.

I am happy to report that they have since moved their public restroom elsewhere. (Where, exactly, is yet to be determined.)

I don't know what happened to cause this sudden shitter shift. Perhaps there was a coup d'état and Bob is no longer in charge. Though, he doesn't look too worried:

Upon further infiltration of the ranks, I have discovered that this little vixen, known as Mama, is the number 2:

I have witnessed him give his food up for her. This situation will have to monitored more closely. She was timid at first, but she comes in pretty close now.

And then, there's this stranger out on the fringes of my property. He was one of the original poopers, I'm quite sure, but he definately keeps his distance when I'm out there. I'll be working to identify the Stranger in the coming days. This image was captured using ultra zoom:

Who is The Stranger? Will Jed discover the new pooping zone? Is Bob's position at the head of the family in trouble? Tune in next time to find out!

Some Photos from the Backcountry

A few pictures from my latest misadventure:

The Frontiersmen Were Tougher Than Me

I had to abort my backpacking trip early.

A stream-crossing mishap caused me to limp 7 miles out of the wilderness back to civilization. I wasn't seriously hurt, but I was hurt bad enough that I was apprehensive about continuing another 26 miles with over 20 pounds on my back.

The weather was perfect. The trail was desolate and lonely (just as I had hoped it would be). Water was plentiful. There were splendid views of the Ouachita River.

My body said no after I banged up my leg. That's all there is to it.

I'm a bit depressed.

Almost Packed

Just a few more days and I'll be heading out for a 5 day backpacking trip in Arkansas. I won't be traversing any glaciers or crossing major rivers on a homemade raft, but I'm still excited; for lots of reasons. My main objective is probably exactly what you think it is: solitude. Absolute, self-imposed loneliness. Every single human being on this planet needs an occasional dose of it; some of us more than others.

But why the woods? Why not rent a hotel room for 5 days and lock myself away to write and read and learn?

Let me tell you a secret about carrying your food, water and shelter on your back in nature:

The first day is merely fun and adventurous and tiring. The first night out there all alone is achy and sleepless. The second day and night mostly serve to remind you further how you miss your recliner, your bed, and your refrigerator.

But the third day, ah, the third day. That's when it starts happening. That's when you start to forget.

You forget about your possessions at home; your obligations; your life in electric civilization. You become strange, even to yourself. You are aware of this imposing weirdness, this renaturalization of your mind and your body, but you can't wrap your head around the real source of it. It becomes hard to determine exactly where you end and the world around you begins. Your hearing adapts to the wind and you start to hear through it. The rustling of the windblown leaves doesn't distract you from the sound of animal movement nearby; the two sounds are the same but totally distinct and different. The blur of foliage pressing down on you from all directions begins to expand and fall away, clearing a path for your mind to forge ahead and your eyes to see without seeing. You are part of this now.

You will drink only water tonight and eat a small meal, like the bears and the wolves and the trees. You will feel the chill march across the wilderness as the sun takes refuge behind the mountains. The cool air enters your lungs and you sleep a dreamless sleep and you wake up alive and real and connected to everything.

We are not animals, you and I. I don't say this to somehow degrade them, indeed, we are less glorious in many ways than their simplest citizens. We do function somewhat differently--there is little doubt about this--but we are not designed to be contently posted inside a ten-by-ten cubicle counting the hours of our lives away beneath the pale fluorescence of modern human existence.

"That is life though," one might say. "That is just what we do."

No, that is not life. That is survival. When we wake up every day and begin dancing to the familiar rhythms of commercial life, we are doing exactly the opposite of living. We are merely existing. We are making money to buy food, that's all.

It's funny the number of people who think I'm the one surviving when I venture into the wilderness. Only when I get back will I return to the business of survival.

Since Fall is Here...

I've decided to let my hair grow. I usually whip out the clippers, slap on a #2 guard and buzz it all off with the precision of a dull Bush Hog every three weeks. Not anymore. Not until Spring.

That's the plan anyway.

My hair is naturally wavy, so when it starts reaching that awkward middle length (1 to 3 inches, where it is now) it tends to become uncooperative and big. It's been a month and a half since my last haircut and my niece, Hannah, 6, says I have "Elvis hair." Must be the sideburns.

I tell everyone I'm growing it out for insulation during wintertime backpacking expeditions which I plan to undertake in the coming months, but really, I think it's more about a deepening desire for change. A lot of things have changed in my life recently, and I figure my chevelure should be no exception.

So off I go, my hair bending in the breeze. Maybe by winter it will be long enough to dance about the edges of my face in the wind as I struggle across bitter cold mountainsides, like some lost character in a Jack London novel. That would be cool.

