heathervescent

The Future of Cars and the Open Road

I’m not ready to give up the feeling of being behind a wheel, wind blowing my hair, driving at speed on the open road.

I contacted Alex Roy to talk with me about the future of cars. I learned about Alex years ago when he broke the Gumball 3000 record – driving from NY to LA in about 31 hours. I have to admit I was a little jealous of that road trip. I wanted to know Alex’s opinion about augmented driving technology. Was he willing to give up the wheel to a robot? Because I wasn’t.

Here's our podcast talking about the Future of Cars. We had so much fun discussing the future, this podcast inspired a SxSW panel submission which we provocatively titled: The Automotive Singularity is Not Near. If you want to hear more - vote for it! 

Our panel will discuss what we lose – and gain – when we switch to autonomous driving cars. What the transition might be like, and new problems and unintended consequences this technology might bring. 

Self-Driving Cars

Me and my dream car on Mt Wilson

I've watched the autonomous vehicles space for some time. I love my cars. I love driving. I love going fast over the speed limit, while considering the other drivers on the road. There is an emotional connection I feel when driving. I don't see this emotional aspect addressed in autonomous driving.

Cars were the first piece of technology that was an extension of my self. My hand on the stickshift, I feel the subtle vibrations of the road, the rpms, the engine. My fingers become the tires on the road. Sticky to the pavement. Don't even get me started on the diversity of road - concrete, blacktop, asphalt, gravel, sand and variety or gratings - metal or grooved, if you're lucky a railroad tie covered bridge in Iowa.

I drive a manual. I like having the control to place the car in a specific gear. Downshift for more power. Upshift to give the engine a break or for long roadtrips. My manual turbo has been good to me. I could take better care of her.

Recently, I focused my interest. As happened with money, relationships, intimacy and wearable technology, I am consuming everything on autonomous cars. Crystalizing my thoughts by talking with people. A few weeks ago, I interviewed Alex Roy for an upcoming podcast. I first heard about Alex from his notoriety blasting the Coast to Coast record. NY to LA in 31 hours.

(Sidenote: I deeply longed for those late nights on the unofficial Malibu track - Piuma, Stunt, Mulholland. Although I have not (and would not) attempt a cross-country record, I have a few speed stories of my own. Sidenote to the sidenote: speed with safety.)

If you're an early reader of this blog - you know I've written many words on my love of driving and roadtrips.

It will be no surprise, that I am skeptical about autonomous vehicles. Where is the passion? Why so much the focus on safety? The use case is, people want to get from A to B as safely as possible. I get that. But this whole paradigm forgets the passion, the identity, the experience of driving. It's part of America.

Will a self driving car give the same feeling I have when driving out the 62, 10pm, Milky Way overhead, a cool 78 degree wind whipping my hair? My hand on the stick, I feel the power engage as I downshift, and express itself as my foot presses the accelerator. Not to mention the sweet pause of disengagement when I engage the clutch and placing the gear softly in place, like falling into my temperpedic bed after a long day.

I concede that autonomous vehicles will be safer; but I'm afraid they'll kill the passion - the emotional experience I so deeply love.

How can we balance the benefits of technology to extend these emotional experiences?

 

Scenic Flights

I read this WSJ article today about scenic flights (h/t @daveharkins). Well, you know the Heathervescent has flown more than 100k miles this year and I have some opinions of my own! So here's a quick list of my top. You'll notice I quickly skew to Mountains and Deserts. 

• Utah. Utah is one of the most under rated scenic states in the US (for us local Americans). LAX to NY, LAX to Denver, or  LAX to Toronto all pass this gorgeous landscape. You'll catch birds eye views of Zion, Grand Staircase, Escalante, Capital Reef, Canyonlands and Arches (Moab). All in about an hour. It's the most gorgeous landscape gorging feast. I toast it every time.



• LAX to Denver/Colorado Springs: In addition to the Utah feast, you'll watch the rolling Rocky Mountains. 
• LAX to Austin/Denver/Texas: I love this route as it flies directly over my own property before passing over Arizona (Monument Valley!) and New Mexico. 
• Brussels to Bologna: The Alps. Need I say more?



• LAX from the East: Any flight coming into LAX from the East/MidWest flys over the Mojave, often over Death Valley herself. And the flights from Texas, they fly right over my property near 29 Palms.
• Rio to Lima: Although I was scammed out of my window seat for this flight, I caught glimpses of the amazing Bolivian Desert before flying over the Andes. Um, just wow. I am going to fly this route again with a window seat.
• The Clouds: I never tire of looking out the window. Here's a recent Thunderhead.

That's the short list for now. What are _your_ favorite flight routes?

Que Saudade and the Problema com Succeso

Note: This post was written, but not published, when I was in Rio de Janeiro.

I walk these city street at home as in Los Angeles. I love the black and white mosaics, the moist air, the breeze, the grand mountains of rock, the ocean waves. The language returns to my tongue, unspoken for over a decade. Its sounds are hot and salty on my lips, I twist the words improperly, with my american "soutake" and mis-conjugated verbos. But my passion is there.

I had forgetten. How could I have forgotten? Forgotten the joy, to forget the longing.

--

Walking back after midnight from the Copacabana night market, I decided to pass by a certain corner I had written up in my Rio de Janeiro guidebook 12 years ago. It was across the street from my beachfront apartment. It had a cool little bar and boteco. Imagine my shock! when I saw the tiny local place with barely 6 seats had quadrupled in squarefootage becoming a pizzeria. Taking over the little bar with the Marlene Dietrich shrine. Bright lights.

My heart died. I thought... I did this. I personally contributed to this reality.

God DAMN, Heather! You did not THINK of the impact of putting these things into a popular guidebook! I kept walking into Ipanema, beating myself up for my lack of consciousness, for my inability to see this possibility 12 years ago. I kept thinking about success and failure. Which was worse? Wondering how and when things happened. Did the bar owner sell out and start a new bar elsewhere (quietly)? Obviously the botequim was doing well, they had expanded. The business was good. I suppose that was good - for the business.

But still... as I walked the empty after midnight streets in Ipanema, a single woman, alone, wearing platform fluevogs, wondering what I would find in the shadows, realizing I had nothing to fear, because I was one of them.

The Stars My Destination

"I took. I went and took. What did I leave in return? My change."

Tornado powered me 15 thousand miles. Across the great plains into the concrete jungles of New York. Across the North Atlantic to European countryside with fields, cows and wind power windmills. Skirting the edge of Europe and Africa before traversing the Atlantic once more, to the Southern Hemisphere to a favorite dream land. 

In darkness I landed. I remembered my first (terrified) time in this airport almost 20 years earlier. Different this time. No fear walking the Copacabana midnight streets. In Rio the tornado changed, shifted, transformed. A phoenix rose from the tornado calm: a blue stone wrapped in silver gold, etched with a symbol. Symbols.

The tornado powered me once more; from the South American Atlantic to the Pacific. Walking the streets of Lima with a friend, a one who is unlike any other, crystallized the fate of the tornado. Transformation, but not death. A symbol, for one and many, appeared in the calm center.

It's this symbol I returned with to Los Angeles. A symbol Los Angeles is most know for. Full circle perfection. 

Caressing a City

It's freaking cold, probably only 50 degrees or so, but for someone who doesn't own a winter coat, that's cold enough. I'm bundled up, wearing layers, sweaters, gloves, hat, scarf. I'm walking around the East Village. I'm taking it in. Running a finger along the edge of this city. 

