Isolating at Ground Zero

When I saw my son Michael, I was hit with a wave of emotion that had the intensity of a punch to the center of my chest. I wanted to cry. Instead, I hugged him and Delilah. I had to force myself to pull away. 

Later, Jeff noted that he was shocked that I hugged my kid.  It had been more than a year since I saw them. I drove across the country for that hug. 

In January, only a few weeks from now, Mike and Delilah had been scheduled to get married at our little newly completed resort - PurUvita - in Costa Rica. The plan had been for a small destination wedding on the beach. But then, Covid shut down everything and the world changed. For months, we debated pushing back the wedding until the edge of rainy season in April - hoping it would be safe to travel by then. But we all know how that's going. Finally, they decided to put the wedding on suspended hiatus. Who knows when it will happen.

Jeff and I made it to Pasadena Tuesday afternoon. We have driven across the country to stay in Los Angeles County - which, as we pulled up, had the highest infection rate in the country.  I saw Sean Penn say on the news that a person was dying here of Covid every three minutes. (Can this be true?) 

I felt like we had done an insane thing. Driving to Ground Zero of the Covid Crisis? What responsible person does that? But on Saturday, I read reports from back home that Pennsylvania briefly held the title for highest infection rate over the past seven days. There is no safe place anymore.

But our Airbnb is comfy and spacious for isolating. We have beautiful pool, but highs are in the mid-60s and it is too cold for swimming. (Spoiled by my winters spent in Costa Rica, I had failed to account for the fact that winter temperatures in the American south are not typically in the 80s and 90s.)

But just like I noticed when we drove around New York state in August, traveling isn't an escape from the drudgery of being stuck at home. Every interaction comes with it a complicated series of cost-benefit analyses with so many potential exposures to consider that it just becomes easier to give up and stay in.

We took a hike at Echo Mountain. But the trail is narrow and crowded with fellow hikers. Although unlike back home, almost everyone wore a mask while hiking. A refreshing change. But still, the hike posed a significant risk of exposure - masks or no masks. 

Mostly, we drove across the country to hang out in a house, watch movies on Netflix and Amazon Prime, and stuff ourselves with takeout. With Mike and Delilah. Which, all in all, isn't such a bad thing.

After lengthy discussions about what movies to watch, we decided on a theme of survival movies to provide the needed selection structure - and to keep Jeff from subjecting us to Mr. Pickles and other Adult Swim shows that are simply weird for weird's sake and that absolutely no one else who has been forced to watch them by Jeff has found them the least bit amusing - even one 12-year old boy. (Ed. Note: Rick and Morty, the sole exception, is hilarious. Oddly, Jeff does not find Rick and Morty to be engaging. Go figure.)

We watched Backcountry, Everest, The Perfect Storm and Castaway.  We fought over the characters and who was brave and who was lame. We ate Thai, sushi and pizza. We played with the tiny puppy "Apple" that Mike and Delilah are fostering and got our faces repeatedly licked and covered in puppy kisses. 

One Sunday, our last day before leaving, we tried to come up with something to do other than watch movies and eat leftovers. After going over our options - I suggested driving to Venice Beach, but which Jeff felt was too risky to be driving distances with everyone in the same car. So, we decided, once again, on movies and eating leftovers.

I'm happy. This isn't a movie. I didn't come here for some grand adventure. My son and Delilah are doing well. They are safe. This is why I came. 

We are surviving. 

Right now, this is all that matters.

.

20 Days on the Road

Hereford, Tx - Woke up in Clovis, NM at a Pilot Truck Stop bordering a feed lot. It was 16 degrees and I had to force myself out from under the large pile of blankets we depended on to keep us warm in the unheated van. As I walked back from the bathrooms in the pre-dawn, a frozen fog from the cattle’s bodies hung over the line of tractor trailers. The smell of urine hung in the air. Our van, wedged in a spot between the rigs, looked like a toy truck. 

It’s official. I’m over this. 

I want to be back home. It’s been two days since my last shower, with none planned in the immediate future. A week since I have washed my hair. I’ve been wearing the same sweater  - smelling of soy sauce and sushi - every day since I left Pasadena. News of the planned rightwing terrorist attacks across the country has me wanting to get off the road. I now feel vulnerable with every human interaction, not only due to Covid, but to violence as well. My hands are already numb from the short walk from the truck stop. I sigh and yank open the van door.

Two hours later, we are driving across the Texas panhandle through Hereford - “Beef Capital of the World!” Feedlots stretch out around us to the horizon. We see almost no sign of human life, just cattle.

On April 14, 1935, this vast stretch of land was hit with the Great Dust Storm, one of many during the 30s. 

One of the causes of these dust storms - in addition to poor farming methods -  was over-grazing of cattle and sheep, which left the land bare of natural grass and vegetation. Fueled by an economic boom in the 20s, new farmers flooded the region. And in the grand American tradition, refused to follow the scientific evidence on farming and soil conservation. 

According to the Texas State Historical Association, “When the black blizzards began to roll, one-third of the Dust Bowl region-thirty-three million acres-lay ungrassed and open to the winds.”

https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/dust-bowl

God is Love: A Desert Prophet's Message This is an unpublished piece from my cross-country journey 10 years ago. Just found it in my drafts.

I’ve been on a cross-country journey for the past several weeks, in which I visited with theWestboro Baptist Church clan in Topeka, Kansas, and attended Ted Haggard’s comeback church in Colorado Springs, Colorado. In addition, I’ve talked to many many people along the way about their faith and religion.

Most recently, I drove to Slab City, which is a forsaken piece of land out in the Colorado Desert near California’s Mexican border. People here say it’s the “last free place in America.” The site of a former military base, Slab City takes its name from the concrete slabs on which campers park. The state owns the land, but does not maintain it and people live here for free. There is no water, electricity or septic. Most of the people only come in the cooler winter months. But about 150 people, an incredibly hardy bunch, live here year round, braving temperatures that will climb to 130 degrees. It was 112 when I was there Saturday and Sunday.

At the entrance to Slab City is Salvation Mountain, an adobe mountain covered in bright paint and topped with a white cross.

Its creator is Leonard Knight, a desert prophet, an Elijah, who says God sent him here 30 years ago and commanded his Chevy dump truck to break down. While Knight was waiting to get his truck fixed, he thought he would spend a week building a little monument to God and Love. He never left.

Knight appears in Jon Krakauer’s book Into the Wild, as well as the movie by the same name, which is about Chris McCandless, a young free-spirit who spent time in Slab City. McCandless eventually starved to death in an abandoned bus in Alaska. Knight knew McCandless and he portrays himself in the movie.

Today, he is 79, still living on the outskirts of Slab City, hosting tours and providing his testimony for anyone who cares to listen. I think the fact that his message sounds so refreshing illustrates how crazy things have gotten in this country. He opposes war and he makes no judgments on anyone, but he doesn’t really want to talk about that. Rather, he just wants to talk about love. My favorite part of the video is when he tells me that his message is catching on - and that even some of the churches admit we should be talking about love instead of fighting.

Punching it for home

LOVES TRUCK STOP SOMEWHERE BETWEEN MEMPHIS AND NASHVILLE - Our final night in the van snuggled under the blankets. 

Temperatures in low 20s and our heater’s last canister just gurgled its final drop of propane.  

Tacos!

CLOVIS, NM - Searching for Mexican food for dinner, Jeff thinks briefly he has spotted a restaurant.