A Nirvana Kid

After reading MoodyTunes earlier today, I found myself flipping through the radio channels in my brain listening for all that music which was--and in many ways still is--the soundtrack to my life.

I grew up listening to a lot of my dad's cassette tapes: Foreigner, ZZ Top, Neil Young, The Miami Vice Soundtrack, Kansas, Bad Company, Fleetwood Mac, Journey, Pink Floyd--just to name a few.

I remember sitting on my bed in my upstairs bedroom listening to my radio as a young teen. Dark brown wood panelled walls; a fan humming in my window mostly just stirring up warm air; a M.A.S.K. toy peeking out from beneath a pile of clutter in my closet. (It was Hurricane.)

Then that fateful song we've all heard too many times came ripping through the speakers of my little radio: "Smells Like Teen Spirit." I know, I know...how many blog posts can possibly be written on a subject? Still I wonder though how one song, consisting only of a simple four-chord progression and nonsensical screaming lyrics, could have tattooed itself so completely on almost an entire generation.

From then on, I began discovering my own music. The search uncovered so many bands I can't even begin to name them all here, but more than that, it led me toward the seat of my own creativity and I began to scrawl my emotions on paper in the forms of poetry, angst-ridden essays and strange stories. I began playing guitar and singing. (The main riff from "Smells Like Teen Spirit" was one of the first I learned.) I started writing songs.

Time went by and I began playing rhythm guitar and singing backup for a local band called Plew. We did covers of songs by the likes of Candlebox, Pearl Jam, Metallica, Bush, Collective Soul. We began playing some of my songs, and songs we wrote collaboratively.

I remained a member of Plew, but branched off into my own band called The Brink, where I sang lead vocals and played rhythm guitar. We wrote songs and played at bars and parties until I had had enough. Drugs and alcohol and the months without sleep that our living-like-rock-stars lifestyles had become burned me out. I still performed occasionally in any of the three bands which formed during this musical revolution in our small Missouri town, but I was no longer dedicated to the lifestyle; the mood; the angst. I was done with it. The itch was gone.

I continued writing songs though and was eventually enlisted to help a popular local band called Splendor record their first album. By this time I had begun to play piano and synthesizer, and they just wanted some "texture tracks" of strings and piano to give their songs a little more depth. We formed a friendship and I began touring around the Midwest with them performing and collaborating on new material. It was hard work but rewarding. By the time I stepped down two years later, we had performed in front of thousands and thousand of people. We never did the arena thing or anything like that, but we got to play a few shows in front of more than 2,000 people. (That's a lot of eyeballs watching you try not to botch a tricky guitar part.)

We once played this giant, extravagant theater but the promoter had published the wrong date so only three or four people showed up. We played our guts out anyway.

After all that music, all those faces, all the drugs and pain and fun, and after the liquidation of myriad guitars, keyboards and musical doo-dads, there was left in the filter only one thing. The music had long been mostly flushed away, but I was still writing.

I figure I'll keep doing it for a while.

R&D at Home...And So Can You!

I, like many others, enjoy nature at her most natural. That's why I backpack into the wilderness as much as I can during the fall, winter, and early spring (summer is too hot and humid, and the bugs down here get as big rat terriers).

Since fall is here (and since I have cabin fever so bad I've chewed off my own eyebrows) it's time to head to the woods. In a couple of weeks I'll be hitting the Womble Trail; Arkansas' third longest trail at around 40 miles in length. It will probably take me four days to complete. It could be done in as little as two, but I'm pretty out of shape, and besides, I want it to last longer.

Anyway, my backpacking gear has been sitting around bored all summer and I learned years ago that it is a mistake to wait until you are ten miles from civilization to find out that mice have chewed a fist-sized hole in your tent's rain fly while it sat in your closet. It's best to perform a little R&D (Recreation & Development) before you head into the backcountry. So, yesterday I broke out my Viperine 2 tent and staked it out in my yard for all of my neighbors to see. I mean, let's face it, who doesn't love to see a tent in their neighbor's yard?

Tent inspection, check.

Then, when the temperature got down to 44 degrees about 3 AM, I grabbed my sleeping pad and my Tech Blanket and headed out into my front yard wilderness to find out if I could possibly stay warm in such a minimal setup (inside my tent of course). Suprisingly, despite using only a 3/4 length pad (the bottom part of my legs extend beyond the pad; decreases weight) and my stylin' Techie, I was comfy. I napped for an hour or so.

Then, I broke out my 25/40 Flip Sleeping Bag just to see how I'd be doing in a full bag. I was toasty and comfortable.

Sleeping items, check.

Next on my list of tests were my toiletry items...just kidding.

Having gleaned the necessary data, I went inside and went to bed where I tossed and turned restlessly for hours.