Over drinks, in passing conversations I question. I'm gathering research, experiences, impressions. Tapping out the studs while admiring the wallpaper. Some tell me I'll never crack the essence of NYC. The vibe, the experience. But I'm not shooting to understand all in 7 days; just identify the pathways to unfolding, walk a bit down them, caressing with my presence, awareness, observations. Identify the anchor points.

I learn, see, understand as I probe. Then it's enough and I go back into the city. Walking her streets, dark, gritty, dirty streets. Finding my way (easily) through mazes and tunnels. Trains. Watching people. As individuals. As mass. I'm them too. The wind blows (cold), chill with Autumn. I lift my head, open my nostrils and deeply inhale. Taking the cold scent into my lungs. The city gives me what I am looking for, embracing me back.

Urban Camping Exploration

With begrudging excitement I zipped through traffic on the 405. Shifting up and down the gears as I defragged the freeway, playing a game I call threading the needle. A final zip into the parking garage before the parking break and clip clop of fluevogs on pavement. I left my race driver persona along with my keys with the attendant. 

I'm embarking on an adventure I have been calling Urban Camping. 

Let me explain. While staying with some friends in San Francisco I was looking for some easy exercise. Rosie suggested I do some urban hiking, which was basically going on a hike in the city. My destination was Mt Davidson - the highest point in San Francisco - and I did some serious hill climbing to get up there. I decided to take the concept farther with my next New York trip.

New York is a weird place for an Angelino like me. I've traveled through the City often enough. I've had more than one SO hailing from the place. But I always thought of myself as from the wild west, riding my iron horse, big sky mountain range Mojave vistas. I turned my nose up to the Big City. It could offer me nothing my Queen of Angels couldn't provide in bounty. Besides, I wasn't convinced New York was a modern city. It was an old piece of machinery, well greased, but built and representing an old paradigm. 

Ok, so I had some baggage. 

And when I find baggage, I proceed to unpack it, assimilate it and/or throw it out. What better time to challenge my assumptions?

In my mind, I'm packing for the desert. I've got my camping gear, my hiking gear, warm weather clothes, serious footwear, my morning coffee ritual needing only boiling water, which for urban camping is an electric teakettle. My mind is open, I'm leaving judgements behind, the space for possibilities exists. Unknown possibilities. Wildcards in my mind.

Midnight arrival. I immediately feel the press of humanity. Discombobulated. Setting up camp at 1am is never much fun, especially if you haven't been to the campsite before. Fitful night of sleep. No coyote calls. No stars at night, but the lights are bright and brilliant far into the sky. Morning coffee calms, complete with my Vietnamese Cinnamon. I meditate on clothing selections for the upcoming hike: Times Square via Subway from Brooklyn.

I hesitate for a moment, take a breath, charge my metro card, then jump. There will be only a short time of new, fumbling, discovering. Eventually we will know each other. I ask the Queen of Angels to forgive my absence. I have never loved a city like I love her. But we haven't seen much of each other recently. New York calls, as does London, Brussels, San Francisco. Cities of past adventures, returning to the spotlight. What can I do but acquiesce? Explore possibilities. Cultivate curiousity.

I ride the subway. I walk. I take elevators. Everywhere people. I look at the view. I study maps. I start to understand the land, coated with humanity, our efforts. I watch balloons rise in the towers of air, between towers of steel and glass. I start to recognize. To familiarize. Things stop being new. I'm starting to unpeel the layers. To feel the pulse. To adapt. I hear the proto-words whispered, the proto-language of the city. I respond with affection, exploration, calm presence. We've got time to know each other. To enjoy the unfolding.

 

 

A Travel Poem

I'm translating the hours from three different zone.  An exercise in time travel, as I move backwards and forward in time. In my mind, I hold the vision of my home city. Is she wearing the Vanilla Sky or Neon Sparkles? I do not miss her. I am her beyond her boundaries.

I walk streets. I navigate people. I pretend to be a tourist. I pretend to be local. I meet with friends, old and new, eating way too many steaks and mushrooms and glasses of wine. I'm trying to understand. Understand this entity that is called a city. People. Humanity. We create I. I creates WE.

I'm from the frontier. Space. Wide fields. Open Mojave landscapes, naked mountains. I have been the single human within a 30 square mile radius. This city rising into the sky is strange to me. I set my strangeness aside. I decide to be comfortable. To drink deeply. To breath it in. I give my rational mind a vacation. The freedom to stop thinking about how to solve, do or understand logically - to feel. To feel with my body.

I'm enjoying the cool. A thunderstorm rolls across Manhattan, lightning strikes, rain falling on the rivers. Stray drops as I walk the streets. Later, to my delight, getting caught in a torrential downpour. The cold water soaks my non-raincoat. My leather fluevogs turn a darker shade of grey. A chill goes down my spine. There's nothing to do but enjoy. Enjoy - I do. After the thunder, the tension released, is always the sun; blazing bright on an empty Sunday motorway. The morning comes, the perspective is expanded. I move into the day in a different city, bringing with me, my memories, connections across the globe.

Caressing with Eyes

I open the shades just in time for the rockies. I'm above the earth again. My flight trajectory is taking me across my favorite landscapes: the Colorado Rockies, Southern Utah and the California Deserts. I've had the good fortune of watching this landscape from the air a lot recently. 

I'm glued to the window, a glass of sparkling water at my elbow, the soundtrack Bjork's possibly maybe/hyperballad covering up the droning engines. I feast my eyes, recognizing Pike's Peak to the southeast, Aspen's shaved ski slopes on the mountain just below me. I remember a fast drive on Interstate 70 below me - and a favorite roadtrip moment.

We pass over Moab - I see scratched red rocks. I remember two conversations in this natural land. Who calls into a business conference call from Arches National Park? (One guess.) As I view this landscape from above, I remember the view from below. I first discovered it during my Great American Roadtrip. My mindblowing drive along the Colorado River, hitting my high speed at 7am on a desolate Utah road, winding up and around Capitol Reef, Dixie National and Escalante/Grand Staircase. 

I see the same land from a different perspective and it is just as beautiful - mindblowing. In rock I see the roil of boiling water. I imagine a movable landscape, fluid rock, spewing Volcanoes. I imagine the crust under a shallow sea. 

These landscapes, formed in geological time remind me of the long term. Remind me of the long line of the past, the trajectory of the future, and the tiny moment of the present. It doesn't make me feel small though. It vitalizes me. It makes me love this time on earth - and feasting upon the gorgeousness of the land. 

Your's Truely on the Grandstand in Death Valley's Racetrack.

On the Road

I'm the passenger on a 14 hour drive from desert to desert. The wind blows through the car, kicking up the fine dust that covers everything. I haven't showered in 5 days, but I'm clean thanks to moist towelettes. It's all part of the ritual. The end of the year, the beginning of the new one. Christmas morning and NYE wrapped in a week of hard camping in a difficult environment. 

But it's over. I'm headed back to reality.

14 hours. Hot sun on my lap, burning through my dust soaked pants. I read chicken john's book as we leave the desert, enter the mountains, view Mono Lake and skirt the eastern edge of the Sierras. My colleague and I, we trade stories about places of interest on this road. Previous adventures. We've traveled part of it together before. There was that bar from that race years ago.

