Eureka or Fool’s Gold?

Posted: October 20, 2015 in Travel

Eureka is about 28,000 people — smaller than my hometown — though with a disproportionate amount of social issues. This is probably due in part to the drug culture in Humboldt county. As most people know, Humboldt county is famous for growing marijuana though a lot is also grown in Trinity and Mendocino county (the three together being called “the emerald triangle”). The drug trade and the mild climate brings in lots of drifter types hoping to start growing weed or trimming it and make a fortune — like a gold rush. Also similar to the gold rush is the fact that many leave empty handed or worse. I have heard many rumors of people who have come here and worked all summer only to not get paid. What is such an employee going to say to a (probably) gun owning employer in the middle of nowhere? That’s not to say that all the marijuana grows here are illegal, many are legal and supply dispensaries, but even these are high stress operations because they get robbed — after all there is sometimes hundreds of thousands of dollars of product in one’s backyard.

There are also many people who do make money trimming, though transient trimmers seem to be perpetually poor- which is odd since people say you can make 200-500 dollars a day. It is hard to imagine  Humboldt economically if the marijuana industry wasn’t here.Most of the people who are successful in it have connections, yet that’s no guarantee. I met a guy who came down from New York who invested a few months and tens of thousands of dollars in a grow and should have made about $150K, but he got screwed over and ended up on the street addicted to heroin. There are other people I’ve met who upon failing in the MJ industry faded into the homeless population. There is also a large proportion of mentally ill homeless people here, perhaps this industry draws such people. After all, the one grower I met threatened to beat my friend and I to death with a shovel. Of course there was some bad blood because the grower was his cousin who let him get screwed over, but still I get the vibe that there are a lot of anti-social people who don’t function well in society living out in the woods and growing pot and sitting on armories.

This guy wasn’t schizophrenic though, like many people I have met on the street. There seems to be a large population of schizophrenic people here, though sometimes it is hard to tell if their schizoprenia is more of a result of their meth use. Meth does cause delusions and paranoia and is a very big drug in Humboldt county. Yet there are many tweakers I have met that aren’t the stereotypical smeagol-looking guy jerking and twitching, in fact I would have never known that they do meth if they didn’t tell me. There are some people who I really like who are meth users here. Then there are the ones who talk about space ships, run and yell down the street, and the like. Not that I don’t like those ones, but they are difficult to talk to. The relationship between drugs and mental illness is complicated to say in the least.

Behind Bayshore mall, right off the 101, is a large homeless colony — probably 100-200 people live there. It’s called the Devil’s Playground.

Here is a video of a drone flyover that will give you and idea of what it looks like:

The playground is not as intimidating as it sounds though, it’s not like you are guaranteed to be raped and robbed if you go through. I’ve been through there a few times, a couple at night even, though I’m cautious and don’t go running up to peoples’ camps. Yet I’ve heard rumors of people getting beaten to death over $5 dollars and I met a guy who said he had about two thousand dollars worth of guns confiscated from him. Two of the residents I’ve met are a couple of brothers my age and younger who panhandle and shoot up heroin. I met the older one while he was panhandling one day, he pushes a cart around with his dog and asks people at supermarkets for spare change. When I came back to his camp he start melt down a glob of black tar heroin as casually as if he was putting on a pot of coffee.

He told me a story of an abuse in his childhood and how he has chronic nerve pain and does heroin for the analgesic effects rather than the high. One may think this is denial, yet plenty of people take pain killers for chronic pain and when they lose their prescriptions and/or can get heroin cheaper, they turn to that. His younger brother, just 21, as far as I know has no health problems. There seems to be a lot of younger homeless people living there. I met another who seems to just smoke weed all day.

Arcata is the much trendier hipper town, just six miles up the road. It houses Humboldt State University and all of its students. There are plenty of drifters that hang out in Arcata too, but they are more of the hippie types who sit around and smoke weed in the park. I haven’t spent much time in Arcata despite that it is the more “happening” town. I tried to stay there once and it just didn’t feel right, Eureka feels like home. As one trite local bumperstick reads, I like Eureka.

