The Great “Hot Springs or Busk” Tour Rolls Back Downhill (Dispatch from Pocatello, Idaho): So, like a clown car perpetually overflowing with misfortune, here we are again, loopers. Remember that meticulously crafted itinerary, the one that promised a triumphant northward march to the Canadian border? Yeah, about that. Turns out, fate – that sadistic ringmaster with a penchant for rusty hubcaps – had other plans. Rocinante, our trusty (usually) mount, coughed up a lung full of power-pack trouble, forcing a U-turn south towards Wayfarer Central in Colorado Springs. Parts, bless their slow-moseyin’ selves, would not arrive for a fortnight, so we chose to spend the downtime at homebase, Hays, KS where we could also get Rocinante’s windshield replaced and a running board added.
But hey, a scenic detour is a scenic detour, right? We shivered through a one-night stand in Bismarck after a stunning sunset stretch through South and North Dakota’s rolling countryside. Then Billings Montana offered a brief respite before hightailing it through Bozeman, then Cody Wyoming. Cody, bless its remote tourist-trap hide, is where we met up with some excellent friends who steered us towards Thermopolis – a haven of hot springs so numerous they’d make Bacchus proud.
Then, Idaho Falls, a land in need of some highway adopters, became our next pitstop. After that, Pocatello, where we nestled in the bosom of a decent public library contemplating the next leg – Salt Lake City, a place that holds… hmmm… let’s just say Ronnie Hays has some “post-9/11 baggage” with SLC (stay tuned for the glorious details).
But the real star of this show, loopers, was the stretch between Cody, WY and Idaho Falls. Yellowstone National Park, in all its technicolor glory, unfolded before our bleary eyes. Mountains that scraped the underbelly of heaven, meadows bursting with wildflowers, switchbacks that would make a pretzel shout in pain. Mammoth Hot Springs, a geological freak show that would make P.T. Barnum envious. And the wildlife, oh the wildlife! Foxes with mischievous glints in their eyes, Elk foraging with enormous racks, bison as big and grumpy as your grunting uncle Melvin, and bears – enough bears to staff a Russian circus. The only downside? No dang AT&T service. Talk about being stranded in the technological dark ages!
Speaking of stranded, it was right here, in the middle of Mother Nature’s art gallery, that Rocinante decided to shed a hubcap like a bad habit. Thousands of miles under our belts, and this is when she decides to play Hide the hubcap? Believe you me, loopers, we were sweating harder than a sinner in church. But fear not! Rocinante, bless her engine that could, soldiered on through the park, hubcap-less but unbowed.
So, Idaho, the state with the motto that sounds like a drunken Latin scholar’s mumbling (Esto Perpetua, for the curious). Rough translation, “It shall be perpetual”. And what have we learned? Well, for starters, hot springs are a national treasure here. And speaking of Hot Springs, Idaho covers the gamut, from redneck mud baths to swanky spas… a soak for every soul. And though the higher-ed scene may not be ivy, these universities offer a decent education without the heart attack-inducing price tag. And who knew Idaho was such a literary hotspot? Shakespeare under the stars, Hemingway’s ghost haunting cafes – it’s enough to make a bibliophile sue for custody.
The Idahoan Identity? Self-reliant, community-driven, with a healthy dose of fresh air and a side of “get off my lawn” thrown in for good measure. And nature’s playground? Yup! From the Sawtooth Mountains that could pierce the heavens to Yellowstone’s geothermal freak-out, Idaho’s got scenery that’ll knock your socks off (assuming you’re wearing any). And they have grown some famous loopers, from Aaron Paul (aka “Yo! Mr. White… Science!”), Papa Hemingway himself, and the silver screen siren Lana Turner. Not a bad lineup, eh?
The Bread and Butter, agriculture, tourism, and the service industry keep Idaho humming along. Relatively affordable housing, decent wages – what’s not to love? Plus, there’s always a mountain to climb or a river to raft, so you won’t get bored.
A land of contradictions. A double-edged sword. There’s a fierce sense of community, a rugged self-reliance, and a love for the great outdoors that would make John Muir weep with joy. On the other hand, there’s a whiff of insularity, a resistance to change that’s about as flexible as a petrified log, and pockets of militant social conservatism that could curdle milk at fifty paces.