I enjoy road trips with him. We can be silent. We can talk. I love his taste in music, his ipod playlists. We sing along. I'm no musician, he's accomplished. I take in the scenery, I listen to songs I haven't heard in ages. The sun sets painting pink across the desert sky. We're at the place the Sierras dissolve into Southern California deserts. We pass the California City exits - a failed 50s future dream. I'm reminded of my many roadtrips on the other side of this road, my NorCal adventures into the magical mojave and Joshua Tree deserts. Chocolate cake and plastic bags.

We look forward to the cool Los Angeles weather, but are disappointed by the 90+ degrees after dark. Entering the bladerunner landscape. I'm left at my door with two dusty bags, a thanks. We both have months of work ahead of us. Socializing is done. The drive is over. We have returned to our city and our many lives.

End of an Era

The jagged hills hold back the horizon. Jet fighters outlined in the sky. All is dust. Temperatures well over 100. I descend from the sky into a town a have come to love. Stepping in the space between the airplane and jetway I am assaulted with the heat. I breath deep. My pores open. We navigate to the hotel. I recommended my local favorite - which happens to be almost 100 years old with a lot of history. We check in, collect our brass keys and meet Tiger, the bartender in the Tap Room. 

Later in my room, I'm finishing up the collage. I have looked through these pictures for hours the past two weeks. Meeting a different side of my aunt - who was like another grandparent to me. 

Chapel Service. White marble mausoleum. The sound of birds chirping in the heat. The priest arrives, dons his white robes. His sunglasses left laying on the altar. Candles are lit. I sweep my eyes across the lawn of green dotted by brown stone and colorful vases. I pause upon the names. I quietly consider some for my screenplay characters, names from a different era. 

A bird flys in, swooping low and then up. It's then I notice the tiny bird screeching. There's a nest of baby birds in the (open air yet shaded) chapel. I see their triangle beaks opening and closing as momma bird returns to feed them. 

It's a solemn moment. The music stops, the service begins. So many metaphysical thoughts. Conflicting philosophies. Beliefs. Yet all exist simultaneously. I look at the faces of those around me. I surprisingly recognize many from the pictures I have studied. I'm happy to know so many of them have pictures in the collage.

The ceremony closes. We say our last goodbyes. Beliefs thick in the hot air. We have our final celebrations. Return to our air conditioned cars, then the airport. The runway blurs under acceleration. The lift. Off the wing, a full moon rises in the desert dusk. Pale ivory in the pastel sky. (Nothing can compare to a full desert moon rising in the dusk.) Jagged desert mountain ranges silhouetted in the falling light.

The desert has recieved her and shines bright on a full life.

My Favorite Roadtrip Moment

There is one single series of moments that is always my favorite in every roadtrip.

Most of time I'm a solo individual on the highway. I admit, I tend to drive towards the faster end of the spectrum. My recent roadtrip to Texas cajoled me into a high speed comfort zone. Here's the vision: me in my swedish "born from jets" black turbo convertible winking at the pickups. If one passed me, I'd peer up to see what was on the dash. I had to give up the Valentine One when the boyf got the speedier vehicle, but I can recognize the device. When I'd see one in a truck speeding by, I'd increase my speed and fall into their groove. There's a sense of camaraderie driving with a pack at [redacted] speed. The creation of an ad hoc community formed by the shared value of speed. Individuals identified only by make, model and color. A vehicular tango.

I am always filled with sadness and spent adrenaline when our paths inevitably part.

I had a particularly wonderful engagement with a pickup in Colorado several years ago. We zipped through the rockies, threading the needle with the slower cars. I was hours ahead of schedule. Just after we crossed into Utah, he headed south while I continued west. As our engagement ended, we rolled down our windows and waved as we drove further apart. Although I never knew his name and we never spoke a word, hell - I never saw what he looked like; we connected on another level. Our tires tread the same hot pavement. The memory of those moments are as fresh as yesterday.

Goodbye stranger, it's been nice. Thanks for joining me, for miles in paradise.

Thanks to Jordan for this lovely picture.

Frying Pan Salad

The headlights barely make out twenty feet into the mist filled darkness on enchanted forest road.  We've spent all day getting here. On airplanes, in cars, across the great water on a ferry filled with cars. We end up at a remodeled fishing cabin, waves lapping upon the rock beach.

The night is pitch black. The moisture sucks the light. Unlike my clear desert nights, full of sharpened stars. The moisture permeates everything. Seafoam green moss drips from bare trees, vibrant green moss grows up tree trunks and across forest floors. 

I spend time in kitschy cabins. In one, a brass eagle, wings spread, escapes from a frame. In another a giant 3 feet diameter "frying pan" hangs near the wood burning stove. The kitchen is a challenge. At least 4 cooks prepare contributions for the group meal. Two of us rummage through the cabinets for a bowl big enough for an 18 person salad. None is to be found. 

Suddenly, the three foot diameter frying pan appears in the kitchen. It's been removed from the peg on the wall. We clean it as best we can and proceed to fill it with lettuces, tomatoes, peppers, avocados and other veggies. It takes up a good third of the Thanksgiving sized dining table.

Outside, the grass is moist and cool. Fresh and clean. My skin soaks in the water. My soul soaks in the expansion. I can't help but think about the future.  Watching the ripples in the water. Shades of grey in an overcast sky. Green-black mountain outlines.  A black  bobbing head. 

Something inside me has changed. I've got new focuses for 2011. Echoes and voices I've suppressed - put off. Things must shift and change. And they are.

Drinking from the Same Font

I wrote about influence earlier. Drinking from the same font sometimes looks like influence, but is decidedly not.

Several years ago, when I first began blogging, I was constantly compared to a certain well-known blogger. It was uncanny how similar our topic focuses were. It irked me to no end that I was so often compared to her, because part of my core identity is authentic uniqueness. I am not happy being one in a million. I want to be one for all time. I want there to be no one remotely like me now, in the past, or the future. A pattern unrepeatable. So, you can see that, even though those people were just trying understand me, they pissed me off.

The comparison caused me to go more underground. If I had joined forces, I could have become one in my own right (and I did some secret collaboration).

In retrospect, I realize we were drinking from the same font. There was no cross-pollination. No cross-influencing. We each arrived at the same font from different paths.

Enlightenment Hierarchy

We were joking around a few weeks ago, my colleagues and teachers. I was jesting that I was really getting in tune with my asshole self (after a series of completely fucked up non and mis-communications that painted me in the biggest asshole picture possible.) Instead of blaming someone else's lack of communication or understanding on the mis-hap, I just owned my assholeness. Someone quipped that you could see my teacher's discipline for exact body placement as bitchiness, which she duly owned and played up. If your foot is off 1 millimeter, believe me, you will hear about it. (Used to drive me crazy!)

After our conversation I got thinking. About a messed up hierarchy of enlightenment. Whereas after certain years of diligence you reach the asshole level. Then if you continue to work hard, you can reach the bitch level. And then if you dedicate your life and work really hard, you can finally reach the top level: Self-Righteousness.

I like to think of it as the backward walk to enlightenment. Hell, I've been enlightened for almost a decade or more and where has it gotten me? I still have to deal with all the same shitty people in the world. And now, I get to see with such clarity when I am a shitty individual myself. Whoo-wee! I'm an enlightened self-righteous bitchy asshole!

