in the loop

info waves collapsed into whizzing particles

The Chool Bus (ch29)

CHAPTER 29: Cruel Shoes and the glory of Mother Nature’s geological wonders.

Professor T finally finished the backlog of work accumulated while preparing for the current leg of the research tour. Being thus preoccupied, one of the things he forgot was the fact that his old hiking boots were no longer usable. He needed to acquire a new pair for the big Grand Canyon visit. So, while Jack made the gang’s arrangements for an old-school Steam Train starting in Williams, Arizona, to the canyon’s south rim, Professor T did a search for outdoor gear retailers. With the Williams destination poked into Siri’s Drunk Sister’s navigation app, the Chool Bus was underway and everyone was stoked to spend the day in Mother Nature’s spectacular playground. 

The tour Jack arranged included a wild-west themed diversion on a vintage steam train. The “Bright Angel” trail-head was close to a South Rim lodge and the gang was determined to get deep enough into the canyon for some epic photo opportunities before catching the return trip back to Williams. Jack failed to mention the return trip also featured a mock train robbery, fake guns, desperados and all, so that was kinda fun. 

The real attraction was the hike itself. But the fun quickly diminished for Professor T as his feet had gained some significant width over the years and after a half mile or so into the Bright Angel descent, as described by Professor T, the expensive hiking boots he had stupidly tried on and purchased without assistance was beginning to straight-up torture his pinky toes…both of them. At first he pretended like nothing was amiss, but with each passing step those pinky toes were shouting something about those shoes…those cruel-shoes! 

It had been many, many years since last he had purchased hiking boots. He was due for a new pair, but all those years had altered the dimensions of his feet unbeknownst to him…the piper was being paid now. As the Bright Angel journey down, down, and down progressed, Professor T thought about turning back so that he could enter some civilized comfort of the south rim lodge’s gift shop, remove those cruel-shoes, massage his aching feet and learn his lesson. Never, he vowed. Never will i ever allow myself to purchase specialty shoes without consulting an expert with knowledge of conditions on hot, dusty, steep-grade, cliff-addled trails, ever again! 

Professor T kept this suffering to himself and the gang continued their downward descent on Bright Angel’s trail.

Jack was keeping time, he knew the return trip would take longer as uphill is slower going than down. When his phone indicated it was time to turn back, Professor T let out a sigh of relief as uphill would place less pressure on his beleaguered pinky toes. He wanted to exclaim for the universe to hear…HALLELUJAH! My toes are free at last, free at last, thank Zeus Almighty, my piggies are free at last. 

It was one of those funny/not funny situations best consumed visually, but since this is a novel, we’ll just set the scene “screenplay” style:

EXT. BRIGHT ANGEL TRAIL – DAY

A scorching sun beats down on the towering red rocks of the Grand Canyon.

PROFESSOR THOMPSON (60s, wearing a cotton Hawaiian shirt, bucket hat, and glaringly new hiking boots two sizes too narrow) hobbles down the switchback.

His companions, BILLIE (40s, energetic, carrying binoculars) JACK (50s distractedly browsing the Bright Angel brochure) and BUCK (30s, strong like bull, sporting a hydration pack), shuffles confidently ahead.

BUCK (Inhaling deeply): Ah! Smell that crisp desert air, Professor! Nature in all her unbridled majesty!

THOMPSON: (Grimacing, teeth clenched in a tight smile) Splendid, Buck! Absolutely… screamingly… splendid!

An animated X-RAY VISION CUTAWAY reveals the professor’s feet inside the boots. His left and right pinky toes are crushed flat like little Vienna sausages.

Suddenly, tiny OPERA WINGS and HELMETS appear on both pinky toes. They throw their heads back in dramatic unison.

PINKY TOES (V.O.) (Singing high-pitched, operatic Primo Uomo Tenor): ♪ O SOLO MIOOOOO! O SOLO MIOOOOO! ♪

     BACK TO SCENE:

Mork Thompson winces as his left boot strikes a small pebble.

THOMPSON: Gah-ha-ha-OY-VAY!

BILLIE: Did you say something, Morkster?

THOMPSON: Just… admiring the stratigraphy! Look at that Tapeats Sandstone! Oh, the temptation to study it from the comfort of the rim! Perhaps near the lodge? Where there are chairs? And air conditioning? And gentle carpets? And ice-cream?

JACK: Nonsense! The real science is down at Havasupai Gardens! Only four more agonizing…i mean, glorious miles to go!

Thompson’s eyes widen in terror.

PINKY TOES (V.O.): ♪ FIGARO… FIGARO… FIIIIIGAROOOO! ♪

Mork Thompson takes another step. CRUNCH. He stumbles forward, trying to disguise his excruciating limp as a sprightly dance step. He does an awkward, desperate tap-dance routine cringingly close to the edge of a hundred-foot drop.

BILLIE (Gasping): Look at the Professor! He’s doing an interpretive dance to the canyon’s beauty!

JACK: Bravo, Professor! Celebrate the wonder!

Professor T violently twirls, grabs a wooden trail sign for balance, and accidentally spins it around so the arrow pointing back UP to the rim now points DOWN.

THOMPSON (Sweating profusely, leaning heavily on his trek pole): Say, y’all! Look at that! The sign clearly indicates that the… ah… South Rim Gift Shop and Toe-Massaging Emporium is actually this way! Down is Up! Up is Down! SCIENCE! Let’s turn back!

BILLIE (Giggling): Oh, Professor, you silly goose. You flipped the sign! the lodge is that way!

Billie points UP the steep, dusty trail. Thompson stares at the endless vertical incline.

PINKY TOES (V.O.): ♪ FIGARO! FIGARO! FIGARO! NOOOOOOOOO! ♪

THOMPSON (Voice cracking): Right. Up. The stairs of eternal damnation. Splendid.

JACK: Tell you what, Mork. You lead the way back up! (Imitating Arnold Schwarzenegger) Show us your leadership capabilities!

THOMPSON (Nodding weakly): Yes… leadership…

Thompson turns around. He takes one step UP.

      SCREECH

His boot hit a solid boulder banging his right pinky toe on the front wall of the narrow boots. He freezes, paralyzed by a blinding lightning bolt of pure agony. His eyes roll into the back of his head.

Without moving his legs, he deliberately tips backward like a felled timber.

     THUD

He lands flat on his butt in the dust, staring up at the blue sky.

BILLIE: Mork! Are you okay?!

THOMPSON (Calmly, eyes wide, holding completely still): I am merely… taking in the grandeur from a low-angle perspective.

BUCK: Incredible dedication!

THOMPSON: Billie… Jack… Buck… listen to me carefully. The canyon has spoken to me. It says… ‘Go back to the lodge. Buy the overpriced padded-socks. Unlace the cruel-shoes. Release the Singing Pinky Toes.’