I don’t want to give the impression that Eureka is one big skid row, there are lots of “normal” people here too. There are plenty of young, hip people just like in Arcata; I see them all the time at the grocery store I work at: North Coast Cooperative. I see all the people who sport dreadlocks and eat kale. Of course I like to get out of Eureka and all it’s craziness from time to time. On the days I’ll head up to Trinidad, a nice, small coastal community up the road that has some nice beaches. There are also many nice small towns in Humboldt like McKinleyville and Honeydew. I enjoy Humboldt county though I don’t partake in the marijuana culture. Honestly Trinity county is probably more beautiful, not that Humboldt is ugly by an means, Trinity is just gorgeous; nevertheless, Humbodlt is starting to feel like home — for now anyways.


It wasn’t long after I left Rexburg that I got into Humboldt — I had to get all that inertia out of my system. Despite going pedal to the medal, I really enjoyed some parts of the drive. It was the first time that I had gone through Twin Falls, Idaho, which has a really beautiful gorge worth seeing. As far as Nevada goes, I pretty much drove straight through when it was dark. I was planning on stopping at Winnemucca (I love that name) but got some really good coffee that took me straight to Truckee, California. Nevada is one of my least favorite states anyways, from the cheesy casino culture (which is statewide, not just in Vegas) to the barren desert, I haven’t seen much that I’ve liked. Truckee is right across the border from Reno, an especially corny knock off of Vegas, at least that is what it looked like as I drove through at 4 AM.

The Truckee area is pretty nice, when I first got there it was dark and I could just see a lot of misty forest. I passed out at a campground at about 5 AM and slept a couple hours before I got back on the road. From Truckee to Redding was a pretty neat drive up highways 89 and 36. They are really small highways that weave and wind through a seemingly endless forest passing small communities. The little forest communities seemed like pretty nice places, little podunk towns ranging from 50 to 5,000 people. One of the highlights of that area is Lassen National Park. It was right on the way, so of course I stopped.

Lassen kind of reminds me of a combination of Yellowstone National Park and the volcanic area of Northwestern New Mexico. Like Yellowstone, it has those bubbling little mud and sulphur pots, which are pretty neat. The mountains are largely made of volcanic looking rock, but it is not barren, there are plenty of trees. I really didn’t go down too many of the trails because I was going on 2 hours of sleep and it was overcrowded. I did the main trail worth doing (in my opinion), which is Lassen Peak, a five mile round trip that takes you above 10,000 feet. It was pretty cool because I had never been that high before. It was a bit chilly on top, but I foolishly wore shorts and tank top — my sweater was used to wrap up my cold ears. It was worth it though.

After Lassen, I drove west to Redding and stopped briefly. From Redding it’s about 3 hours ish to Eureka, even though it is only about 120 miles. The road is rife with 25 and 35 MPH curves and elevation gains and drops and gains. It is a beautiful drive though, especially from Weaverville to Eureka. The Trinity River Canyon is one of the most beautiful places I’ve been. There are steep canyon walls covered with lush vegetation with the Trinity River in the bottom. I’m hoping to spend some time in Trinity county before I leave. I’ve heard that several people have already died rafting the river, even though it didn’t look to deep (probably suffering the effects of California’s drought). Throughout the drive on the 299 there were many signs, cutouts, etc involving Sasquatch, apparently this was (is?) thought to be Bigfoot country. If Sasquatch do exist, they would probably live in a wild place like this.

I arrived in Eureka at about 8 or so and drove around looking for a place to park. All the campgrounds were super expensive ranging from $20 a night on the cheap end to $50 a night for the KOA — might as well get an apartment for that price. I tried near the fairgrounds, but people (probably drunk teenagers or something) kept spinning donuts in the lot. I drove around exhausted and exasperated for over an hour, desperate for sleep. I parked in the mall, but mall security kicked me out within 10 minutes. As I was driving around I was thinking to myself “Great life plan Joel, drive an old beater across the country with no money or job prospects. You can’t even find a place to park. Really solid plan here, man.” I eventually ended up parking on a side street next to a carnival. All the lights from the carnival looked like sirens coming through my windows. I was able to rig up a few blankets for privacy, but it was still like sleeping in a fishbowl.

