Dig a Pony

March 14, 2017

Waning Gibbous Moon

If, like me, you are interested in what the heck happened to North America in the past few hundred years, one thing you could do is to read The Saga of the Pony Express by Joseph DiCerto (2002). This readable and thoroughly researched book focuses on the brief, but intense, year and a half history of the Pony Express, a grand project created to move mail and news from the then edge of the American frontier to San Francisco and the still "unsettled" West.

You might, like me, be surprised to find that the Pony Express only lasted from April of 1860 to October of 1861. Samuel Morse's invention of the telegraph and some inevitable financial/organizational difficulties eventually lead to the Pony  Express's demise. In the meantime, there were tales of daring do by boys, essentially, young kids speeding cross country on the best horses money could buy. They faced all of the weather and terrain challenges imaginable, as well as sometimes fierce resistance by native people upon whose lands they were trespassing and whose customs they were helping to destroy.

"Orphans preferred."

The Route: St. Joseph. MO to Sacramento, CA, then to San Francisco by boat.

My biggest criticism of this otherwise interesting and possibly accurate saga is that it is almost completely one-sided. It presents the viewpoint of the European immigrants with little to no examination of their basic lawlessness and disregard for the humans they were dispossessing. Why do so many history books fail to address this obvious legal and moral tragedy?

Guilt and shame are pretty useless now. What's done is done. But why cannot the mistakes be acknowledged and some course corrections be initiated? It certainly seems that whatever that force is that fuels conquest and murder and the self-righteous notion that one group of people is entitled to whatever land and resources they desire is still at play. To ignore it is to support it, to feed the monster. The monster appears to be fatter than ever.

Some would call it human nature. or more simply, nature itself. I will take what I want unless you stop me. Like supernovae or colliding black holes or a tectonic plate being subducted beneath another, big violence happens. But the human role in this tug of war is at odds with every religion and civilized doctrine in history. The Golden Rule is taught and recited, but not applied.

We should be better than our history, but we are not. In practice, people, especially those of European descent, have run rampant across the world in the name of their religions. This is not natural. This is simply perverse.

In 1860 there were an estimated 50-100 million pronghorn antelopes, 30 million buffaloes, and 1 billion prairie dogs living in the path of the Pony Express. Oh boy. Not for long. Ever-increasing abuses of ever-expanding technological "advances" all but eliminated them. And more. Today, just 157 years later, there are an estimated 327 million cell phones in the United States of America and a President who regularly tweets incendiary nonsense. SOS. Where are we headed?

Can you hear me now?

Peace and Love from Whence the Skies Were Not Cloudy All Day,
Jim

Hibernation Done, Dream Re-Set

February 21, 2017

Waning Crescent Moon

On February 21, 2016, I began my coast to coast hike from Cape Henlopen, Delaware to Point Reyes, California.

Atlantic

Seven and a half months and 3,322 miles later, I completed my goal. I did it. I undiscovered America.

Pacific

While I was gone, the R.E.A.C.H. San Benito Parks Foundation collected pledges based upon my walk to establish a parks endowment fund to help build and maintain parks and trails in our county. To all of you who pitched in for this cause, thank you from the bottom of my feet ha ha.

It's a new year and we are still taking donations. Please consider sending a tax-deductible contribution for 2017.

Pay to: Community Foundation for San Benito County

For: R.E.A.C.H. Endowment Fund

Address: Community Foundation for SBC
829 San Benito Street, Suite 200
Hollister CA 95023

THANKS ♡♡♡

Peace, Love, and More to Come,
Jim

Undiscovering America

Undiscovering America

2-29-16

I'm going to need your patience here. I have the seed of a theme for this sea to sea hike I'm doing, but so far it eludes me. I might not be smart enough or alert enough or committed to it enough to pull it off. Somewhere deep in my gut it's trying to present itself. I want it to come out and I want you to see it and know it like I do and yet...

I cannot do this all at once. I don't even know how I would. So I will let it seep. A drop, a trickle, perhaps a pool at a time.

Make me a promise. Promise that if I undiscover America you won't ever try to discover it ever again.

Peace, Love, and a Continent,
Jim

Beach Blessing

Beach Blessing

2-8-16

I don't know what it is about Santa Barbara, but it always seems to me that my kung fu is strong there. When I know I'm about to go on a journey, going to Leadbetter or East Beach or Hendry's and touching base with Eddie All-State and the Earl of Montecito always grounds me. It's like checking to see if my shoes are tied, if my hat's on straight, if my spirit shirt matches my hiking pants. If that is all good, then it's all systems go.