But hey, that’s the beauty of this crazy mixed-up country, right? From the boiling cauldrons of Yellowstone to the necessary return to Wayfarer Central, it’s a never-ending carnival of delights and disasters. Stay tuned for the next thrilling installment of Rocinante’s hubcap shedding saga!
Onward through the fog… R.H.
And now… another apology to Woody:
For fields of tubers… And chaos preppers… Idaho… spicy as a pepper… You got your Shakespeare… Pound and Hemmingway… Esto … it will be … Perpetua!
“What we know is a drop… What we don’t know is the ocean.” ~ Isaac Newton
I tried… i really tried. Or maybe i’m adjusting to life’s inevitable curveballs scrambling the perfect symmetry of my best laid plan. You know, the one where i, knight-errant in a rolling studio apartment christened Rocinante, traversing the 48 contiguous states. The noble quest? To get my arms around the “fibrillating heart of our divided nation“. To get these insights from whomever in these sleepy college towns might be willing to spend five minutes with a weirdo packing a guitar and a head full of questions.
But fate, that fickle wench, had other plans. First, it was the librarians. Pale, overworked automatons shuffling through Dewey decimals, with nary a moment to spare for philosophical pontificating on state mottos. Was it time constraints, or a gut-wrenching fear of my “political agenda”? And don’t get me started on the chilling possibility that the modern anti-intellectualism plague has seeped its tendrils into the heartland’s libraries! The horror! I quickly concluded my approach was to blame. I mean, c’mon, what the hell is this all about?
Then came the body blows: Rocinante’s innards failing like a politician’s promise, and a Utah road pebble punching a hole in our windshield. The Hot Springs or Busk mission – a symphony of soaking in geothermal glory and serenading the masses for petty cash – lay in tatters. Sure, the Dakotas and Wyoming soothed my travel-weary soul with their natural mineral baths, but that dream’s on hold till the autumn chill sets in. And busking? That one never even sprouted wings. Turns out, maintaining personal hygiene on the road, wrestling with writer’s block, acquiring provisions, and figuring out where to sleep takes up most of a day.
But here’s the kicker, loopers. The world’s gone batty, and burying my head in the sand just ain’t gonna cut it anymore. “Project 2025” leaked like a sieve, painting a dystopian portrait of a second Trumpian reign that’d make Orwell blush. And don’t even get me started on the assassination attempt – the twisted pandora’s box exposing an unholy alliance of theocratic nutjobs, techie snake-oil salesmen, and white-bread racists all marching in lockstep toward MAGA-land.
This, loopers, is where Rocinante and i draw a line in the sand. It’s time to stand up, or at least yell obscenities at the oncoming storm, in defense of the freaking democratic republic our forefathers sweat blood to build. This ain’t some pre-packaged travelogue anymore, folks. This is a gonzo odyssey hurtling towards a cliffhanger ending November, 2024, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.
Let me establish some bona fides, loopers. It was 1993, the Jurassic period of the internet, when i, a late-blooming recently reformed rock-n-roll wannabe made his way to the meticulously landscaped limestone campus of Fort Hays State University. At this frontier outpost, i stumbled upon a great tech-fueled human awakening. The era, mind you, when dial-up modems whined their mating calls, and the internet itself resided in a fluorescent-lit dungeon called the “computing center” – a place that would make a Kafka setting look like some cheerful dentist’s waiting room.
There, on a terminal that resembled a torture device from a B-movie, i logged onto a primordial internet, a MUD (multi-user dungeon) teeming with virtual spelunkers from across the globe. It was like falling into a rabbit hole populated by Aussies, Brits, and basement-dwelling samurai – a world where geography dissolved like a bad acid trip.
Intrigued (and maybe a little scared), i embarked on a quest to understand this beast. I traded my dog-eared textbooks for a master’s degree in the field of “communication studies,” focusing on the particular learning styles of these early internet adopters. As the web blossomed (or maybe more accurately, sprouted like a particularly virulent fungus), so did my career. I landed in academia, a Don Quixote tilting at windmills of ignorance, determined to share this newfound curiosity.