After some much needed sleep I got up at about 8:30, thinking of where I would go to church. I put some coffee on and got out to stretch my legs. I met a guy named Matt who was trying to bum a cigarrette; I offered him some coffee instead. He joined me at my van and we had coffee and talked a bit. He drove up from Texas looking for work. He smirked when I told him I studied chemical dependency counseling, and noted that he was a recovering meth user. We chatted a bit more and I gave him my number in case he found work or I found work etc.

There was a large gold cross poking out a residential area, so I decided to drive there. It was an Eastern Orthodox church. I went there and it was pretty good, but I couldn’t take communion with them because I’m not Orthodox. They didn’t refuse me, but I decided to avert a potential soteriological interrogation. After church I kicked around the downtown area to get the layout of the city. I came to a store called Humboldt Republic that sells shirts and stuff. I bought a cool shirt that says “Humboldt Republic” and has Bigfoot on it, a parody of the state flag. I talked with the manager a bit and gave me some leads on jobs and resources. I was starting to feel a bit more hopeful.

While canvassing the town, I found a decent place to park my van, down at the waterfront at Eureka Public Marina. I parked there and explored some more. I met a group of homeless people sitting by the bathroom and talked to them a bit. Butch is a large guy that looks like a Butch, who has a stocky Pitt Bull named Tank, who looks like a Tank, but is a sweet heart. I also met Rain, a woman probably in her 30s and Jeff, a younger, tall guy who has a pitt mix. They gave me some information about resources for poor people — free meals etc. Butch told me to carry a knife, which I don’t and haven’t needed to thus far.

The next morning I went to one of the free meals in an empty lot next to the welfare building. There were about a dozen — more or less — people hanging around at 7 AM. The smell of marijuana wafted through the lot as people toked up first thing in the morning. I saw a tall young guy wearing shorts and winter coat pacing and talking to himself. I tried to introduce myself and asked his name and he said “I don’t have a name, the streets is my name, I don’t care. I don’t talk to others, only to myself.” I met another young guy named Jeremy who seemed half way “normal”. At about 8 AM “Betty’s Blue Angel” rolled up, a blue truck that has a compartment for food and coffee. I got a pastry and a cup of coffee in a styrofoam cup. I figured that the people down there were probably the people I would be hanging out with and hopefully sharing the love of God with. My next order of business was to find a job.

So, as you might have ascertained by the title, my trip to the Tetons and Cali has not gone as smoothly as planned. About 5-6 hours down the road, right outside of Rexburg, Idaho (about 70 miles West of Jackson, WY) my van started pulling to the left and smelling like burnt rubber. I took it back to Rexburg and a shop swapped out a caliper for 180 of my gas dollars and then decided that wasn’t the problem (though it was getting old). Better yet, the problem was a brake fluid proportioning valve. Never heard of it? Of course not, because it’s an obscure part that never goes out, making it very difficult to find, especially in a city the size of Rexburg (pop. 24,500), forcing my mechanic to go to Idaho Falls to get it. So this all went down on the Wednesday before the 4th of July and the mechanic told me that he wouldn’t get down to Idaho Falls till Monday the 6th of July, 5 days stranded at the least. Not too mention, it will cost another $50-$100 dollars, which on the low end empties my checking account and on the high end overdraws it (and the shop doesn’t accept credit cards). So starts my stay in Rexburg.

As I sat in the mechanic’s shop my head whirred with the implications: “Where am I gonna get the money? I’m not going to ask my family, who are either too poor or will put conditions on the money. Even if I do fix it, can I still make it to California? If I make it to California on my credit card, will I be able to get work in time to make my next credit card payment? I thought this was the right path, is this some kind of bad joke, God?”