BILLIE (Confused): The Singing Toes?

THOMPSON (Desperate, standing up, grabbing Jack by the lapels): THE TOES, JACK! THEY ARE SINGING PUCCINI! THEY WANT OUT!

BUCK (Laughing): Ah, sun-madness! A classic hiker malady! Come on, I’ll piggyback you the last fifty feet to the trailhead!

Buck hoists Professor T onto his back. Mork’s legs dangle free. The pressure vanishes from his pinky toes.

PINKY TOES (V.O.): ♪ HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! ♪

Thompson lets out a long, blissful sigh, resting his chin on Buck’s shoulder as Jack and Billie plow up the trail toward the gift shop.

THOMPSON (Smiling beatifically): Onward, noble dragon. To the air-conditioned ice-cream station.

[SCENE END]

NEXT WEEK:
Professor T wastes no time consulting an expert at the local outdoor gear ship, taking another stab at acquiring comfortable hiking boots. Next stop, Albuquerque New Mexico. Focus group interviews at Central New Mexico Community College (CNM), then the gang takes another shot at nature trekking on the Embudito Trail.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch28)

CHAPTER 28: All agreed, the backtracking detour to Lake Tahoe was worth the trouble, but it was time to get back to business. Eleven punishing hours to Flagstaff Arizona for the next round of focus-group interviews… then, a trip to the deepest crack in the USA, the Grand Canyon.

Passing through Vegas on the way to Flagstaff, Billie agreed to turn the wheel over to Buck as eleven hours was about, “three more than i can stand.” Billie knows her limits and Buck was more than happy to help. So rolling into the Las Vegas area after seven plus hours with Billie behind the wheel, the Forks pulled over to get some fresh air, stretch their legs, and catch a meal before pushing the rest of the way to Flagstaff with a new pilot. Just a little more than three hours and they’d climb above the punishing heat of the desert to the cooler climate at seven-thousand feet. The smell of pine, the lush green lawns… Flagstaff Arizona. Focus-group interviews at Northern Arizona University were scheduled for the next couple days, so they couldn’t afford to dawdle.

Professor T spent a considerable chunk of road time working with the data so far gathered and catching up on administrative tasks. Occasionally he would confer with Jack over themes emerging in the data. These conversations were often quite spirited. It’s not that they were at odds over their perspectives, but they did have sometimes diverging ways to interpret what the participants were saying. Which is fine, these interviews can’t be used to draw objective conclusions, but they do provide an interesting “why” behind the numbers revealed in survey data. The surveys show what people do or think on a large scale, and the focus groups allow Professor T and Jack to hear how people explain these choices in their own words.

Merging onto Interstate 40 in Kingman Arizona, Billie got a jump-scare when Jack slammed his fist on the table making a particularly passionate point in one of those “spirited” conversations with Professor T. But Mork just laughed and brushed it off with a shrug. They’d have to agree to disagree. And Billie was awake now and rather impressed with Buck’s cool demeanor as the Bus encountered road construction and slowdowns. So much so that she began to quiz him over this uncanny ability to bring tempers down in situations that look like certain escalations to violence. This was refreshing for Billie as she is famous in her home town for a short temper and a withering vocabulary. Her method of de-escalation has always been to wear her opponents down with withering truth-telling generously seasoned with caustic, paint peeling accuracy.

“How do you do it?” Billie piped up out of nowhere.

“Do what?” said Buck with a sly grin.

“How did you turn that raging drunk in Fort Collins into an agreeable bystander?” Billie had marveled at the swift turn of events that day when Professor T appeared to have triggered a drunk and paranoid bar patron into a brawl, one that looked like it was going to land several bystanders into the urgent care clinic, at best.

“Well, it’s really simple when you look closely. I picked it up from a friend. He was a civilian contractor working in Afghanistan in the late stages of US involvement. Apparently he had spent some time with a detachment of special forces soldiers. And one of them taught him a way to defuse potential deadly confrontations with the locals. He boiled it down to an acronym, D-E-F-U-S-E. First, you have to short circuit your own “fight or flight” impulse, by remaining completely calm, and avoiding a defensive or argumentative stance. So ‘D’ is for de-escalate. After all, we are at bottom, animals. And this version of the mammalian animal is all et up with the hubris to consider themselves “civilized.” We’ve really only had a few thousand years to evolve from slithering in the grass to finding sanctuary in the trees, to walking upright, to developing food production for communities, to splitting the atom and other methods of habitat destruction. Not even a blip in geologic time. So, anyway, gotta tame the instinct. Most freeze in the face of an in-your-face threat. They don’t know whether to fight, or run. But the right thing to do is to remain calm no matter what.”

“Is that hard to do?” Billie was tumbling… catching her breath.

“Well, it may look that way, but considering the alternative, especially when others are involved. Others you care about and don’t want to see hurt, it really is a no-brainer. So… what’s the next letter in the DEFUSE acronym?” Buck was bringing Billie along.

“Well, we did ‘D’ so now we need ‘E,’” said Billie.

“Right.” said Buck. “‘E’ stands for empathize. You have to acknowledge and validate your opponent’s feelings or frustration. You gotta show ‘em that you recognize their emotional state. Anger, humiliation, wrath, whatever. Empathize with the prevailing emotional winds coming from your would-be attacker.”

“Ok…what’s the ‘F’ stand for?” Billie was eating this up. And they had plenty of time as Flagstaff was still hours down the road.    

“”F’ is for focus. This is where we direct our attention completely on our would-be attacker and the specific problem that seems to be driving them. This requires us to overlook our opponent’s attempts at provoking us with insults or threatening postures, personal attacks, or simple incoherent noise.” 

Billie was silent pondering the implications of the discipline it would take for her to ignore those personal attacks. She nodded solemnly.

“After that,” Buck went on. “You have to genuinely understand where this person is coming from… the ‘U.’ Again, this takes mental discipline for those of us used to throwing hands, or in your case, withering truth-bombs. So… the ‘U’ is a difficult state to arrive at when all you want to do is turn this person’s face into a pudding.” Buck winked and Billie laughed out loud.

“So now,” Buck was warming up to a conclusion. “Now it’s time to ‘S,’ solve the problem that brought the threat up to your face.”

“Solve?” Billie was incredulous. This all seemed somewhat fanciful. “After all,” she went on. “Some people just want to hurt others. They aren’t always interested in accepting reasons to keep their hands to themselves.”

“True story,” said Buck. But, there’s going to be a bottom-line reason for this irrational wish. And depending on your luck in the previous phases of the DEFUSE model, you may be able to tap into that wellspring.”

“C’mon…” Billie was struggling with these ideas.

“Bear with me,” said Buck. “Remember the reason for the dust-up in Fort Collins?”