So on Wednesday I fired up Spugly the Spectacularly Ugly Transporter and blasted on four cylinders and four wheels 250 miles to the sur. It was good. It was really good.

Sitting with Coach on the sand at Leadbetter Beach, I was treated to a show by six dolphins, my personal barometer for am I doing the right thing. See dolphins? Green light go. I didn't have my phone with me, so no photos, but trust me, they blessed me right on cue.

The weather was absolutely picture postcard perfect, so I was able to ride the Dream Machine and walk the recreation trail to my heart's content for two days. I couldn't help but realize, though, that very soon, this sunny shangri-la was going to be replaced by freezing rain and snow and night time temps in the freaking teens. Best not to think about that. Here and now. Here and now.

One week from tomorrow I will board the Amtrak for D.C. to begin my hike back to the beach. I am memorizing these images, savoring this holy coast, thinking dolphin thoughts. I will return as quickly as my beat up old feet will carry me.

Peace, Love, and Beach Blessings,
Jim

A Plan in Place

A Plan in Place

1-26-16

The mental, virtual hike is almost over. That's the months of map and guidebook study, emailing for info, phone calls to mail drops, spreadsheet-building, gear list making, head scratching and decision forming - all the stuff that goes into a long distance hike. I like doing it. I think it's interesting and creative and I learn a lot about myself and the route.

What has come from all of that is a plan to hike a continuous path from the East Coast to the West Coast. Most of it is on the American Discovery Trail, but some is not. I am going to take alternate routes around areas that don't allow wheeled vehicles or that don't contribute to the purpose of the walk.

So please don't call this a thru-hike of the ADT. That would be disrespectful of the few hardy souls who have actually performed that feat. But also, please don't dismiss my hike as somehow illegitimate. If I am successful, I will have walked across a continent some 4,000 miles in eight months, an average of 20 miles per hiking day. I'll be very happy with that.

If you have been following the weather news, you may have noticed that the Delaware coast got socked with near record high tides and a powerful storm that destroyed their protective dunes, knocked out power, and flooded coastal areas, including Lewes DE, the cool little town where the ADT begins. No telling what shape it's going to be in when I get there in a few weeks. Oh yeah, and they got a foot and a half of snow, too.

http://www.weather.com/storms/winter/video/winter-storm-jonas-slams-coastal-delaware

Who's idea was this, anyway?

Oh well, I can't control any of that, so I will prepare as best I can and strive to be flexible as needed with the plan I have concocted. I'm ready to walk. Bobalooie is almost completely outfitted (picture of a fully dressed out Bobalooie is forthcoming), and my train leaves for D.C. February 16.

As part of the fundraising effort, I will blog regularly on http://www.reachacrossamerica.org (RAA) to let people know where I am and stuff, so if you want to follow the hike, you can toggle back and forth between here and there. If you are a veteran reader of my other trips on this site or if you used to get my email updates back on the PCT, I will continue to post my usual nonsense on Palomino Dream just because that's what I do. And if you are inclined to support the cause, you can pledge whatever amount you want on the RAA site. A penny per mile will work out to about forty bucks if I finish the whole thing as planned. You don't have to pay until the end. Many of you have already contributed, so I don't think I need to talk about that any more on these pages. I am super grateful and I promise my best effort.

Peace, Love, and Counting Down,
Jim

Prayer for the World

Prayer for the World

12-27-15

Something's bothering me. Something's on my mind.  It's a trend. To me, it is subversive and purposeful and I wish it would stop. I will vote to make it stop. If you won't try to make it stop, I won't vote for you. Period.

Here it is. I wish people would stop saying that simple, common moral  virtues like tolerance for others, respect for people and cultures different from your own, fairness in competition, responsibility toward your environment, or kindness and awareness in your choice of words can be dismissed as "political correctness."

I don't know diddly squat about politics. But I do know right from wrong. I know bullying when I see or hear it and I was raised to stand up against it. Morally, in any religion, bullying and hate and deception and pollution and intolerance are wrong. If I say you are wrong for bullying someone who disagrees with you - if I say you are wrong for hating me or somebody else different from you - if I say you are wrong for placing corporate profit above public health - if I say you are wrong because you are stepping on the backs of the poor or the weak or the dark or the confused or the unloved - I am not being "politically correct" - I am following the moral principles by which I was raised. I will vote for those principles and nothing else.

That's what's on my mind on such a winter's day.