On the positive side, there was a free campground that the Teton river runs through where I was able to park my van and stay. At the campground I started reading my book Living on the Devil’s Doorstep: From Kabul to Amsterdam, which is about a missionary family on the hippie trail in the 70s (highly recommended BTW) and the chapter I read  starts out with a memoir of their bus breaking down multiple times while driving across Afghanistan. That was a bit encouraging, I decided that maybe I still am on the right track and this is just a temporary setback, though I’d be lying if I said I was immediately comforted.

The first order of business the next day was to find some way to scrounge money. I checked with an employment agency in town, closed till Monday. I also checked craigslist and stuff at the library, dead end again. So I tried something I had never tried before: panhandling. A city that is 90-95% LDS and has the slogan “America’s Family Community” is not the best place to make a panhandling debut. I was a bit conflicted about doing it anyways, since I have a pretty good work ethic, but then again, it’s not too different from hitchhiking in some ways. I also didn’t feel too bad about it because I have given plenty of money to homeless people over the years and even the clothes off my back. I feel like God has a cosmic mutual fund of generosity that one can draw dividends from if it is invested in, kinda like karma. Jesus did say after all “he who gives others water will receive water” (not that that is the ultimate motive for giving). I also consoled myself with the thoughts that it would be a social experiment to help me understand what it is like being in the shoes of the desperate and it could be a practice in Franciscan spirituality (St. Francis of Assisi was dedicated to poverty and supported his order by begging).

I figured that I would take a humorous approach, after all, it would sort of be like getting paid to be a comedian. So, making fun of a homeless cliche and taking advantage of the time of year, I held a sign that read “Revolutionary war vet, anything helps, happy 4th (almost)”. In addition to this, I donned my very homeless looking army surplus jacket, a baseball cap, and an eye patch. I started at Wal Mart at about 9 AM and continued until about 12 or 1, overall I made 4.50 — pretty weak.


My first patron was a kid of about 16 named Fisher and my other Donor was a middle-aged man. Besides them, only one other person stopped. She offered me food (which I understand, I have taken that approach with homeless people as well) but I declined. She then thanked me for serving my country, which took great effort not to laugh at; after all she did just thank me for fighting in a war over 200 years ago. I’m not sure if she didn’t read my sign closely, was having a blonde moment, or legitimately didn’t know what the revolutionary war was. I heard another guy arguing with his wife in the parking lot: “We’re not giving him any money, Goddammit!” I almost died laughing — ok, Scrooge. Other then them, most people just ignored me or pretended to be on their phone — “maybe if we don’t look at him he can’t see us.”

Like hitchhiking, getting ignored by hundreds of people in the hot sun takes its toll — one starts to hate people and make generalizations about them, as they were probably doing of me. “Nice Corvette sir, did that cost you 50,000 dollars? Do you think you could spare one dollar you stingy bastard?” Such were my thoughts, and worse I must admit. I kept thinking that if 50 people gave me a dollar or 100 people 50 cents, then I would be home free. While I was mad, I also could understand where they were coming from. I have given a homeless man a twenty and taken him to a “health clinic” only to see him walk down the street to a bar.

Yet, addiction isn’t always the cause of homelessness, sometimes it’s the result. The overwhelming sense of isolation, alienation, insecurity, meaningless, shame, and not to mention scorching sun and hunger can definitely get to one. I’ve never struggled with alcohol, yet in my hitchhiking chronicles from last summer I noted how at times I felt a strong urge to drink due such feelings.  It’s hard to sleep outside too and one guy told me that getting drunk helps.