You'd better get out of my way and drive!

ps. Enlightenment is not something that is attained once and for all, but practiced and revealed.

Coyote Fear

I am constantly amazed at how resilient we humans are - and yet so fragile. How beautifully contradictory.

As the boyf was out of of town, I decided to take the opportunity to spend some quality time in the desert at LoriLisa, my little scrap of Mojave wasteland. I knew it was going to be hot: 90+ degree hot, but I was not dismayed. My plan was to work in the evenings and mornings and lay low during the hot afternoon. 

I headed out early afternoon on Friday in time to arrive for a spectacular combination sunset and moon rise. Truly only planetary bodies can compete with the expansive geological scale of the desert. Mountain ranges eroded into prehistoric effluvial plains. It was over one of these ranges a blue-ivory moon rose from the desert haze. I was racing the clock. Flooring the pedal that flogged my combustion engine faster. I could not reach my destination fast enough.

Behind me the I saw the red-orange rays of the sun setting behind a past range. In a moment, the pavement gave way to sand and my tires kicked up a line of dust as I headed to the far edge of this sparsely populated civilization. We were bumping and jumping through the washes and fish-tailed the back tires a bit just for fun. 

The tires stopped, the radio silent, I stepped out into the cooling desert.

 * * *

We sat in my front yard, splayed out on a retired bedspread watching the planets shine and the moon rise, getting smaller and whiter as the night progressed. That's when the coyote's started their howling. I had forgotten to pack my pistol and had only my small knife on me. When packing for the trip, I had considered exit strategies for mere human (redneck/meth-head) predators - and had completely forgotten about natural ones. It was a lesson in city living. It's gotten to me. I felt tamed. 

Out in these places I have heard the lone or two coyotes calling out his brethren, often far far in the distance. Not this time. This was a large pack - I would expect at least 7 or more. And it sounded VERY near. Intertwined with the coyote's barks and howls, I could hear a dog. It was easy to hear the difference. I expected the pack to visit LL any moment. For hours the coyotes barked in the near-distance. We watched and listened to the desert, no safety of the firelight. (I had opted against a fire because the moon was so bright.)

The planet set and the moon carved an ecliptic pathway across the sky, outshining the milky way and all but the brightest stars. The howling subsided and that's when I noticed the strange rasping sound of the wind in the creosote bushes. My vision was shifting and everything took on an underwater illuminated pointillism.

Moonshadows lept from my fence posts, my house, my legs. I was not quite brave enough to do my midnight walkabout - one of my plans for the evening - with that pack of coyotes and my pistol left at home. So I strayed not far from my land. 

The wind caressed my skin - soft warm and comforting. The upside of an unbearable desert day is a warm night. What does one do out here, I pondered? What can one do, but watch and think and see and listen and be silent. To be present. To feel the wind. To see the moon shadows. To hear the coyotes. To smell the air. To taste fear and comfort. To be present in the moment for hours.

Escaping from Hollywood, I mean, Berkeley, part 3

It was the open road and desert vistas as we followed the green and yellow roadster through Death Valley into Pahrump. There was some final scavenging on the outskirts while the petrol cars filled up. (What irony would it have been to run out of gas following the non-petro cars?) Then, in an instant, we were in civilization and stuck in bumper to bumper traffic on the Vegas Strip.

I looked up at the Casinos and construction cranes as we arrived at the neon finish line. Later in the evening three cars were lined up outside. Everyone was cleaned up and ready for the awards ceremony. Celebrations and libations aside, road weary, the night ended.

Only to wake up the next morning with destination Hollywood via Baker, Barstow and San Bernadino. My eyes watching the dirt desert roads, remembering other times on this road. Silence. Music. Conversation. Return. Refreshed. Creativity rejuvenated. Inspired.

This trip reminded me how important it is to think BIG. To follow your passions, your dreams. The experience of the unknown, when the challenge is put forth.

(Read part 1 and 2.)

Escaping from Hollywood, I mean, Berkeley, part 2

The mountains were snow-topped and the air was crisp. My boots crunched in the dirt and my eyes alighted on a car that looked out of time. It was the Lotus Prisoner, a two-seater open air roadster that looked like it was from the last century with the exception of running off of cooking oil.

I walked over to oogle and learn more about the car. The owner, Jack, was from Oregon and we chatted at length about his car. Jack had a great sense of humor, but it was unfortunately lost upon me. The race was the prisoner's first trip, as his previous Lotus was totaled a few months earlier. Later in Vegas, he took me on a spin in it and told me the time he drove under a semi-tractor trailer. (Yes, the car is small enough to do that.)

Back at the Lone Pine, the green team, rolled up and I finally laid eyes on the wood burning truck I've been reading about. Wayne and his team came from Alabama stopping and showing off the truck along the way to Berkeley. I was most impressed that there was a _second_ word burning truck on a trailer. This team was dedicated and friendly.

There were rumors as to where a third contender was. The Homeschool Heros were in either Lee Vining or north of Bishop. It was unclear. Apparently some really dirty fryer oil had clogged the fuel intake in the diesel Mercedes. It was unknown whether they would make it to Vegas. We watched the two contenders take off, one headed south straight for Vegas, while the other headed north back into Lone Pine to scavenge some oil.

When I originally heard about this race, the scavenging for fuel requirement really caught my eye. It was what I thought might make the challenge impossible. It was also what I found most fascinating and at the same time realistic. I had the opportunity to follow the Prisoners on the third day and watch them scavenge for cooking oil on numerous occasions.

I won't give away their secrets, but I was fascinated by how simple it was. A bargaining. A way to interact with people from each town they went through. People loved learning about the car, and the race and when they learned they needed fuel, everyone jumped at the chance to be part of it.

Fuel procured, we were on the road and traveled through some of the most beautiful land in the world (by my opinion) - Death Valley.

Escaping from Hollywood, I mean, Berkeley, part 1

When I read about Jim Mason's "Escape from Berkeley" race from one of his email newsletters, I didn't think it would actually work. It was audacious and novel. It appealed to my love of cars and racing, the desert and mountains, and preparing for the apocalypse.

I secretly followed the updates, watching with anticipation, the growing interest and development. In the back of my mind, I had no doubt that I would see this incredible event first-hand. But I did nothing to further that vision. Content to follow from afar. Memories and extrapolations sated my wanderlust.

Then the world shifted, and a door appeared, where there had been none. I opened it and sat down in the front seat of Brian's station wagon. Brian, a judge for the event, was in the middle of one of his crazy travel schedules. (I'm constantly impressed where I hear he's been or going or is.) So here I was, saying yes, to come along as his sidekick.

We rolled out of Hollywood Sunday afternoon and headed North to Lone Pine. The desert scenery was a fresh breath of air and sitting shotgun as we talked, I realized some things about myself. I've been focusing my intensity on fewer things = those things getting more heather intensity than they can stand. I need creative outlets for this intensity, these passions, to express the craziness that lives in this fragile body. The flexibility and freedom to take adventures, which feed my soul.

We arrived in Lone Pine just after the Annual Film Festival Parade and the town was full of people dressed old time cowboy clothes - complete with noisy spurs, vests and cowboy hats. We killed time walking around the town - we killed 7 hours - mostly in the local bar, watching folks play pool and listening to their pics on the jukebox.

Apparently day 2 had not been good to the racers. Tioga Pass was closed and one team took the north route to Bishop and the others had taken the south route through Bakersfield. Most of us were passed out before the teams rolled into the checkpoint for the evening.