Ah, but this paradise wasn’t built for everyone. Back then, computing power was the exclusive domain of pocket-protected engineers and those with the social graces of an abacus. The average digital apprentice, like myself, had two options: learn the arcane language of coding, a feat akin to deciphering ancient Sumerian, or grovel before the high priests of computer science. And for what reward? The dubious honor of navigating a buggy wasteland of productivity tools resembling a drunken Rube Goldberg contraption. The “graphical user interface” revolution, if you can call it that, was just another layer of lipstick on this technological pig.
Before the internet, navigating the marketplace of ideas meant a pilgrimage to the library, that mausoleum of knowledge and arcanery. You either wrestled with the Dewey Decimal System, a logic puzzle designed by Satan himself, or relied on the benevolence of the librarians, those gatekeepers of the pulp-n-ink media. The contrast between the Dark Ages of ’78 and the digital supernova of 2024 is enough to make your head spin.
Now, we drown in a tsunami of technological pronouncements – quantum computing, designer DNA, the ever-present threat of Skynet. But fear not, loopers, for even as we stand on the precipice of a technological singularity, nearly half the population still believes the Earth is flat and six thousand years old. We are a nation of flickering attention spans, perpetually distracted by the digital fireflies flitting across our screens – a society of shuffling zombies, hypnotized by the glow of our handheld gods, and there will be a reckoning… oh yea.
Look, i’m no Luddite. Here i am, hunched over a keyboard in the merciful silence of the library, instead of downing near-beer and swapping healthcare stories at the Bingo Hall. The digital siren song is hard to resist. But where’s the master plan in all this? Who’s steering this chrome chariot hurtling towards who-knows-where? It feels like a rigged game, doesn’t it? The puppet masters, these billionaire Übermenschen, dangle their techno-baubles in front of us, content to keep the masses hypnotized. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe it’s just economics, not some grand conspiracy. After all, we don’t wanna give spoiled, marginally-competent “self-made” trust-fund babies too much credit, right?
Anyway, we stand at a crossroads, teetering on the edge of a technological revolution. The chaos around us is a symptom of our collective unpreparedness. Let’s arm ourselves with knowledge, not just the latest gadgets. The future is ours to shape, but only if we wrest control from the digital puppeteers and use this power wisely. After all, wouldn’t you rather be the architect than another brick in the wall?
Either way, we’re in a heap of trouble. The gap between the haves and have-nots is wider than the Grand Canyon on a bad acid trip. We’re hurtling towards a technological future with all the grace of a drunken walrus on roller skates. What’s the answer? Jeezus! Who knows…? If i had the answers my dispatches wouldn’t live in an obscure blog no more discernable than a needle in the galaxy of obscurity. I’d be one of the puppet masters, right? There would be publicists, and media tours, and wardrobe people, personal trainers, financial advisors, domestic services staff, etc..
So, assuming my guess is as good as anyone with comparable bona fides, consider this: What if we were to pump our educational systems full of digital steroids, create a generation of media-savvy citizens who can think critically, not just parrot the latest pronouncements from Silicon Valley snake-oil salesmen? Also… maybe leave the religious dogma to Sunday schools.
Whatever we decide to do, it’s time to stop worshipping false idols (as seen in the 10 Commandments) and reclaim our rightful place as that shining pluralistic city on the hill. Let’s stop vilifying intelligence, but celebrate it. From there, maybe we really CAN … Make Humanity Great Again.
Ok… enough for now. Stay tuned for a reverse “red-pill” treatment… we’ll flip the whole “Cathedral” of the neo-liberal “deep-state” on it’s head. We’ll restate The Who’s pithy observation from their anthem, Won’t Get Fooled Again…
Ronnie Hays, bless his late-developed soul, once spent a week in Riverton, Wyoming that felt like a lifetime trapped in a malfunctioning deep freeze. December in that desolate outpost was a symphony of howling wind and sub-zero temperatures, a perfect recipe for laryngitis. Ronnie, fueled by a steady diet of codeine cough syrup and a delusional dream of rockstardom, had the brilliant idea to chase his nonexistent high notes across a stage the size of a postage stamp. Needless to say, it went about as well as a penguin tap-dancing competition on the moon.