Anyways, I went “home” discouraged to return back that evening and try another scheme. This time I tried to dress the part of a pirate to draw attention. I wore bandanna, the eye patch, a tank top, and some jorts (jean-shorts). My sign read “Marooned . . . need booty ($50) for ship repairs.” After a while I got bored with that and wrote “Why is the rum gone? Need $ :)” on the other side, hoping that someone would pick up on the Jack Sparrow reference and the attempt to poke fun at another homeless stereotype. No luck though. Some people laughed, but no one gave anything. After a while I wielded the “rum” sign as a cynical jest towards my audience. I imagined them saying “see all homeless people are worthless drunks” and moving on. I laughed inwardly at their misinterpretation, scorning their middle class Mormon values and judgmentalism. I went back home, pissed and cynical. The next day I stayed in bed until 11 or so, which I never do, but what did I have to get up for? Folgers, that was it, Folgers in my cup was the best part of waking up that day, or so I thought. I hung around camp almost all day scheming about how to make money and trying to avoid exposing my sunburns to the scorching 96 degree heat. I didn’t succeed in making up any new schemes, but I had something of an epiphany that evening.

I had been arguing with God and myself about the experience (these arguments had been going through my head for days by then):

I told myself “These people aren’t obligated to help you, you know. They didn’t force you to get in a rickety old van and drive across the country.”

“yeah, but it’s not about obligation, it’s about love. I was never obligated to help out a homeless alcoholic, I could say that he had his chance and blew it. People should held one another out.”

Then I feel like God said, ” Maybe that’s how it SHOULD be. But do you really expect this world to be as it should be? I tried to help people and they hated me, even killed me, yet I still loved them. Maybe you should focus on loving them instead of yourself. You whine about not having provision but didn’t I say in my word ‘If we have food, water, shelter, and clothes we should be content with that?’ But you aren’t content, you want what you want how you want when you want.”

I pushed these thoughts out of my head and went fishing and wading on the Teton and had a pretty good time, though I didn’t catch anything. The thought occurred to me “Would it really be so bad if I had to live here a couple weeks, or for the summer?” I just got a sense of how inflexible and nonspiritual I had been acting. I began to realize that this little episode was bringing out deeper fears about my future, family, career, etc. I realized how much I had put my security and happiness in things like recognition, having a nice middle class life, having a family, a career, etc and really how unimportant the love of God and loving others was to me at that point. I told God that if being in unimpressive circumstances, not having recognition, and having a poor simple life was what it would take to be perfected in the love of God, then so be it. I’ll stay in Rexburg forever if I have to ( I cringe a little as I write that). God was taking the steel wool to my soul and it hurt good. There is a reason my van is called The Cosmic Monastery.

With a more positive attitude, I wandered Rexburg and talked to the locals, mostly Mormons. I had many spiritual discussions with them and even read about 50 pages of the book of Mormon (all that I could handle). There really are Mormons from all walks of life though — they aren’t all skinny, white guys with wire rimmed glasses and bikes. I met a hippie Mormon in the store, some hipster Mormons in the park, hick Mormons, intellectual Mormons, artistic Mormons, even a party boy Mormon. The last guy asked me for some weed. I shared with him a bit about the spiritual joy and altered states of consciousness. I shouldn’t be surprised, people are people, despite having a weird religion.

I discussed with some about why I don’t accept Mormonism: Joseph Smith was a dirt bag, the formulation of the book of Mormon is very suspect and it seems an unnecessary addition to the Bible, and the theology is whack (Jesus is the devil’s brother?). I didn’t convince many, but perhaps I helped some think about it, since that was probably the only conversation they had had with a non-mormon for months.

I was able to find a Baptist church (though I’m not Baptist) a stone’s throw from my camp site. It was small but I really liked the people there. One of the interesting guys I met was “Ping”, he was a Chinese guy who went to BYU and used to be a Mormon, but became a Christian. He told me that it was empty and had a bunch of weird doctrines and that Mormons try to convince themselves it is true, while he knows Christ is true, because He set him free. He enthusiastically showed me all the weird doctrines in “The Doctrines and Covenants” book, which is Mormon holy writ.

Eventually it was that church that bailed me out of my predicament: I helped them with some yard work and they paid for my van’s part. I did about 3 dollars worth of work for probably 100 dollars worth of work on my van. Ironically, on the way out of town I met some broke travelers who said they made 30 dollars in one hour panhandling. Perhaps I just suck at it. Anyways, I drove out of that town as fast as I could.

