7/23

The chains were broken and we hurdled the high and stony wall into Oregon. After 1750 miles in this tortuous golden state, I have reached the northern yard, every step beside my brothers Furniture and Rally. We have walked on the edge of death and on the edge of society, and now we crossed the edge of America's most prosperous state.

7/16

Slowly I have slid into a strange canyon in time, a little current of doldrums in this rapid experience. For the last weeks we have been stricken with the Oregon fever, quickly cutting away these fatty Northern miles in California. Since July fourth we have traveled 400 miles, and there are only a paltry 120 separating us from the Golden State exodus. Consistently we hike from dawn to dusk, moving like a tenacious solar operated train. Scenery has blurred together between 30 mile days. I have a slippery footing on where I have been at what time, seeming to slide through a wormhole in the woods. My communication skills and vocabulary are deteriorating. Day hikers greet me enthusiastically and all I can do is look right through them. Hopefully I can take some time to relax in Etna, the next town.

Water, 7/13

Water is a divine thing, but because it is common in the commercial world, its divinity is not recognized. It is simply there, like the way asphalt is there beneath car tires. But when not harnessed into a state of thereness, it has an agency of its own. Tom Robbins said water invented humans as an expedited means of transportation. A woman I worked with painted hearts on her water bottles because she believed that the clear creature is an embodiment of love. Scientists study the mystery in the language of ice crystals. And now I have had my own engagement with the spectral being. For hundreds of miles I walked across frozen water, morphed into ridges and valleys, and I stepped on settlements of thousands of crystals. I walked through creeks and rivers constantly, hating every minute of wet feet because of the busy flow, one ripple after another. I used to fall asleep in a fortress of fear, because wherever I was, I heard water running, running and never resting, even when I was. And now as I walk on sand and rocks and the dry corners of this Earth that have not been loved for a long time, I think of ice cubes in my water and blue glacial lakes and lovely energetic creeks. What a clever opponent he can be.

some photos from the few of weeks...

7/7

After 32 miles, mosquitoes die when they drink my blood, because it is too hardcore. The snow is relenting and the sun is glinting.

7/5

We celebrated the nation's birthday simply by relaxing around Sierra City- an antique American mountain town, the icing on California's cake. Milkshake and Cliffhanger shared a room with us, and we all shared sickeningly wonderful amounts of food. I finally capitalized on my idea for a stout beer float, which paid wonderful dividends. We almost died as passengers in a speedy hitchhike, but here on the trail again things are calm, easy and serene, and it seems the snow is finally slackening its grip. If you think of the impediments to where you are going, you will always be slower than just simply walking.

7/2

There is a feeling and struggle I believe that Franz Kafka once articulated. There is a demon against which we struggle who has no throat that we can strangle, a villain that has no heart that we can stab, a computer that has no microchip to step on. Essentially the struggle that infuriates me most is one man against nature- one tiny piece of a system glitching against its maker. That is what snow is to me. There are thousands of acres of thick and ripple ice burying the hiking trails. Getting lost is an ordeal of every hour, and gentle switchbacks have become sloping chutes over canyons. What was once a meditative ramble is a struggle- a contest of every hour. And there is no frosty snowman to decapitate or break. There are limitless expanses of land with no neck to strangle.

In practical news though, the battle is going well. Rally and I rushed 14 miles today to meet his friends Macy, at a remote road, bringing tidings of burritoe, cooking and stout beer. Ed joined us for the lazy feast, and we slowly ambled seven miles farther to an old stone hut, where I split wood to feed the stove, and we spread our sleeping bags on old mattresses. It is funny to think that 22 miles constitute an easy day, and resting before nine is early. Sierra city is 34 miles away, and so is ice cream.