Day 3 started with hot coffee and soft gooey cinnamon rolls from the Alabama Hills Cafe. I love local diners and this one was really top. I talked to the owner who filled me in on the weekend film festivities and filled me in on the local terrain. Then we headed over to the starting point to check out the cars. I missed the start of the race in Berkeley, (I escaped from Berkeley 4 years ago) so this was my first introduction to the cars. There were two of them.

Happy Birthday Bruce

A morning text message reminded me that it's Bruce Chatwin's Birthday. I'm deep in his Australian desert  adventure - which reminds me of my own dream to motorcycle across Australia (although at this point I am willing to trade it in for a Land Cruiser).

That reminds me of something I said several years ago - something about having a kid and then heading into the bush after 3 years in LA. I'm in the middle of that 3 years. I've had my metaphorical kid and it's growing up just fine. And now Australia calls again. Will this be the year for 40 days in the desert? Oh, I hope so.

By the way - Happy Birthday Bruce. You continue to inspire me.

1300 mile highlights

Eight hundred miles in the past three days. (A total of 1300 in the past week.) Three states. Many states of mind. Much stimulation of the brain. Meeting new people. Getting to know acquaintances better. There are not enough words in my exhausted brain to even begin describing all that transpired the past seven days. I returned to Los Angeles a few hours ago - a car full of packages and a bit more worn for the wear. Both my fog lights were blown out Friday night after hitting a raccoon just outside of Sedona and a rabbit about 30 minutes south of the Hoover Dam.

I will try to pull out some snippets from my memory.

Most recently I returned from Death Valley this afternoon after a sleepless night filled with stars and conversations. A friend brought up two concepts I realized during our conversing I don't really know or use: Mercy and Happiness. I am not motivated to live my life with Happiness in mind. I have other emotions that motivate me. And about Mercy, well, it never even occurred to me. I don't think I even know what Mercy is. I generally wield the ax of justice and it definitely severs relationships. So this concept of pondering mercy and how to be more merciful, is intriguing and something I will meditate on - and perhaps practice.

Hiking at dusk in Sedona. I wanted to go to a magical place and instead the trail I chose went along an Indian resort. I was irritated and frustrated. It was getting dark, and it was not my idea at all to drive 5 hours to Sedona only to be surrounded by the sounds of cars and air conditioning and civilization when I was supposed to be in a magical place. I guess the Indians need to make a living too.

When I stopped to catch my breath on the trail at the twisted juniper right where the sign was posted "You are on camera, so don't jump the fence you stinky hikers" complete with industrial lights destroying the natural darkness. I spied a ledge - right in the middle of the light. I had a flash of inspiration and went straight to the spot - straight in the middle of the spotlight under the surveillance cameras and proceeded to meditate upon being in the spotlight. And so, instead of fighting my self about NOT being in the spotlight because that's not where I thought I wanted to be, I understood why I need to be in the spotlight because that is really where I must be. Inner conflict resolved.

I can't even begin to express how much the conference I attended in Tucson effected me. Over the next few days I'll try to write up some notes. I attended the conference to learn more about what science is doing around the study of understanding and explaining consciousness and the human brain. I left with the beginnings of a new language and awe for ourselves and awe for science. I plan to explore my interest in this subject more and more in the coming years.

I love driving in the desert at night. I put the top down and looked at the stars, felt the wind in my face as I drove back from the official conference dinner Thursday night at the Desert Museum. I put on Orbital Blue Album and took in the wind, driving fast and taking the curves. I am happiest at the wheel of my car, alone on a dark two lane twisty highway. My car is an extension of my body - I feel the vibrations of my tires on the road through my stick and wheel. I listen to the motor as I increase RPMs and slow down, shifting accordingly for speed or coast.

I wondered, why does this make me so happy? To be alone, a bullet speeding along. But then I stop thinking and enjoy the ride. This is truly something I love.

I felt the same way when I came upon the Hoover dam past midnight. I had spent hours driving through Arizona. Napoleon Hill was speaking to me in those midnight hours (and when the rabbit met her death under my wheel). I passed through the check point and then was upon the dam. A huge bright lit construction was being built above me. I was in awe at modern engineering. I slowed and looked at the new bridge. It was beautiful and massive.

A moment later I crested a hill and a city of twinkling lights unfolded below me. It was beautiful. And for once in my life I saw the beauty of Las Vegas. I found my way to the Strip and a posh hotel filled with friends. A strong difference of my last days in the desert.

There are many more stories to write. Many more things I want to share with you - my anonymous readers. But tonight I sleep. For tomorrow another adventure begins and I must tend to my dreams.

Checkmark Carkill: Another dream come true

• 20 hours in the car +
• A private ranch outside of Reno +
• Practicing my stunt car moves on a dry lake bed +
• Enough guns and ammo for a Hollywood blockbuster +
• 5 cars with death written all over them +
• The usual assortment of fire accelerators =
• A dream come true.

Recap 2007: A Year of Pimping and Promoting

I knew 2006 was going to be a hard year to follow. I didn't even try to come up with a goal as big as "to kick ass" for 2007, because I thought there was no way I could even come close. Instead 2007 was the year of 007- double triangle - the Jesus Year.

My goals were to 1) find my reason for existence; 2) pimp and promote; 3) simplify; and 4) create. At the bottom of list in my 2007 guidebook I found this in my own handwriting: "Rally myself into an unstoppable brand." I find that humorous. My only specific goal was to spend 40 days in the desert, because hey - it's the Jesus year, right? I didn't hit that one. I just couldn't take myself away from my projects for 40 days. So how did I do? Pretty awesome actually. Specifics after the jump.

Inspiration

Brian Johnson who started Zaadz a couple years ago is again working on his own site: ThinkArete. It's got some good stuff and big ideas.

Heather is currently offline

I'll be back online September 4th. Until then, have some fun!

Stunt School Videos

Here's my practice run: (See more videos here)

Stunt Driver Weekend!

Well, this week has been extremely busy, exciting, filled with lots of yumminess... so much so, that I have forgotten to mention (well this week at least) that tomorrow I AM GOING TO STUNT CAR SCHOOL!!!!!!!!

Can you tell how excited I am? I have been planning, dreaming of this weekend for 5 years. Five years! FIVE YEARS!!!

Will the weekend live up to my anticipation? I sure hope so. Maybe this is the beginning of a career in moovies. Or as a member of a secret subversive society. I'll be sure to share my feelings over the weekend. Squeeling tires and spinning wheels - here I come!

San Francisco, Carving a Groove

I'm north again. I came to have some meetings and attend wordcamp. I'm honestly not sure why I'm attending wordcamp. I think it was just an excuse to get me up here again, although it's been great seeing peeps and getting the wordcampy lowdown. The weather is gorgeous. It is windy and cool. I'm not used to this cool undertone. I've missed the wind.

The city seems so empty. Where are all the people. It seems so relaxed and laid back. Almost like a small town. Why do I see it like this? Was it like this before? Am I remembering differently? Or has it changed? Or have I changed? Am I uptight again? One-track focused speeding at the speed of light? (Oh yes, most definitely I am moving at the speed of light.)

I just returned from a midnight ride to the east bay (and back). The freeways are the way I remembered. Those grooves I carved so long ago, still there. I was able to slip back into them. And at the same time, the grooves were not the same.