I have been in Eureka for a couple weeks and have more to write about but little time to write, so I will try to keep you posted as much as I can.


Cali or Bust!

Posted: June 28, 2015 in Adventure, Travel
Tags: , , , , , ,

It’s finally time for an update! I apologize for my long absence, but I just haven’t been traveling much lately because I was wrapping up school and stuff. I graduated with my AA in chemical dependency counseling this June and I am now supposed to do an internship somewhere (eventually). As I noted earlier, I am planning to head to NorCal this summer, as I got a strong impression that I’m supposed to go to the Humboldt area several months ago. I was actually planning to be there about a month ago, but life happens. My car crapped out and I was hoping to get a camper or van or something I could live in. As the end of the school year approached I realized that I could’t afford to buy anything nor even qualify for a loan. Initially I panicked and bought a bus pass down there, but realized that was stupid idea (how am I going to work with no transportation?). So I shaved a hundred bucks off my already slim budget. Meanwhile my family members were repeatedly advising me to do something practical like get a high-paying summer job here in Montana. This put me into a bit of a crisis state. After all, I had little money, no job prospects in California, and no reliable vehicle, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to go there. So I began working oddjobs and waiting. Then a guy offered my grandpa a camper van for free. But there was a catch . . .


It had been sitting for 10-15 years, so long that the wheels had sunk into the ground and a tree was growing through the engine. I had my doubts, but I felt that God was going to do something with this. It took us three days to get it out, I will spare the details of towing, jacking, digging, etc. To our amazement, it started right up when we put a new battery in it, but smoked horribly. After draining to ancient gas and tweaking some stuff it was running decently but a bit weak. Next order of business was to get some of the rust off and paint it.



Of course my grandpa wanted me to paint it a “respectable” color, which I get, but I have been wanting to paint a car flamboyantly for a long time, and I wasn’t going to pass up this canvas since I may not have got a second chance. After painting it, we wanted to get it running better so we took it to a shop. It sat there all day and no one looked at it. Needless to say, I was worried this might go on for weeks. However, when I went to check up on it at the end of the day, the mechanic started it up and fiddled with some crossed wires and it started running fine! No money spent on buying the van or fixing it! Fifteen years of sitting and rusting and now it’s this sound running beauty. That’s the blessing of God! So now I am fixing to set out and I’m going to stop in Wyoming to visit some family at the Grand Tetons on the way. I’m debating whether to take the extra scenic route through Yosemite and San Fran; I would like to but I am still on a budget.

What awaits me in California? Not sure. Hopefully some kind of job — perhaps logging, mining, or agriculture (but not the kind that Humboldt county is famous for). Humboldt grows a buttload of weed, in case you didn’t know. It seems like a misfit and hippie community with weather ranging from 50-70 year round. Not a bad start. Mt. Shasta and the redwoods are nearby too, so hopefully I can do some sightseeing. I’m thinking this will be sort of an unofficial chemical dependency counseling/missionary trip, given the prevalent drug scene of Humboldt. In any case, it will be an adventure. So stay tuned!

So, it’s been quite a while since I posted anything, because I’ve mostly been going to school. I have, however, been on spring break, which has allowed me to get out a little bit. I originally planned on hitchhiking to Great Basin National Park in Nevada, but I decided that it was a bit ambitious and there were some things I wanted to do here in town too. I started my break off by helping out with a youth retreat, which is a great time of sleep deprivation, caffeine, dancing, shenaningans, and of course prayer, bible study, and worship. After retreat I slept for 14 hours and hung out in Polson for a few days.

