tabula rasas

My brand new trip, so far, has followed old patterns and traced old routes. The travel styles I've developed over the last few years are all meshing together now and forming something new - I live out of my car AND my backpack these days. I've driven the length of California several times now, and each time adds a new dimension of memory, the landscapes are now painted with aging experiences, and the territory doesn't quite feel new, like I already own it somehow.

It's especially mind-boggling to consider that in a single day, I drove the entire length I spent those three months on the PCT.

My favorite thing about traveling (at least when road tripping in the U.S.) are brown signs. Unlike most boring, informative roadsigns, the brown ones are there purely to point you toward something interesting, intellectual or pleasurable. They're usually free of charge and often lead to placards, which I believe are a valuable form of learning. I've pretty much earned a bachelor's in Placards by now. I wonder if I could put that on a resume.

Besides landscapes and brown signs, people are a big reason I travel. The moment I embark, people suddenly reincarnate into my life in new ways, both longtime companions and those long-lost. This always happens to me - is it normal for a person to become more connected to his or her friends while on the road? So much of what I do on these little adventures is empowered and made easier by people who owe me no favors. So much that I'm don't really believe it'd be possible without them. So, thanks to you who have been a part of this trip and helped out in big and small ways already, and to the undoubtedly large number of people who'll join that category before I become still again.

Unfortunately, I had to forgo many brown signs to reach my first (dare I say it) pre-arranged destination in time. This, you see, is why I despise traveling under the weight of schedules - it's so hard to be open-minded to the unexpected, to the truly new, if you already have plans made. My destination was a hotel in Tucson, Arizona, which also happened to be a venue one of my favorite bands, the RX Bandits, were performing at.

I'd never gone to a concert alone before. No matter how enlightened you are, I think it's fair to say there's still a thin, unavoidable film of inhibition that surrounds virtually all people when they're with other people they know. I'm no exception. What a joy to have this peeled away! - to dance wildly, like a fool, in a room full of strangers who expected nothing of me and will remember as much.

That kind of anonymity brings me immeasurable joy, I'd even say it's one of the main reasons I travel. I can become practically invisible at will, I can melt into my environment almost seamlessly. I can be the quiet stranger in the corner, the friendly out-of-towner, the wacky maniac - I'm not restrained by any previous definition of myself. Why is it that our conceptions of people must always be so narrow?

Add in a fresh landscape or even new informational placards and it's a heavenly experience. That's all I want out here, a tabula rasa, a fresh start. I want to give up my days to the world and see what it provides. It's a weird exchange, I feel like both canvas and artist at times, but all that matters is that the thing starts blank.

I'm on a public library computer in Phoenix, Arizona right now, and my allotted time is almost up, so I've gotta run. Give me a call if you like, I still have my cell phone for a few weeks.