I spent many hours on the bay bridge. Mostly when the toll was a mere buck (it's $4 now! yikes!). I realized as I was speeding back to SF tonight, that I'm carving a new groove. That that's the reason I'm back in SF. To carve this new groove. It's going to take some time - I will be back. But there's always a bushwhacker that paves the way for the trail, that eventually becomes a dirt road, a paved freeway, an information superhighway to infinity (and beyond).

San Francisco, I am soaking up your sweet wind, your little puffy clouds of fog, your live oak and hills of green. I am a sponge. The desert, we need these reminders, we need your shower of information rain.

Unicorns and Religion

How did I miss the Invisible Pink Unicorns? (All this time I have been talking about invisible pink elephants...) Unicorns on wikipedia. And more invisible pink unicorns?

The Invisible Pink Unicorn logo represents atheism.
It is a fusion between the mathematical void symbol and the stylized representation of an unicorn.
The void symbol (empty set Ø) is an allusion to nothingness and in this case meaning "no faith" or "no god". The unicorn is a reference to a kind of story that atheists often tell to make their point.

Very delightful - but I am far far far from being an atheist. In fact, I had a delightful conversation with two Christian missionarys when I was in Sedona. The part that freaked me out the most (but really didn't freak me out that much) was that I could completely understand and agree with most of what they were saying. In fact, I live my life pretty much exactly the way they live their life. The big exception, I don't think Jesus is the only bridge. The other exception, I have no interest in going to heaven (or hell for that matter) I have my eye set on something .... else. The other exception, I don't quote from the bible (although I was quite interested in what they were quoted and totally understood the point of the quotes).

I do believe that I speak a different "religion", "spiritual" language. The problem is, I can speak many languages... but people don't all speak my language. That's ok, because I have a direct link/line to "G-d" which I call something different.

My favorite part of the conversation was when we were talking about good and evil and they were telling me how deceptive Satan was and I said, exactly, the whole concept of good and evil is a deception (because well it is). It is a method to distract us and get us to play on sides against each other - when really we're all one big thing. The deception is that there is no good and evil (and yet, there is most definitely good and evil).

Anyway, talking with them crystallized my possible explanation of this paradox (at least in my mind). Back to the circle with a dot in the center. Or, when you peel all the layers of the onion- where is the onion? (ps, it's the layers)

Traveling Men

I recently came across another group of guys on a travel adventure. It's the ScootStars. Two guys travel across the US on 49cc scooters!

Add them to this growing list of travelers with a cause...

• Tuxedo Travels
• Project Pedal
• ScootStars

Rock on guys! Sounds like you're channeling Bruce Chatwin or Che! I'm excited to see how things turn out!

600 miles, 122 degrees

The temperature fluxuated from 59 to 122. I hit 122 just south of Tecopa in Death Valley. There was no one on the road. Just me and the heat. My air conditioning was set at 82 and that felt like an ice blast. I hit the 59 on Oak Creek Canyon on my way out of Sedona. Top was down and I put on my driving gloves and heated seat. I snapped a final shot of the red rocks. The waning moon was watching over my twisted mountain driving.

I took a circuitous route. Flagstaff (to which I internally chuckled, since Bjork was singing "Raise your flag, higher, higher") as I navigated the pavement and concrete byways north to west. Route 66 took me through Peachtree and Valentine, former an Indian town and the latter a gorgeous rocky area with a boarded up school. I dreamt of buying the town and turning the school into a club. The rocks reminded me of my gorgeous Joshua Tree Mojave land. Then off to Kingman, where I gassed up, bought some cool water and stopped at a little rockhound stores. Picked up some purple stones and headed to Nevada.

I have had Amargosa on my to visit list for a while and here I was a mere hundred miles or so from it. I also wanted to check out Pahrump (lots of motorcycle race events are held here) and possibly Tecopa (standing water in Death Valley!). However after 5+ hours and 300 or so miles I had to bail on Amargosa. I took the turn off to Tecopa and was rewarded with a blank slate of pavement and the raw heat on blistering rocks. For a moment fear rose in my throat. It's been over 115 for the past 4 hours, I've been driving my car to the bone with not a complaint (except for that rock chipping my windshield south of Prescott, AZ). Last time I was in Death Valley the truck died and my colleague in adventure and I hitch/hiked to the nearest phone to call in for help. I did not want to repeat that adventure.

When the temperature hit 120, I rolled down my windows. In 10 seconds the heat circled through the car. Scrolling through the radio gave a Billy Corgan Smashing Pumpkins rock block! Empty roads, whiny white boy rock and heat gave my eyes their favorite delight - prehistoric landscapes. Land not touched by man. My eyes flicked from dune to mudflat to rock pile to mountain of rock. Creosote bushes gave the only color until Tecopa palms flooded the grey with green!

For a moment I considered I stopping at the hot springs (and taking a refreshing splash?!) but I headed south to the Mad Greek's swarma and carrot/orange juice. Then it was a few short hours until I hit the cool double digit Los Angeles area. I rolled into Hollywood just as the sunset painted colors across the sky.

It was a fabulous Independence Day Drive.

Declare Independence

For the past two days I have had Bjork in my head. C put it there and it won't get out. But that's ok, because it's the theme song for today: Declare Independence.

And in a few moments I will pack up MsVescent, put the top down and we will drive away from this land of red rocks. It's my Independence Day Drive through the desert!

I'm excited because I'm taking a northern route and swinging through Nevada. I may hit up Death Valley and most definitely the Mojave National Preserve. It's too bad I'm not in an offroad vehicle, because the backcountry roads I know and love best are gonna be right off the pavement. Another time.

Desert Driving, Sedona Cicada

a few choice memories from yesterday
- top down on the 10 driving heat speed
- goosebumps on my flesh when 95 on my tempeture gague and speedometer met. Was it the adreneline? the wind?
- hot desert drive, up to 116
- lunch stop in blythe
- off the beaten trail
- twisted scenic roads (but my Puima Canyon training seems to have paid off). My wheels didn't scream around the curves
- Prescott, Jermone - a city on the side of the mountain
- and then the descent into the land of red rock
- this morning, the cicadas serenade me as I drink my coffee and plan adventures for the day.

City sayonara

I'm headed to Sedona as soon as I pack this cool LA morning into my suitcase. Goodbye noisy city. Hello deserts that I love.

Double Booked! Anger

Argh!!! I never never never been able to go to Scott's uber fun Laughing Squid party - even though I have been a charter customer. For almost 10 years. This year, the problem is that I forgot to mark the event on my calendar and then I promptly scheduled myself stunt car driving school.

STUNT CAR DRIVING SCHOOL vs SQUID LIST PARTY

Arghghghghghghghgh! What would you do?

Heather is Busy

First off - Hello to anyone stopping by because we met at Twiistup last night. I had a great time and have to write my shout out post. If you're looking to download ooVoo - go here to download the client. If you want info on the geek dinners and barcampLA - go here. And be sure to join the mailing list.

I have been really busy and it doesn't look like it's going to stop. I was at Twiistup last night - which was awesome.

Tomorrow I head north to attend an intense weekend called Fusion with a bunch of futurists in beautiful Mendocino. I'm very excited to participate.

Then, since I will be in the Bay Area, I'm going to attend the Internet Identity Workshop on Monday, Tues & Wed.