“Yes. I believe he was angry with the world over a perceived, or literal loss of privacy… modern digital life.” Billie remembered actually identifying with the drunk’s complaint. “He saw Professor T’s audio recording rig, and that triggered a vengeful response. He was going to take this general feeling of violation and loss of control out on good ol’ Mork T.”

“Right,” said Buck. “But i was able to get him to face the absurdity of punishing a well-meaning, but absent-minded civilian for his general feelings of helplessness with the DEFUSE method.”

Billie nodded.

“So, to review,” Buck was sounding more like Professor T with every sentence. “We started with the ‘D.’

 “De-escalate!” said Billie.

“Right,” said Buck. “We refuse to allow the heat of the moment raise our emotional temperature.”

“Then you empathized with the guy.” Billie was playing along.

“The whole time, i remained focused on the fella’s problem,” said Buck. “That, right there, was almost enough to end the trouble.”

“But WAIT… there’s more!” Billie was starting to let some sarcasm show.

“Right, we’re not done yet,” said Buck, totally unmoved. “And keep in mind, these things don’t necessarily happen in sequence. You have to stay focused through the whole process, you have to remain empathetic start to finish, and understanding may take a little while to set in, but you have to keep digging for it.”

“So…what’s the ‘S’ for?” Billie was impressed with Buck’s ability to parry her jabs.

“Well, ‘S’ and ‘E’ sorta come together. ‘S’ is for solving the problem. Once the Fort Collins fella understood Professor T’s recordings had a purpose other than spying on hapless bystanders, he calmed down. Now, ‘E’ is for end the encounter. But it isn’t as simple as it sounds, there has to be clearly articulated next steps, and these next steps, when done right, are always voiced by our would-be attackers. In other wards, the confrontation is defused and the other person walks away feeling vindicated, the stable, positive outcome conceived by them.”

“So, BOOM! Resolution appears to have been conceived by the person that was threatening you in the first place?” Billie purred in amazement.

“Of course,” said Buck. “It doesn’t always end so cleanly, but fortunately for you and Jack and Mork T, the DEFUSE method worked like a charm in Fort Collins.”

Rolling southeast on historic “Route 66,” they passed lots of interesting potential pullovers. But duty calls. The Forks and DEFUSE-Master Buck Wellstone, needed to be on campus in the morning. With the sun at their backs and receding fast, the gang was fading. Parks Arizona, the Bellmont, then the interchange at the Navel Observatory… they had arrived. 

“Don’t miss the Route 66 interchange, Dummy,” said Roseanne’s gravley voice.

Buck acknowledged Siri’s Drunk Sister instructions, pulled into the RV park, and all made their way to bunks in their own time for a good night’s sleep before getting back to business on the NAU campus.   

NEXT WEEK:
Cruel Shoes and the glory of Mother Nature’s geological wonders.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch27)

CHAPTER 27: Focus-group interviews at UNLV complete, the Forks take a detour to Lake Tahoe for a guided boat cruise on Emerald Bay.

When Professor T started going on and on about Lake Tahoe, Buck silently remembered the wild story a girl he dated in Corpus Christie back in high school told him. Apparently her mother had friends who traveled to Tahoe for a gathering of Western-themed social media influencers, basically an industry party. Lots of dancing and modeling cowboy/girl clothing, hats, and horse tack products. There was a “bad weather” forecast, but storms very often come and go quickly on this high alpine lake as a matter of routine. Unfortunately for several boat owners and eight unlucky passengers, the storm did quite a bit more than cause a blustery inconvenience and Buck was determined to pump the brakes on any lake-cruise ideas if the forecast started looking sketchy. 

The gang wanted to charter a private party cruise on Emerald Bay and Buck’s no shrinking violet, so he made no protest, but keeping this tragic story close to his vest, he watched the weather forecast closely. He was prepared to make a case for sticking to the shore if necessary…he did not trust Mother Nature…not here.

As the Chool Bus rolled over a rise entering the lake’s basin, surrounded by Sierra Nevada mountains, these flatlanders felt a strange sense of claustrophobic verticality. After all, the Forks were used to seeing the horizon disappear up to twenty miles in any direction. Their familiar landscape was horizontal. But here in the Tahoe basin the spacial axis flips almost completely vertical. Instead of an open sky stretching forever, the landscape folds sharply upward. It felt almost like they were cupped inside a giant basin, surrounded by timber-heavy peaks nine to ten thousand feet. It was somewhat disorienting for Billie. She knew the Bus was up to the alpine mechanical challenge and she had no trouble piloting in these conditions, but she had never seen such a natural spectacle as this. From one of the scenic overlooks they could actually see granite boulders up to fifty feet below the surface as if resting at the bottom of a freshly scrubbed swimming pool. In this expanse, the shade of blue isn’t the soft hazy sky-color to which they were accustomed, but more like a deep, cobalt electric blue that seemed artificially saturated.

And their depth perception was affected, too. On the plains, when one sees a town or a ridge, they know roughly how long it takes to drive there. In the Tahoe basin, across the liquid expanse, the opposit shoreline looks like one could reach out and touch it, yet it’s twelve miles of deep, ice-cold water away. 

When the gang finally made it to the marina they agreed Tahoe felt like stepping inside a giant, hidden room made of stone, glass, and pine. Sort of a shock to the system… like moving from a world of infinite horizontal space to one dominated by massive depth and towering height.

As Professor T worked out final boarding arrangements his comrades relaxed at the bar with buck stealthily monitoring the weather in real-time. He had resolved to stay fairly sober in order not to miss any subtle cues from Mother Nature which would send him into guardian mode.

“So what about those deep-water mafia graveyard legends?” said Billie. “Like that scene in the Godfather where Fredo met his untimely end… i heard the bottom of Lake Tahoe would be littered with perfectly preserved former wiseguys sleeping with the fishes. You know… because the water is so c-c-c-cold?” Billy was half-joking. She knew deep-water exploring technologies had to have advanced to the point of exploring the bottom long ago. If there was any truth to the legends, they’d have heard about it by now.

Jack knew the stories were just that, provocative and entertaining, but essentially a nothingburger. “In fact, mobsters looking to make a killing in the casino business back in the day found Tahoe basically too much trouble. With the small size, inclement, sometimes unpredictably furious weather, a ‘Sin City’ on the lake never really materialized. The casinos that did emerge on the South Shore were basically bootstrapped by a couple ‘straight-arrow’ guys, anyway. So… great movie fodder, but not much in the way of news.”  

“Buzzkiller,” said Billie with a crooked smirk.

Fees paid and boarding time approaching, Buck took one last look at the forecast, all clear! When the gates opened, they made a beeline for the top deck, grabbed a drink and, taking in the massive 360- degree expanse of the crystal-clear water, basked in the sunshine and glory of Mother Nature’s spectacular wonder. 