I did decide to go south on highway 93, just not as far as Nevada. I initially went to some hiking areas in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, an area of hiking trails that straddles the Montana and Idaho border. It was still pretty snowy for hiking, but it was pretty cool all the same. One of the areas I went to, Blodgett Canyon, is pretty popular for rock climbing, so I went there and scrambled around. I don’t know if there is a designated area or something, but I had to cross a beaver dam and go up some random hillside. Being the poser that I am, I didn’t climb anything too serious; it was mostly semi-vertical formations and a little bit of legit bouldering. Nonetheless, if I slipped this could have been me:

Some of the bouldering was legitimately scary for me. It was quite a beautiful area, but given that I only had my camera phone, I didn’t get any nice pics. Here is one I found on Google though:

Photo cred:

After Blodgett Canyon I headed further south down 93 into Idaho. I wanted to go to some hot springs down by Salmon. It is not the most well-known spot, so it was a bit hard to find. At first I couldn’t remember if the turn off was near mile 292 or 282, so I fumbled around a bit. I eventually found it by 282, but there is no sign or anything. It’s a mile or two to hike up to the springs and it was getting late, so I just set up camp. Side note: my homemade camping stove worked pretty well. It is made out of a cat food can, a tuna can, a piece of fiberglass, and is fueled by Heet. It is very lightweight and affordable. Here is a link if you want to make one yourself :

Complete with 32 oz soup can pot and wire hanger pot holder

Complete with 32 oz soup can pot and wire hanger pot holder

I got up fairly early the next day to head to the springs, thinking it would be best when it was still a bit chilly. Unfortunately I didn’t get any pictures of the springs, so you will just have to go there yourself! They are nestled in a little, rocky canyon. There are about four pools up there varying in size, mine was about the size of a big bath tub. I think there is a bigger one but I didn’t go to it because it was occupied by a couple and I didn’t want to walk into something like this:

“My lover and I always crave salted meats.”

So I was content to alternate between my little hottub and the ice cold stream that flowed down the mountainside. I had some fun climbing up the creek bed that was strewn with boulders. I made it up to a little waterfall and put my head under it. Instantly numb, I hurried back to the hottub. I left late morning/early afternoon and at the perfect time. On my way out about a dozen people passed me headed for the springs.

I headed back to Polson that day via a circuitous route up by Hot Springs and then returned to Hot Springs the next day to soak and go to a rave. Kind of a random place to have a rave; Hot Springs is pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but it’s a cool little town. It was a pretty small rave that didn’t necessarily play my kind of music, but it was fun nonetheless. I met a Jehovah’s Witness guy there and we talked about God for quite a while, which was cool until I lost my voice. That JW sure could dance too; I didn’t think they were allowed to go to raves.

Despite that the party went all night, I went home “early”, about 3 AM. 2 days after the rave I was grocery shopping and picked up a hitchhiker. He told me that he was Missoula bound (about an hour away) so I told him I would take him. His eventual destination was Seattle, and after some deliberating I decided to just take him to Seattle (about an 8 hour drive); I had nothing better to do. So I drove the guy to Seattle and we got there at about 2 AM Tuesday morning. He showed me around a bit and took me to a cool viewpoint of the city. I opted to not do the space needle since it costs 15 bucks or more and really isn’t even that high. That night we pulled into a park and slept in my car. Well, he might of slept, I tossed and turned and maybe got 2-3 hours.

The next morning we got up and toured the city more extensively in the day time. We went to the main parts of town and to a cool park called gas works, which I heard of on this blog All was going well until I burnt out my clutch on a steep road. I was able to get my car, which smelled like burnt toast every time I shifted, to a transmission shop. The short of it: new clutch in Seattle= 900 dollars. I considered selling my car for parts, but decided against it. So I left it in the shop and wandered down 4th avenue.

I figured I would hang out with some of the local homeless people and drug addicts, since I saw many while I was driving around. It wasn’t long before I found some. There were a few emaciated people who I knew right off the bat were on heroin, but others didn’t look like they were. In the part of town I was in there is a clinic that gives out clean needles to heroin users. I happened upon a free-spirited looking guy of about my age sitting with his skateboard and made some small talk with him (I’ll call him “Jackson”). He said he heading to the needle exchange and asked if I wanted to come, so I walked with him.