Oh - did I mention I'm back on Theory Radio and my show is tonight. In fact, I have an awesome show lined up. Matt is joining me and we are spinning music to trip out too. This music is absolutely insanely amazingly awesomely strange and unique and it blew my mind when I heard it. The show starts at 7, but Matt will be joining me at 8.

Oh yeah, and I still have to pack. So much for sleep these days.

Sargasso Stories: Friday March 9th

I slept dreaming of other lives. Waking up at my friend's house in Austin to childish giggles and laughs. I rolled out of bed and showered for the first in several days, purple running down my back and into the white basin. Coffee, fretting over my packing, calling the cab. Waiting, waiting, late, waiting. The plan was to stop by the airport, drop off my luggage for my 5pm flight and head downtown to catch a couple movies before heading back to LA.

Cab arrived. I piled my luggage in the back. It was heavy. Made fast friends with the cab driver who was from Nigeria. He tried to hit on me (as usual) and I started talking about the boyfriend. He wasn't really my type. My friend Suz had more in common. I prefer the quiet geek type with secret superpowers. During the drive to the airport, I told him I would need another cab back to the airport later in the day. He offered to pick me up. This could be sketchy, right? But he was a sincerely nice guy. MBA, considering Law degree. Used to work at a semi-conductor company in Austin until it relocated to Korea. Maybe this was a sign from the universe. So far, I had not had one second of trouble finding a cab when I needed one, despite the explosion of SXSWers. I took this as yet another boon from the universe - the tricky part was finding a cab on time who would be able to rush me from the movie to the airport in time to catch my flight - and here I was - sitting in his cab. He dropped me off, and we made arrangements for him to pick me up later.

Then I went to check in my luggage. This was much more difficult than I had planned. I should have known, with my liter of Tito's Vodka and the bullet belt in my carry on. Then there was the 4 hour pre-flight check in limit. And no lockers. I had to think on my feet and be creative. I rebooked on a flight that would leave in less than an hour. Twenty minutes later, my luggage was on it's way to TSA's security check. I had my boarding pass in hand. 30 minutes. Could I get downtown in 30 minutes? I had nothing to lose. I decided to give it a try.

Changing Lights

Earlier tonight I came across a sidewalk with embedded color changing squares. I had to stop and shoot some video. Here's my first clip. The lighted pathway was at the entrance to the KC Art Institute - where I studied for a short time. (Yes, I thought I wanted to be an artist.)

desert on both sides of the week

It's been June Gloom here in LA for the past 3 weeks and frankly I am tired of it. What up SoCal? Where's the blue sky? Is this some kind of hint? Well, if it is - I'm taking it. I'm outta here! Back to the desert.

Last weekend was packed with about 10 different adventures. (Ok, 10 is hyperbole, but I did have 5 distinct ones planned in 4 different cities.) But as plans go awry, my plans changed. I ended up having a great time spending time with a good friend.

I miss the desert, but I'll be back out there soon enough and hopefully for a lot longer than a few days.

Heather in a field of rocks

This is a photograph of me in a field of quartz crystals. I was hiking up a wash and I kept finding these huge chunks of shimmering white rocks. Sam was scouting ahead of me and called me to come up over a pile of rocks. What I saw, delighted me. A field of these sparkling delights.

For some reason, I always seem to lose or forget my standard sunglasses when I go out to the desert. But lucky for me, I have my burning man big oggle-eye ones stashed in the glove box. I feel kind of weird being all clubbed out in the middle of nowhere.

sometimes it's a lot like camping

My recent trip to the desert was as soft and cushioned as a feather bed. We rolled in just as the sun had set and the desert was as quiet as I have ever not heard. Not a sound. Not one bird, not one bee buzzing. The only sound I heard, was one that I made myself.

I decided to check out the ancient petroglyph cave. The ground was covered with droppings again. The last time I was in the cave, I washed the floor with a bottle of Verve Cliquot champagne and a scrub brush. I stood in the cave, looking at the facing rock. The two holes that swallows usually fly in and out of. Completely silent. No sound. No movement.

Gradually I heard a buzzing. The sound reverberated in my ears and grew louder, taking on a heavy quality. It resonated in the cave. I couldn't tell where the sound was coming from and I could physically feel the vibration. As the sound got louder and reverberated more I re-cognized it as the sound of an airplane. But it had already done it's damage on my perception.

I collected dead cholla and other firewood. A pot of boiling water for hot tea. The ephedra bush that I once drank tea from. A straight stick for roasting marshmallows. Dinner consisted of tea and roasted marshmallows. I even shared the sticky white sweetness with the desert mice. We've got a great video of one carting off a marshmallow. I'll upload it shortly.

The sky gradually got darker and needles of light appeared. The cloud cover softened and the wind blew it away to show the galaxy of stars. I sat on rocks as the fire burned into embers and watched the Milky Way, catching a shooting star or two. I slept like a baby into the bright hours of morning, head buried in my sleeping bag.

Lazy morning awake. A walk about to the other side of the canyon and we found a great treasure sparkling in the bright sun. The blue sky was Hollywood unreal. Fluffy clouds for as far as the eye could see, sitting on the flat edge of atmosphere. It was surreal with the inclined desert plain.

Although it had been almost a year and a half since I returned to this location, it was in some ways, just a moment. An instant. Nothing had changed much. Although I have changed. Gained more power. I am more seasoned. The silence and quietude of the desert was much welcome to me. So quiet my ears didn't know what to do. So quiet that immediately my standard frame of reference was broken and I was acting from a totally different world view.

The Baja 2

Sam did a great write up of our recent trip to Baja, which we call, The Baja 2.  Check out the story, pictures and video.

You can check out my video of traveling on the bumpy baja roads.

We had a great time, the truck is in the shop getting cleaned up and we're ready to head back down!

back to life

The last goal of 2005 was squeaked in last week - a Baja offroading adventure in Mexico.

Trip write up with pictures coming soon, highlights now:

• Mike's Sky Rancho - arriving at 5:30 pm on Christmas eve.
• Making Hanukkah candles out of tecate bottle caps, matches and Jesus candle wax
• Driving the Baja 1000 and 500 roads
• A meeting with 3 federales in the chaparral on Xmas day
• Baja breakfast: beer and baklava
• San Felipe  all night Xmas karaoke
• The Parque National Constution 1851 - pine trees surround a lake at 5000+ elevation
• Coca-cola light
• Licking the truck wounds back to LA

We returned to LA unscathed; my Spanish brushed up a bit, the truck more worn for the wear with a notebook of dreams and plans for adventures in 2006.

Good, clean, whitetrash fun

I spent the weekend out in Joshua Tree having some good clean white trash fun. I never realized how much fun it is to be an adult. You can really have a great time (and be responsible too!) The love and I headed out to a friend's property near Joshua Tree for the weekend. We partook of off roading, shooting guns, creating fires and blowing stuff up.

Spending much of my formative years stuck in the barren midwest, I really distanced myself from my "redneck" neighbors. I never drank, you'd never find me in a beefed up pick-up and I certainly was not much of a heckler. I was a lover, not a fighter. I'd be listening to Morrissey not AC/DC. But really what I was, was mixing up the homogeneity. I'm a big believer a wide range of possibilities and expressions. Therefore when the possibilities start to narrow, I take it upon myself to take on the characteristics necessary to open the possibilities. Thus it was necessary for me to get in tune with my white-trashiness this weekend. And it was damn fun too.