Several miles of deep-blue open water later with Mount Tallac looming large overhead, the boat finally passed through the narrow mouth of Emerald Bay, the deep cobalt blue of the main lake’s water abruptly shifting into a brilliant, translucent turquoise. Once inside the bay, the captain throttled down slowing the boat to a smooth, quiet glide where they would soon circle Fannette Island giving everyone a photogenic view of the stone “tea house” perched on its peak, then past Vikingsholm, a thirty-eight room Scandinavian castle nestled in the pine forest on the shore.

After dropping anchor and releasing the more adventurous guests to some swimming or floating time in the not quite as icy water of the bay, the boat was again underway for a beautiful “golden hour” return to the marina. Professor T was at the bow taking it all in, with the sun dropping behind the Sierra peaks and the sky turning vibrant shades of pink, orange, and violet all reflecting across the still water, he almost dreaded going back into the breach of our divided nation looking for the causes of it’s wild fibrillation. Jack was in the main galley talking to a handsome lady on the boat for a family shindig. Not a single word about cyber-security and Jack was more than fine with it. Buck and Billie were back on the top deck soaking the experience and trying to hide that fluttering feeling in your stomach when you know something seismic is brewing, but you’re kinda scared of it and you do your best to hide it from your familiars. 

Once back in the bus and heading for the RV park, Buck let out a sigh of relief and never mentioned his Texas cowgirl friend’s tragic story.

NEXT WEEK:
All agreed, the backtracking detour to Lake Tahoe was worth the trouble, but it was time to get back to business. Eleven punishing hours to Flagstaff Arizona for the next round of  focus-group interviews… then, a trip to the deepest crack in the USA, the Grand Canyon.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch26)

CHAPTER 26: The Forks go separate ways in Vegas. Jack Dean crashes out in a New Media information session addressing the Artificial Intelligence sector, where Chinese models were achieving major progress on the cheap.

The Forks agreed to meet for breakfast early. They would explore the Vegas strip in pairs, then rendezvous for dinner at Javier’s for margaritas to report on the sights and sounds of what used to be called Sin City, now more like Disneyland for adults. Professor T and Jack had business at the MGM Convention Center but Buck and Billie were free to explore the spectacle as civilians. 

Jack was looking forward to getting some insight on how his contemporaries in higher-ed were coping with the introduction and mainstreaming of “generative” and “agentic” artificial intelligence tools. At first it was easy for instructors to recognize the hallmarks of work generated by AI, but as the tools evolved and students were getting better at weeding out hallucinations and outright fabrications cooked up in those red-hot, insatiably thirsty, noise blasting, money pits better known as AI “Data Centers.” For Jack, the bottom line was this: Evaluating the quality of student work was growing exponentially more difficult.

The irony was the fact that he supported the nation’s investment in this paradigm changing technology but he was also apprehensive about the headlong pace of corporate adoption. He was a true fifth-estate evangelist: “Move fast and break things” was a favored mantra. But in this case he favored a more analytic approach. Move slow, try things, learn from mistakes, keep what works, and try again seemed a more pragmatic way forward.

Unfortunately, the high-tech world moves at its own pace and with the anti-regulatory zealots in charge of all branches of Federal Government calling the shots, the AI bandwagon was more like a runaway nuclear-powered locomotive. In this era its either grab a handle or get left behind.

So Jack explained it to his students thusly: “AI is here…and just getting started,” he said. “Please do your own ethics inventory…don’t go into this era frivolously. If you land in the anti-AI camp, at least your position will be sufficiently scrutinized.” When students asked Jack what they can do to address a movement they cannot support, Jack’s response was stark. “You may be right…there may be a burst of the bubble, but if you want a career in knowledge work of any kind, really, you need to have learned how to use these tools. At the very least your interlocutors will respect you as someone who understands their world. But more importantly, if the bubble doesn’t burst and you hope to keep up in the marketplace, you really need those skills. Why? Because your competition will surely have figured out how to get ahead leaving very little chance for you to catch up.”

The “New Media” convention Jack and Professor T attended had a “content” track and a “technology” track. The “tech” session Jack absolutely didn’t want to miss concerned international competition in the development of back-end technology driving AI. Jack knew this was a point of vulnerability to the USA. Hardware and software behind the infrastructure of a handful of organizations leading the charge hoovered up billions of dollars. Jack heard other nations were charging head-first and achieving similar results on far smaller investments and open-source development models. Jack worried the USA was heading for an economic correction comparable to the “Dot-Bomb” debacle of the early 2000s and was determined to let the thought leaders gathered at the convention hear his Jeremiah-like barbaric yawp.

He lauded the Chinese for their cost-efficiency and open-source models. He fervently believed this innovation was too big to allow proprietary tech and knowledge-hoarding that comes part and parcel with a capitalist economic model. “This technology leverages all available information and knowledge. In other words, the intellectual output of the entire human race is hoovered up into these large language models. It’s only right to have the collective brain power of the entire connected planet working on the problems and reaping the benefits of increased productivity, quicker problem solving, intelligent resource allocation, and the evolution of sentient life on this planet,” said Jack.

“To allow an elite few to monopolize risk/reward calculations is a crime against humanity,” Jack was on fire. “China is doing it right, and we are setting ourselves up for epic failure,” Jack wasn’t the only attendee with this mindset, but he was the only one crashing out in this session. Professor T listened intently hoping Jack might take the temperature down a couple notches before concluding his diatribe. But…just in case…he chose a seat near the door.

***

In a different sector of Adult Disneyland, Billie and Buck were having a banging good time trolling sex-hustlers flicking their player cards in the faces of passers by. “Is this all that’s left of “Sin City?” Billie was mildly amused.

“I’m sure there’s still and underground economy of gamblers, pimps, and mafioso-types out there, just not apparent on the streets.” Buck was trying to reconcile images gleaned from popular movies about Vegas with the apparently mundane vacation resort feel of the Vegas they were experiencing in real-time. “Hell, they even have a magic medieval castle here with kid-friendly attractions and costumed character actors.” 

“Come on,” said Billie. “We gotta experience the Pirate raid at Treasure Island!”

“I’m afraid you’re out of luck with that one,” a friendly bystander answered Billie’s wish with some cold, hard, post-pandemic news. “There was a rumor the original pirate stunt show would be fully restored, but according to the real pirates running the casino, it was just that…a rumor. For now, the lagoon stays dry and the show doesn’t go on. Maybe a limited return in a few months, but for now, nada.”

Billie and Buck really weren’t all that disappointed. They had a grand ol’ time strolling from casino to casino watching people. So many reminders of the excesses their fellow humans love to indulge here in one of the driest deserts in the world…it’s a marvel of civil engineering this oasis in the desert. Billie and Buck wandered around in a constant state of awe.