Fast forward a couple of years. Ronnie, now liberated from the shackles of his musical aspirations, found himself partnered with a gonzo comrade, Fozzy. (We’ll christen him Fozzy for the sake of anonymity… let’s just say we’re super glad there was no Facebook in the 80s.)
Fozzy, a Laramie-educated savant with a graduate school acceptance letter burning a hole in his pocket, held a peculiar belief: that Laramie, Wyoming, was a magical land where cops were blind to the transgressions of the gloriously intoxicated. This, of course, was a theory ripe for testing by two nihilistic souls clinging desperately to the wreckage of their mid-80s existence.
Imagine, if you will, a “borrowed” car (ownership and registration a fiction at best), fueled by cold beer (courtesy of the nearest liquor store), hurtling towards Laramie like a pair of wobbly missiles. The speedometer, a mere suggestion, registered a healthy too-damn-fast, a testament to their utter disregard for both the law and their own mortality.
Several beers and a vanished sunset later, they rolled into Laramie like banshees on Adderall. To their utter disappointment, the flashing blue lights they so richly deserved remained stubbornly absent. Finally, in a moment of glorious absurdity, Fozzy managed to run a red light, narrowly missing a cop car pulling out of a parking lot.
“Well, this is it,” Ronnie chuckled, fresh with “i told you so” energy dancing in his eyes. Busted! Hauled off to the drunk tank! A glorious, self-inflicted martyrdom!
The officer, a woman with a withering gaze that could curdle milk, approached Fozzy’s window. The story Fozzy concocted to explain their lack of documentation was a masterpiece of nonsensical bravado, worthy of a Bugs Bunny episode. Miraculously, it worked. The officer, perhaps amused by the sheer audacity of it all, subjected Fozzy to a “sobriety dance” (how he passed remains a mystery). Deemed sufficiently non-threatening, they were banished from her sight with a stern warning and a $25 fine, payable through a conveniently located “after hours” slot at the courthouse.
And so Fozzy’s theory is field-tested and determined factually sound. Or perhaps, Laramie had simply taken pity on these two hapless fools.
Anyway… enough ancient history, as Garth Algar once said… “LIVE IN THE NOW!”
So what of Wyoming now? Well, it’s a land of contradictions. The “Equal Rights” motto proudly proclaims a progressive past, yet some grapple with its present-day relevance. Natural wonders like Yellowstone leave visitors speechless, while the wind in Riverton can leave you speechless… and possibly frostbitten. Thermopolis, however, boasts hot springs that could soothe even the most cynical soul, as Ronnie himself discovered on his later, decidedly less gonzo, tour. The locals cherish their independence and self-reliance, but there’s a growing discussion about the need for more higher education options. Famous figures like Esther Hobart Morris and J.C. Penney stand as testaments to Wyoming’s spirit, while economic mainstays like tourism and resource extraction raise questions about environmental responsibility.
In the end, Wyoming offers a unique tapestry: breathtaking beauty, a fierce sense of self, and a touch of the wild west. And yes, while Fozzy’s theory about DUIs in Laramie may have held some truth back in ’86, we’re pretty damn sure you can get one now.
Onward through the fog… R.H.
And now… Another step up the Tower of Song… With apologies to Woody Guthrie… And Leonard Cohen.
For Nature’s Wonders… And personal liberty… Don’t look far… It’s in Wyoming… Declare your freedom… And let your freak flag fly… Equal Rights are stamped upon its seal.
Ok… a couple matters causing major concern: 1.) A Christian Nationalism (CN) movement, starting with The Gipper, 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. Trumps puss yesterday (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 bricks). 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 Mr. 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 this 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 might have been the 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, loopers. 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 thinks 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.
Just a small town kitty with a map of the city and not much else to claim… picked up a one way ticket outta here… to find fortune and fame
Well… i don’t know much about livin’ high… never had too much at all… so i really admire that girl who left here… to find fortune and fame.