Peace, Love, and California Dreamin'
Jim

Life on The Farm

Life on The Farm

9-18-15

On the south side of Highway 156, hidden in a cozy redwood grove, lies one of San Juan Bautista’s best kept secrets. The Mission Farm RV Park, or, as I simply call it, The Farm, is most of the time about as laidback and peaceful as laidback and peaceful gets. It’s a clean, quaint, mostly adult trailer park with a natural, homey feel in keeping with the historical atmosphere of our town. Most days, you would be hard-pressed to find one nervous person on the premises.

Not that the residents on The Farm don’t give a damn, mind you. But if there is one thing that the lot of us has in common it’s that we’re a little picky regarding what we get excited about.  If you come running in here all jumpy about some kind of trumped up personal emergency, the reaction you will get will likely be a polite stare, a sympathetic head shake, and a friendly, but mildly disinterested “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.” Nobody here is going to up and join the militia just because you lost your I-phone or Missy messed her britches. Sorry, but you are just going to have to figure that stuff out for yourself.

On the other hand, if you sincerely need assistance or advice on a sober, practical level, like backing your 36-foot rig into a 37-foot space, or building yourself a redneck deck out of salvaged farm pallets, you can get that in a jiffy. You ought to see my redneck deck. You’d be envious.

The majority of the 120 campsites here are occupied by year-around residents, some of whom are sleepy old retirees like me, while many noble souls are still heroically punching the clock. Most of the more “experienced” campers have cheery little companion dogs that provide a measure of entertainment in the mornings, as they tug on their leashes and drag their shuffling masters from tree to long-suffering tree.

The redwood trees are what really make the place special. The owners of the park planted the forest in 1971 in what had been a vast walnut orchard. Forty-four years later, the redwoods tower over the property, providing a merciful afternoon wind break and pleasant shade from the midday sun. Even more than that, though, they lend dignity and strength to the surroundings. They keep a stately watch over things and their very presence makes you humble.

The Farm is like a miniature nature park. Somewhere up in those swaying redwood branches nest gently cooing mourning doves, always in twos, sounding virtuously sad, carrying on courageously despite their woes. One doesn’t have to be old to live on The Farm, but it probably helps to have an old soul - like a resilient coastal redwood or a mature pair of mourning doves, married for life, content to scratch around in the gravel together early in the day. Near sundown, if you watch carefully, you can see red-tailed hawks darting through the trees. What are they hunting? The furry, nimble grey squirrels? An occasional field mouse? A wayward, twitching bunny? As the Sun sets, silent, stealthy, wary white-tailed deer migrate slowly around the perimeter of the park, finding water and foliage along San Juan Creek. In procession under the highway, where are they heading? To the Mission to pray?

One of the things you notice right away about the park is how clean the grounds are. The maintenance crew, under the direction of manager Susan Cox, keeps the place groomed and neat for the permanent residents and for vacationing families and weekenders.

“We don’t advertise much,” Susan says, “and we don’t have a web site. Most of our holiday business comes from word-of-mouth recommendations. We see people who come back every year, holding their family reunions in the clubhouse and enjoying activities in town. They feel safe here and there is none of the hub-bub and congestion you find in the city. We are a family-oriented park and people come to have a quiet good time.”

Living here is a unique experience, combining a sense of independent repose with a feeling that you are part of an active community. Potluck dinners and barbecues on major holidays like the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and Christmas are a real treat. Campers share delicious homemade dishes and easy-going, friendly fun in the spacious, old, ranch-style clubhouse. Surrounded by fruit trees, colorful flowers, and rusty antiques, this is the park’s social center and emergency quarters. When visiting bicycle tourists, camped out in the nearby tenting area, find their lightweight gear under siege in bad weather, Susan generously opens her clubhouse doors to shelter them from the storm.

The major El Niño episode of 1998 caused quite a stir on The Farm.  A combination of rain-soaked ground, unrelenting precipitation, blockage of the San Juan Creek underpass beneath Highway 156, and a failed stock tank levee in nearby San Juan Canyon resulted in serious flood damage in the park. Evacuation was necessary as the high water mark rose to nearly two feet on many of the permanent structures. Evidence of the standing water can still be seen today as “bath-tub rings” around the bathhouse, the clubhouse, and the other buildings. Could we be in store for more of the same this year?  Our Emergency Preparedness Plan outlines preparation procedures and evacuation routes if something like that happens again. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that we can stay high and dry this time. My glamorous redneck deck would be no match for another two-foot flood.

Peace and Love from The Farm

Jim