***

At the end of the day, the Forks met for dinner at Javier’s as planned for a few margaritas and to trade war stories. Jack was still somewhat agitated by what he felt was another case of “irrational exuberance” destined to correct itself in a much bigger way than the dot-bomb of the early 2000s. He worried about the effects a crash would have on his 401k investments, but mostly got the bile out of his system at the convention. 

The suppertime conversation was dominated mostly by Billie and Buck’s Las Vegas first impressions. The strip had so many interesting attractions…there really wasn’t enough time to see it all. But duty calls, and the Forks prepared to conduct the next round of focus-group interviews at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV) first thing in the morning.

NEXT WEEK:
Focus-group interviews at UNLV complete, the Forks take a back-tracking detour to Lake Tahoe for a guided boat cruise on Emerald Bay.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

Below the Earth – Above the Sun: The Bright Line

Ok… a couple matters causing major concern: 1.) A Christian Nationalism (CN) movement, starting with Ronald Reagan, Paul Weyrich, and Ralph Reed, has been slowly advancing most of my adult life. and 2.) it appears some loony-toon MFer tried to punch a hole in Mr. Trump’s puss (07-13-2024) at his Pennsylvania rally…. gaaahh!

Regarding concern #1, national politics have progressed in predictable ways with the pendulum swinging between slightly right and ultra-right over the last 30+ years. A gradual rightward shift of the Overton Window has been a back-burner concern for me. Nothing so alarming as to get me digging into the inner workings of religious right’s takeover of local media (Fox/Sinclair)… DOH! I mean, yea, i’ve been a wild-eyed dime-store soothsayer warning of a dangerous erosion of the bright line that is supposed to separate church from state. But… distracted… i’ve been focused on my knitting and avoiding the hornet’s nest of evangelical zealots (no time for bashing my head into brick walls). So, when Mitch McConnell pulled his Machiavellian maneuvers, denying Obama a final SCOTUS pick (one-year lead time), then followed up by ramrodding two ideological picks for Trump (one of them within weeks of the next presidential election), in fact, subverting the very rules of decorum cited by McConnell in the first place. For my part, regarding the deep and troubling irony of his (McConnell’s) flip flopping positions, i realized these people were not at all that interested in integrity, or good faith dealing. They’re only interested in gaining and holding onto power at any cost.

The overturning of Roe-v-Wade, despite confirmation pledges to leave settled law alone, apparently gave CN rank-and-file the victory they so desperately craved…so, now what? Is this the end of the story? Hell to the no! They’ve been working on a slow motion coup against US democratic checks and balances for decades. They want a favored candidate (chosen by God) installed as emperor for life, because they know CNs can no longer prevail in democratic contests. They are dead serious about dismantling democracy altogether. And it looks as though they might actually pull that off. The minute they settled on a willing lackey able to energize a multi-million-voter base, they found a way to tie the carnival barker to their biblical mumbo jumbo despite the fact he (Mr. Trump) is the furthest thing from embodying their conception of morality. Brilliant! Take a popular “reality” TV star, and tie him to the same cause as popular TV preachers and… well… they beat Hillary Clinton’s potentially historic presidential bid…so there’s that.

Some say elevating an African American to the White House was a great backlash energizer…the final straw. Democracy has to go. And, i have to say that i agree. I agree that’s what’s at stake here. I said it in 2020, i’m saying it again. The choices are clear, a.) pluralistic secular democracy or b.) authoritarian Christian theocracy… time to choose.

As for concern #2, it’s tempting to ridicule anti-right wackos as the 07-13-2024 shooter apparently let several rounds loose with only one getting close to Mr. Trumps vitals. Contrast this with the anti-leftist wackos when they want leaders dead. They (anti-leftist wackos) operate with the cool efficiency of military snipers… JFK & MLK didn’t have a chance. RFK and Malcom X, toast. Reagan…? Merely wounded. Yes, tempting, but we won’t go there today. And though this talk about “false-flag” staged July Surprise nonsense is also tempting. After all, the subject is a malignant narcissist who would unhesitatingly stoop to any limbo setting needed to win. Seriously, i wouldn’t be shocked if the final dispatch came out that way. But since news reports have the shooter dead as well as at least one bystander and another injured, it (false-flag conspiracy) is likely not the story here. Nevertheless, the event is now part of the 2024 Election year story… oy.

Adding fuel to the fire, some unsettling words accompanying the Heritage Foundation’s POTUS marching orders, “Project 2025.” Yea… everyone needs to know about this. These people still have Reagan Derangement Syndrome, they worship his legacy like a religious icon. Anyway, Heritage was fairly new in 1980. They handed Reagan a “wish list” and got a lot of what they wanted from his administration. So now, they’re ready for PuppetPOTUS (part II), but this time, it’s for KEEPS, Baybay!

And… so… what to do… keep quiet and go along, or stand up and defy this movement with all the tools at our disposal? And before you ask, YES…YES! We consider violence an illegitimate method of political discourse, and yes, we welcome CNs into our messy kaleidoscope of personal philosophy, religious beliefs, ethical codes, and moral fiber that make up the USofA… our country tis of thee.

The chaos has to stop. We have to get back to the rule of law. What keeps the peace and civility in our nation? Laws. Laws are drafted, proposed, and codified by elected leaders. It is the democratic process that brings lawmakers to City Council, County Commission, State House, Capitals, Governor’s Mansions, and the White House. Please understand… we (people of the USofA) will NOT submit to a particular religion’s anointed emperor. This nation is the gold standard city on the hill. Everyone wants to be here…to be the lucky ones able to dream that American Dream. It may be more like a bait-and-switch now days, but we still have that sliver of possibility…it still happens.

So…to answer Heritage’s Kevin Roberts’ cautionary quip about bloody revolution, yes, this national transformation will be relatively bloodless as whomever believes they can persuade with terrorism will be promptly rounded up and sequestered from the rest of the peaceful population (regardless political affiliation). Yes… the current phase of our nation’s history will be bloodless… and if everyone will just step off their outdated notions of inherent superiority, that’d be great.

Onward through the fog… Rohlfie

Rohlfie Begs Your Pardon

APOLOGY:
Heads up… it appears i’m behind on the “Chool Bus” weekly entries. I have no excuses, but here’s the reason: i decided to forego extravagant 2026 fuel prices by packing my “normie” stuff and moving it to a neck of the woods closer to my kids. 

No loss. The “Hot Springs or Busk” tour lasted roughly two years with a visit to all 48 mainland United States. I hope to emerge from the experience with a book based on these and other experiences accumulated over several lifetimes (6 7 trips around the solar system).