A couple young, black guys met up with us at the building. After Jackson got out of the needle exchange, the group started walking down 4th avenue again. I started to talk to one of the other guys “Tim” a little bit. He had been on heroin (or black as he called it) for about two years, and shooting it for about 6 months. I told him it was dangerous, to which he agreed. He said he was having trouble getting his life on track and he blamed himself for a lot of stuff. He said he needed a change of scenery, so I told him to come to Montana. I wish I could’ve brought him back and gotten him a place to stay away from all of that.  I shared about the Lord with him a bit, which he was pretty open to. It seemed they had a lot of errands to run, so I didn’t get to talk with him too much.  While we were walking a black guy in about his thirties with a 20 something white guy in a hoodie asked us for “shards” (meth). We stopped and talked with them a bit too. Another guy asked if I wanted to buy some “clear” (meth).

After a bit, I parted ways with the group and just hung out on this block that was overrun by people tweaking out, selling drugs, sleeping, etc. There was a security guard nearby, but I guess he didn’t notice or care that some dude was selling pills out of his lunchbox. One of the guys buying looked like a high school English teacher or something. I offered a limping guy prayer, to which he refused. The whole scene was overwhelming and sad. I met back up with my friend on this block and we headed back to the shop to await my car. After spending an hour or so in the waiting room, we drove back downtown to drop my friend off at the homeless shelter. The traffic was atrocious though because there was an accident on a freeway. He eventually got out and walked, which goes to show how slow we were going.

I headed out of town, hoping to make it Spokane, but actually making it all the way home in the wee hours of the morning. I would’ve liked to stay in Seattle for a few days, but I was over sleeping in my car, and after maxing out my credit card to fix my car, I wasn’t going to stay in a hotel. I suppose I could’ve found a place to camp, but I had stuff to do in Polson anyway.  After spending so much to get my car fixed and learning of numerous other expensive problems, I am wondering if I am going to be able to much this summer. I am still planning on going to California, but I’m not sure if I will still be able to hike the John Muir Trail, go to Burning Man, or climb Mt. Shasta; it seems doubtful right now. We will see though, ten more weeks of school and I will be out of here! Stay tuned.


Posted: February 8, 2015 in Spirituality
Tags: , , , , , , ,


As I walk into the forest, surrounded by such beauty and innocence

my heart is stirred by the faintest memory of a place

a place where the land was honored, not pillaged

where the fields were strewn with lilies, not corpses

where the grass was wet with dew, not blood

where the sky was lit up by stars, not missiles

a place where hands built up and didn’t tear down

where arms embraced and didn’t strangle

where legs danced and didn’t trample

where hearts were free and not buried in shame and pain

where people laughed and didn’t cry

a place where people were inebriated by joy, not intoxicated by poisons

where people drank from the river of God’s bliss, not from bottles

where people were enraptured by a divine embrace, not lustfully grasping

where God’s love warmed the soul, as the sun warms the sky

where God’s light brightened the mind, as the sun brightens the day

Oh, how my heart yearns for this place.

This place will be restored when all revolves around the Son**

as the planets revolve around the sun.

* Gouryella is the aboriginal word for heaven and one of my favorite trance songs (below) that carries a heavy Utopian vibe

**i.e. Jesus

Mission mountains

Mission mountains

Don’t Except Jesus

Posted: January 24, 2015 in Uncategorized

Pilgrim's Map

One of the common sales pitches in Evangelical Christianity is “Have you accepted Jesus as Lord and Savior?” Unfortunately,  for many accepting Christ equates to excepting Him from any meaningful role in one’s life. This mode of acceptance is akin to someone accepting that their great-great grandfather’s name was Herbert; it gets thrown into the compartment of other useless, irrelevant information except on the rare occasions when it needs to be taken out. For many, this rare occasion is after death when one presents his “admit one” slip to get into heaven. Such an idea turns God into a glorified travel broker. What a shallow spirituality, if it can be called that.

This phrase, “accepting Christ”, is not found in scripture. It is deduced from the erroneous notion that the Gospel is a mere legal transaction. Subsequently salvation is viewed as being saved from God, rather than saved from sin and death…

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