I didn't realize how much fun it was to drive the FT (what we call our monster truck) off road. Sam and I caravaned with some friends and found a playground. We drove up and down trails, rocks and attempted to drive up a mountain sand track. The tires dug into the slipping sand and we got 3/4 up the way up before reversing it. We really didn't want to get stuck on the other side and we didn't feel like airing down the tires. Instead we went back to playing in the sandy trails, egging our friends up and down small mountains of rock. (All on trails mind you, we're responsible off roaders!)

Back at the ranch, we broke out the guns for some target practice. It had been years since I picked up a gun and I was surprised to find that my first shot hit the target (a metal plate.) Over the weekend we set up various targets (water bottles, metal plates and other more flammable materials.) I was decked out in my urban camo and really had a great time watching all us lined up shooting at the poor water bottles.

Evenings were filled with fire making. I have a love affair with fire that doesn't usually get to be expressed. When I would go camping with my friends in high school, I'd make sure I was the first one up in the morning to stoke up the evening fire. I had many fond evenings around the Van-B-Que at Burning Man this year, keeping the fire up. And a few special treats found their way into the fire by my hand.

Saturday night wind threatened to keep us inside the small desert house. It was blustery, cold and blowing down the tents. Screaming through the washes and between the cracks. I wondered if we were going to be able to get a fire started and contained. As luck would have it (and credit to planning) the host had thought to bring some old washing machine drums. S and I drug one over to the fire pit and promptly started piling wood in it. A few moments later a fire was crackling and spitting. We pulled the camp chairs close. Folks started venturing out of the house and soon the fire was surrounded. We had two more wash basins and proceeded to make cozy fires in various parts of the yard. Soon, three dryer fires were keeping us all warm. As Orion flew across the sky I flitted from one fire to the other adding wood and stoking the warmth.

 

On the way back to LA, I wanted to show Sam Joshua Tree National Park, while my secret agenda was to take this 4x4 only accessible road from inside the park to Dillon Road near Indio. We were both game turned off the pavement. The road wound down into a valley filled with grass and swallows before ascending a mountain range filled with Joshua Trees and Teddy Bear Cholla Cactus. We easily reached the peak and then twisted our way down the road which was really a wash. We drove through sculptured canyons, the FT descending dry rock waterfalls and navigating around boulders. I kept thinking, "this must be what early explorers experienced on horseback." I was amazed that our modern world has created vehicles that can go really anywhere.

We threaded our way through the traffic on the 10 and rolled our big baby into the West Hollywood driveway. I washed the smoky three day desert dirt from my body and fell asleep to Anime.

I'll miss the sound of artillery shelling from the nearby military base in the morning. Pictures of the whole trip here.

 

another fabulous morning

Another fabulous fresh morning with the sweet air, coffee and iTunes. A quick check on the email and a blog post before a jump in the shower, throw a couple more things in the backpack. Pack it in the trunk, put the top down, riding gloves on, SPF, 6 new CDs in the changer and then it's time to shift it into 5th gear for a long haul up the grapevine and into the San Joaquin valley tires kissing pavement, eyes envying the sparkling blue river of LA water on it's trip south. I love road trips.

ride to work, work to ride

It's annual ride to work day. I guess that means I'll get Lady Knight out and ride around the block. :)

Land Cruiser Adventure the First

Land Cruiser timing was perfect. I picked it up on Thursday and Friday evening Patrick and I packed it up with camping gear and headed north to Pismo for offroad beach camping. I was really excited because not only do I have my new truck, but we would HAVE to put it in 4w to drive on the beach. I've never done any beach sand driving, so it was going to be a new adventure.

The drive on pavement was uneventful. The truck drove well. Good music on the stereo and then we arrived. It was about midnight when we got to the beach and I just put it in 4 and drove it on the hard pack. We drove down the beach looking for our people with no luck. At the end of the beach, before it turned into dunes we started to get stuck. There were a lot of trucks and trailers stuck in this area. I just kept it in 4 and reversed it. That's when I looked at my gas gage. It was on E! And here we were out on the beach in gas-guzzling 4 wheel drive and no peeps in sight. We headed back into town to find an open gas station at 12:30 in the morning. Returning to the beach with a full tank, we decided to let some air out of the tires. This greatly improved our ability to maneuver. But we were back to driving around aimlessly almost getting stuck over and over looking for our camp. The engine started to give off an interesting smell and it was more and more difficult to get unstuck. We finally pulled over and made camp. About 30 minutes after we made dark, three sets of lights started circling. Over and over, the lights circled. Then two sets of lights were focused directly on the truck (where we were attempting to sleep) and we could hear yells and tires spinning, engines revving.

So I'm laying in the back of my truck, attempting to sleep with a spotlight pointed directly at me, while ATVs go bouncing by, with the background noise of coordination yells, engines attempting to engage and spinning tires. I could only laugh and make up stories about our new neighbors, and that's when I heard the bombs. As if it couldn't get crazier, someone was lighting off fireworks on the beach at 3am. The silver lining to the evening. We had a perfect view of the many colored bursts. Eventually our new neighbors made camp only to blast 50cent! So much for getting any sleep. Somewhere in the hours before dusk the fog rolled in and I fell into sleep.

At this point, allow me to give you a mental picture of the situation. Oceano at Pismo Beach allows camping directly on the beach. This means you drive your huge-ass truck pulling an RV or trailer full of ATVs and drive it along the beach looking for place to plop down. It's not just you, it's 500! other people. And there are more vehicles than people. Imagine seeing huge RVs parked 50 feet from the ocean.  I was amazed that these people were able to get these things out there. Huge beefed up trucks with tow hitches. I was camped smack in the middle of the ATV subculture! This was something I had never dreamed of.

Morning awakened me with a 50cent rap wake up call. I couldn't believe it, our late night neighbors were up at the crack of dawn. My truck was completely stuck in the sand. We attempted to extract it, digging it out, letting more air out of the tires, putting towels under the back wheels, only succeeding in digging us in. The spare tire was resting on the sand. Now, what to do? Luckily we were camped next to a huge Ford F250! I went over and asked our friendly neighbors (not the late night noise-makers) for help. They pulled out the tow strap, tied it on and pulled me out. My truck that looked so big on the street looked like a tiny sedan.

At this point (before Noon) the thought of getting stuck again and eventual unsticking process was not appealing along with the ATV camping mad-max subculture, so we hit the pavement and headed north to SLO and spent the afternoon tasting wine and kicking around the town.

road trip anyone?!

This is my new ride. More photos here. High resolution available for a slight fee. ;)

to truck or not in LA

I hate to admit it, but it's time to get a phat 4x4 truck. But which one? I want a standard truck's truck - not a bubble-butt chrome and plastic mega-monster. That takes out the new Toyota Tacoma (the older ones work). And what about something with character (harvester, bronco convertible, jeep) oh yeah, that RELIABLE.

So readers, please help me out. I need a truck. I want to haul art and building materials and tools. I want to drive it off road on BLM lands. What should I get?

hands to heaven

A lush oasis in the desert. Gardens filled with roses, orchards, flowers. Lush carpets of wine. Salads. The full moon. A top bunk.

Another wonderful weekend in the desert with colleagues I had lost touch with.

The silence of the desert. My leather moccasins sinking into the plush sea of grass.