NOBODY GOING NOWHERE:
It’s my nature…because i don’t know who or what may emerge from any given earthly moment. Try as i might, i can’t direct the waves of fate…it doesn’t work that way. One peak…one trough…one breaker after another is the only available option.

I sail Rocinante chartless, because i must. Others may choose a more popular guided cruise and if that’s your jam, by all means, knock yourself out. Just keep in mind…if you choose the chartless path, this is what it’s like.

And make no mistake, letting go of expectations isn’t the easy path, but it keeps you on your toes. You are compelled to ride with open eyes, attentive ears, and a stout heart. Where it leads or what happens along the way can’t be known by you or anyone else. Maybe a wipeout…maybe a tempest… maybe a wildlife encounter…or maybe none of the above. In any case, it’s not special…just a mystery through and through, and everything you’ll ever need.

Either way, we share the planet with restless souls…haunted by dread and dream…like bobbing corks on the sea of fetters…awareness desperately hampered by limited perceptual bandwidth.

But love is out there too…and love is nothing if not restorative…and vital.

AM “I” IN CONTROL?
No one is special…cognitive scientists don’t even KNOW what an “I” really is. But we enter and exit this mortal existence in similar fashion with exactly the same ultimate result. So…am i the master of my fate? Am i a pinball subject to the push/pull of external forces? Or could it be a little of both?

PRO TIP: When in doubt, i run the questions by Occam’s Razor…from there, i find the simplest explanations usually more than satisfying.

And it can even be funny! I imagine a wry smile on the universe’s face as i succumb to ego-driven thoughts aimed at looking or seeming a certain way…that smile that says, “Oh, yeah, you’re doing that again.” … 😛

What…me worry?
 
Do caterpillars fret over transformation details…or does it just happen?

And so…going forward in blissful obscurity…the modus operandi of my 15th life (take that, felines) i will be traveling, chartless, in a perpetual state of wonder…nobody going nowhere. 

The weekly dispatches will resume once i’ve settled into my new homebase…it shouldn’t be much longer.

See ya soon… Rohlfie

The Chool Bus (ch25)

CHAPTER 25: After a hair-raising taste of narco-political street chaos, the Forks finally make it to Vegas. But none of them survived the day unfazed.

Decompressing that first night in Las Vegas, Billie opened her laptop for some virtual sightseeing and to give her father an update on her adventures with the Forks. But that wasn’t the full story as she had this nagging growth gaining in size and pressure in her bosom with each passing day. 

TO: Daryl (Dad) Schmidt
FROM: Billie Schmidt
SUBJECT: Mayhem South of the Border

Hey, Pops…

By now you’ve probably heard the news from Mexico. I want you to know we were never in any real danger, but gunplay did get a bit close for comfort. We were enjoying some small world conversations with a bunch of New Zealanders enjoying a port-of-call visit. You should have seen the look on their faces when the sounds of gun play wafted into the cantina. By then, our waiter had translated the general “shelter in place” order. It seems no one warned them (the Kiwi tourists) this kind of thing could happen so close to the US border, but here we were. Talk about a buzz kill… 😉

Truthfully, i wasn’t scared. You know me…i’m a troubleshooter. But the new guy, Buck…he impressed me as someone who never walks into a strange situation without scoping escape routes or items that might make effective self-defense weapons. He reminds me of…me in many ways, and frankly that scares me a bit. Sometimes i get kinda choked up when he snaps into guardian mode. And now, for God’s sake, when i hear certain music. You know, that high lonesome sound, it reminds me of that big Texas lug and i go all a flutter, feeling kinda empty and babbling. You know that’s not like me. I guess this all means something, not sure what, but don’t be surprised if i end up bringing him around for your inspection. 

With all my heart,
                        Billie

P.S. You know, New Zealanders love to mess with tourists. For example, one of them tried to tell us there was a secret underwater tunnel connecting New Zealand to Australia, another tried to tell us native Kiwi birds are ground up for meat in fast-food burgers…duh…everyone knows Kiwi birds are a protected species. And so…the clueless tourist jokes were on them when the dookie hit the rotating air displacement blades…it would have been funnier if the locals didn’t seem so uncertain of the outcome.

Billie’s father was relieved to hear from her. He had seen news reports of unrest south of the border, but he had hoped the gang would stay away from the worst of it. And they did, but some of the minor skirmishes had occurred too close to the tourist centers for comfort. And Billie’s mention of having feelings for the new guy gave him a strange sensation. Almost as if his soul was exhaling after all those years of holding his breath for her. Ever since she came out to him, he worried she would never find the kind of love he had been lucky enough to experience with her mother. He had seen Billie’s lovers come and go but he never sensed there might be a future with any of them, but her email gave him hope.

TO: Billie (Pumpkin) Schmidt
FROM: Daryl Schmidt
RE: Mayhem South of the Border

My Dearest Daughter…

Thank you for taking some time to put our minds at ease. We saw the news reports, and though most of the really bad news was coming from areas further south, i know there is a thriving arms trade at the border. I know those guns are going to cartels and their rivals, so quite frankly, i wished you and your bat-shit crazy friends would just leave the border uncrossed. That said, i also agree with Mark Twain, you know, that stuff about travel being the best cure for bigotry.

Holy Hell! What’s a worried father to do?

Anyway, it sounds like you’ve found a kindred spirit in that Buck Wellstone fella. I would love to meet him, even if these feelings don’t progress into something more serious. He sounds like a stand-up guy. The story of how you met him, really stands out in my memory. The way he was able to deescalate that dust up with your professor friend really impressed me. So yeah, bring him around at your earliest opportunity. In the meantime, we’ll just keep on keepin’ on here at the dealership.

Thank you for the update… 

Love from home…
            Papa Schmidt

NEXT WEEK:
The Forks go separate ways in Vegas. Jack Dean crashes out in a New Media information session addressing the Artificial Intelligence sector, where Chinese models were achieving major progress on the cheap.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch24)

CHAPTER 24: The detour to Ensenada is ill timed as the Mexican Government cracks down on a notorious cartel kingpin and all hell breaks loose.

Rolling into Mexico at Tijuana was an eye-opener for Billie and Buck. The long lines of vehicles were met with street vendors, flowers, jewelry, mariachi singers, hand-made trinkets, and much more for sale, some of the vendors, small children, each with their own unique pitch. “What the hell?” said Billie. “That kid can’t be more than ten-years-old. He’s selling balloons like they’re goin’ outta style.”

“Right,” said Buck. “Gotta love unrestricted capitalism. Seems kind of messed up to me, but i’m sure there’s a reason for it.”

Billie shrugged. “But…they’re everywhere. Maybe the cute kids and the little old abuelitas are the best border vendors… i just hope those kids have a safe place to go at the end of the day.” Billie was feeling a little emotional about young kids out there soliciting the gringos in their fancy cars. Billie was thinking about the migrant families she knew in Kansas. That is before the ICE-cold goon-squads started sweeping them up and shipping them off to El-Salvadore. She couldn’t imagine any of those kids among the long lines of cars with god knows what kind of psychos driving them.

Once through the border gauntlet, The Forks made their way along the Mexican coastal highway, a little over an hour and a half to Encenada where Professor T, on the advice of a US Navy veteran, steered Billie and the Chool Bus to a popular cantina. The cantina was within walking distance of a cruise ship docking area so lots of people from around the world come and go.

After finding a place to park the bus for an overnight stay, the gang made their way to the cantina. Once seated, they struck up a conversation with a group of cruise passengers from New Zealand. Turns out, one of the New Zealanders had spent a few years in the Denver Tech Center working for an engineering firm. He knew several of Jack’s Denver friends, and so the Forks and Buck found themselves at a raucous table of jabbering small world stories. Jack noticed a “bachelorette party” special on the menu, and suggested pooling resources. 

“You can really tie one on here,” said Mort T… fifty beers, a bottle of Don Julio 7, and a plate of guac and chips at the table…a bangin’ party for ten people. Five beers, a shot, and some guac for good measure… not that cheap, but super convenient.”

So Jack passed the hat, ordered up the special, and the party began in earnest. Around the time this impromptu group started giving way to slurred conversations, a small team of federales entered the cantina. They spoke with the manager in hushed tones for a moment, then left abruptly for the next-door business. Presently, the manager made an announcement that there had been a raid in a nearby town where the government targeted a narco-kingpin, killing him and his family and others. The response was spreading like wildfire. Buildings were bombed, vehicles torched, rival gangs were joining the chaos, and battle was breaking out all over the land.

“Damas y caballeros,” the cantina’s public address system amplified the manager’s voice. The waiter translated for the Forks’ table… “We have been advised to encourage everyone to shelter in place until this wave of retaliation subsides and it’s again safe to go out on the streets.“

“Holy crap!” Buck seemed almost excited about the development…scanning the Cantina for escape routes and hiding places. He decided to save the beers for later when a loud explosion shook the table.

Buck made his way to the window to see if he needed to go into fast-action mode. But the smoke was several blocks away.

Just then several pops, like black-cat fire crackers cut through the din, and Buck saw a couple of dark figures a couple blocks away. It looked like they were exchanging fire with a group of federales taking cover behind a black SUV. This is where someone from the New Zealander party directed the gang to hide in a dry goods pantry. A couple other parties joined them and twenty-five souls huddled together among the bags of pintos, cans of tomatoes, and bins of dried peppers. No one was feeling safe and everyone was sobering up, fast.

“Relax, everyone.” said one of the New Zealanders. “They won’t attack the cantina. They don’t want to hurt the tourist trade. I asked the manager if there were any cartel types hanging around. He didn’t think so…hopefully he’s right and we can get back to the ship unmolested.”

After a couple hours of tense waiting, the manager announced the danger had passed. The attacks in or around the area were few, but the gang passed a couple burning vehicles and there was evidence of gun play, spent casings, pools of blood, crime-scene tape, and local emergency responders running to and fro.

The Forks made their way back to the bus… feeling fortunate the action hadn’t got closer. It was a tense ride back to the RV park in San Diego and no one slept easy that night… definitely one to remember.   

NEXT WEEK:
After a hair-raising taste of narco-politics and street carnage, the Forks finally make it to Vegas. But none of them survived that day unfazed.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch23)

CHAPTER 23: The Forks take a few days detour South to San Diego, then across the border to Ensenada before the next round of focus group interviews in Las Vegas.

“La Holla?” Buck Wellstone mispronounced the words.

“No… say it like this,” said Jack. “La HOY-uh… it’s based on a Spanish phrase la joya, which means ‘the jewel’. This might, of course, be fake news as another Spanish term, la hoya, refers to a geographic hollow. Or… ‘the holes,’” Jack burst into a juvenile fit of laughter, then composing himself after wiping away tears and blowing his nose. “Sorry, i get a kick out of the way people tend to jazz up the mundane. I mean, the neighborhood around UC San Diego is straight-up gorgeous…pristine beaches, perfect weather, marine life out the wazoo…but it’s really nothing more than a neighborhood of San Diego. Some refer to La Jolla as a State of Mind. And no one really knows why anyone would literally call it ‘the holes,’ perhaps they’re referring to the sea-level caves that can be seen from La Jolla Shores.”

With that, Jack closed his US road atlas, Billie punched the address into Siri’s Drunk Sister maps app, Professor T was engrossed in a book, earbuds on blast, and with that the Chool Bus was underway. Roughly four hours…straight south. They would arrive in time for supper in La Jolla, get a good night’s sleep then up and at ‘em early for the first round of focus group interviews at the university.

***

Buck Wellstone had grown accustomed to accompanying Billie from the passenger seat, keeping her company and exchanging music playlists. Now, Billie has never been a country music fan, but Buck was serving up the classics. And where Billie was familiar with pop-country playing on radio stations, Buck was showing her, for the first time, deep Appalachian “old-timey” Mountain fare, and the open-range cowboy singing poets exemplified by the likes of the Carter Family, Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, etc. 

“Why, this sounds like the tunes they used for that Coen Brothers movie…the one critics said was loosely based on Homer’s Odyssey,” said Billie. The actual music was not all that exciting for her, but she didn’t let Buck in on that as she was starting to warm up to Buck himself. In fact, she was getting a bit worried she might be in danger of falling for the big fella. While first impressions lead folks to regard Mr Wellstone imposing and dangerous, he was actually quite gentle, compassionate, and somewhat vulnerable. Billie, in a word was starting to fall for him.

Now Billie is very good at mental multi-tasking, and as she steered the Chool Bus southward through Pasadena then Irvine she was able to pay attention to Buck’s occasional commentary and his old-timey playlist while her non-binary nature was waging a vigorous debate over the relative merits of sparking up a conventional relationship with… a guy.

First, was she thinking about committing to a person or a type? She knew that dating Buck meant committing to a specific person, regardless of gender. Like, he was never going to understand her on the levels of her female lovers. Does she run the risk of growing tired of that, or can the relationship grow stronger over time like her favorite aunt and uncle…despite the annoying gender-specific quirks to which many hetero couples must grin and bear?

Does going hetero erase a part of me? Her thoughts were working overtime. After all, the common fear is that settling with someone of the opposite sex would make others perceive her as “straight.” She worried whether entering a monogamous relationship would alter how she, or the world, view her identity. So many questions: Did she explore enough? Does she need a more polyamorous arrangement? Would Buck be able to trust her? So many questions. It was getting harder to continue the illusion of full attentiveness and Buck was starting to notice from the broken dialog and self-interruptions. Billie was making more apologies for unfocused responses. She knew she was spreading her awareness too thin for safe driving…she would have to focus on the wheel in the urban traffic zones. When a feeling of tightness in her chest pushed her into a defiant mood, she said something rude to Buck and both went silent for a long moment.

Meanwhile Jack and Professor T were having a spirited debate about the nature of good and evil. Every once in a while one of their voices would cut through the bus’ engine and tire noise. It must have been a banger of a debate. By the time the four hour stretch was through they arrived on a logical equation, an accord, a compromise. This was it: The pursuit of self-interest PLUS aggression or violence MINUS basic human compassion EQUILS generic evil.

As Billie steered the bus into the RV park on the outskirts of Sandog SoCal, Billie apologized for the rude outburst and Buck assured her he was not even remotely offended, he wasn’t explicitly lying as her sudden inexplicable rudeness did hurt a bit.

He too was sliding down that slippery slope…he felt as if it were possible he could fall fairly hard for this contradictory bundle of gentle, fair, beautiful, tough-as-leather, one hundred percent bad-ass bitch.

He never thought he would meet, let alone get hung up on someone identifying themselves among the rainbow LGBTQ coalition…but here we are.

Rolling into the UC Sandog Student Union parking lot, the Forks prepared to roll out the schtick. It was time for everyone to put on their most professional and focused masks. Time to gather some qualitative data from this affluent Southern California corner of our spiritually ailing nation. There would be a week break between San Diego and the next research destination, Las Vegas. In the meantime, the Forks would dip their toes in to the sands of Mexico… they gonna fuck around and find out.

NEXT WEEK:
The detour to Ensenada is ill timed as the Mexican Government cracks down on a notorious cartel kingpin and all hell breaks loose.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch22)

CHAPTER 22: The Forks head south venturing close to LA via Santa Barbara and Moorpark, then, a taste of the Bakersfield sound at the Merle Haggard Museum.

As a prelude to the gang’s sweep through sunny Southern California (SoCal), Buck Wellstone dialed his all-access music smorgasbord to classic Bakersfield jams…Buck Owens…Merle Haggard…Dwight Yokem…the works. He knew they’d be on this road for a while. After all, California posts higher annual gross domestic product than major powers such as the UK, Japan, and France. There is much to discover and SoCal is no slouch for quality of living, despite stratospheric costs.

For example, Santa Barbara…sometimes referred to as The American Riviera: though evidence of human habitation of the area begins at least 13,000 years ago, it finally joined the Union in the mid-19th Century. During the Gold Rush years and following, the town became a haven for bandits and gamblers…it was a dangerous and lawless place…now a veritable paradise on the West Coast.

The gang didn’t have focus group interviews scheduled in Santa Barbara, but it (Santa Barbara) was on the road to Moorpark, a fairly newish LA-area enclave and home of Moorpark College, known for high rates of degree completion. Moorpark is also known for a unique program, The Teaching Zoo. One can imagine an inevitable mishap where people learning the exotic animal ropes lose control of their prickly critters. In this case, a Siberian tiger escaped a local resident’s confines.

Tuffy the Tiger met with an untimely demise as authorities were not privy to the animal’s history (Tuffy was declawed). Other reports indicate authorities couldn’t get a favorable angle for tranquilizer dart effectiveness, so they opted for deadly force…no more Tuffy…and the incident caused a bit of an uproar as the cat was on the loose for weeks. Escaped tigers not withstanding, Moorpark is said to have the lowest crime rates in Ventura County.

Anyway, the gang HAD to do some exploring in Santa Barbara. An area boasting a climate often described as Mediterranean with a strikingly beautiful view. The hillside community just north of downtown enjoys a sweeping view of the Pacific Ocean and Santa Ynez Mountains. With Mediterranean-style white stucco buildings topped with red-tile roofs reflecting the city’s Spanish colonial heritage. Billie was aware that she was missing most of the spectacle due to keeping her eyes on the road. But Buck was taking note, and when they finally got to stretch their legs and do some exploring provided guidance on where to go.

Movie buff Professor T recalled his time in a class exploring the history of electronic media. He knew that Santa Barbara housed the world’s largest movie studio during the era of silent film. Flying A Studios and others produced over a thousand films during their tenure in Santa Barbara. While the massive American Film Company lot (which once dominated a full city block) was mostly torn down in the 1940s, a few key pieces remain: The Main Surviving Building…a one-story, Revival–style office located on Mission Street is still standing and meticulously preserved. It was once the actors’ green room, dressing rooms, and lounge, and now operates as the office for an architecture firm. When the Forks got there, they saw the original Flying A logo on the front of the building, the prominent arched windows, and the vintage entry light sconce…Mork Thompson was pleased. And once Professor T’s curiosity was satisfied, the gang trudged up the hill to Belmond El Encanto Dining Room in the Mission Canyon foothills, a gourmet lunch with incredible views.

***

Fed and edified in Santa Barbara’s alternate universe, the Forks made their way back to the Chool Bus and embarked for Moorpark…a couple days for focus group interviews at Moorpark College before pushing on to Bakersfield, a geological engineer’s dream museum right there in the same plot with Merle Haggard and the Bakersfield Sound Museum. Buck Wellstone wallowed in the detailed oilfield exploration and drilling exhibits, and the Hard Rock Cafe for country music fans, not to mention Mr Haggard’s boyhood home, fashioned from a vintage railroad caboose.

The flashy Nudie Suits, the back page stories of Bakersfield sound luminaries, the towering palm trees. It was all a bit dizzying for Buck…and he LOVED it.

Bakersfield is often considered to be the birthplace of a different and refreshing, down-to-earth sound, sort of a rebellious response to Nashville’s highly produced, slick releases. The Bakersfield scene inspired many country artists, such as Dwight Yoakam and The Strangers. Yoakam, alongside Buck Owens, paid tribute to Owens by covering his 1973 recording of Streets of Bakersfield. The cover reached number one on the Billboard Hot Country Singles chart in 1988.

And Bakersfield’s premier luminary, Merle Haggard, was born and raised in Oildale. In the early 1960s, Haggard completed his first single, Skid Row, on Bakersfield’s Tally label. He went on to sign with Capitol Records a few years later. Most of Haggard’s early songs reflect his time spent in prison, farming, and working blue-collar jobs in Southern California, including Bakersfield. But he was more than just a unique interpreter of those lonesome country songs, he could also do amazing impressions of other country stars of the day. You could say he was the Jimmy Fallon of his era.

NEXT WEEK:
The Forks take a few days detour South to San Diego, then across the border to Ensenada before the next round of focus group interviews in Las Vegas.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links