With a tear in her beer… she tried to explain… how she tried and tried but did not live up to her name… and the deacons… the merchants… the coffee shop congress agreed… that she couldn’t have picked a better time to break free.
One flew over… To see what she could see… One flew over… only… To discover the things you gotta trade… for the dream.
Aren’t we the lucky ones?
Well… there’s a feeling around here… echos of sadness… i can’t seem to trace. One more time at the wishin’ well… a lonely… lovely place.
Well… it seems the American Dream… only boats against the tide… driftin’ shiftin’… always outta reach… like pin-lights cross the great divide.
A public socialite she had come to be… not a soul saw her off… save for me… and the fakers the takers… the singles bar congress agreed… that she couldn’t have picked a better time to leave.
One flew over… To see what she could see… One flew over… only… To discover the things you gotta trade… The things you gotta trade… for the dream.
So… just as things start heating up here in the land of Oz, Rocinante’s lucky stars begin to align. Yesterday the windshield repair was completed and as soon as we pulled away from the repair shop, a FedEx email dropped letting us know the power-link recall parts were enroute to Colorado Springs. All that’s left is scheduling an appointment with the local electrician to complete the install, and we’re back in the saddle, ready to resume the 48-state tour.
Next stop… either Oregon or Minnesota, whichever direction will keep us out of Satan’s armpit. These triple-digit temps are for. the. birds. This was the original aim… to stay away from extreme weather. Here’s an example of a travel route that accomplishes that aim.
So far, this summer has defied conventional wisdom, and as luck would have it, we’ve been in a perfect place this last couple weeks. It has been… glorious. 80s in the day, 60s at night. I’m almost reluctant to get underway, but forecast calls for upper 90s, so i guess it is time to go.
I’m starting to grow accustomed to the slower pace here at home port. I’ve been able to set aside large blocks of time for the kind of guitar practice i should have gotten out of the way as a juvenile delinquent… lol. Oh well, Ronnie Hays always says, “sometimes redemption requires discipline.” Happy to put in the time when i have it, but i fear, once back on the road, there’ll only be time for travel, scoping out viable boondocking sites, personal hygiene and provisions, research and writing This Land posts, sleep, and that’s about it. We’ll see, but that’s kinda how it all rolled before we got hit with repair needs.
Anyway, we’ll probably just head North once Rocinante’s power link is repaired. We’ll decide which direction to choose from there. Washington, Oregon, or Minnesota… we shall see.
Ok… i get it. It was the week of Independence Day. I showed up to home port with a holiday approaching. But i made a point to stress i wasn’t in a hurry, i just wanted to get the process of ordering parts and whatever other rigmarole necessary for the repairs underway in a timely manner.
But when i returned, a week later, seeking a date for the drydock, the shipmaster’s eyes glazed over like a barnacle-encrusted hull. “Oh, we know about yer plight,” he said, voice as flat as the Kansas prairie. “Parts were on back-order. They’re on their way now… Tuesday like clockwork. We’ll have ye shipshape by Wednesday.” A week and a half after dropping anchor.
A likely tale, that. The truth, me bucko, is they’d forgotten me, a speck on the horizon of their regular business rhythm. But the mate had the grace to keep a straight face. “Parts Tuesday, repairs Wednesday,” he repeated, as if reciting a nautical prayer.
Now, i’m a man of modest stature, a captain of a vessel dwarfed by the tour busses of the world. And like any short-legged wayfarer, i’ve weathered the doldrums of indifference. I may be refreshingly charismatic, fit, talented, smart, even at times, kind, but yea… short. Oh well, it is what it is. I refuse to put my body through dubious contortions to compensate for shortcomings. Seriously, who unloads hard-earned cash for corsets to make their belly look flatter, or stealth elevator shoes to add a few inches to their height? “hair transplants?” Seriously? Naw, none of this for me, thank you. If i can’t charm driver’s license examiner or a prairie schooner repair representative with my authentic self, i’m just fine sitting out the delay, hanging out with me and myself. I’m fine. That said, our Hot Springs or Busk tour has taken a mighty wrench in the gears.
In addition, Rocinante hit a rogue wave in the Utah outback. A semi’s kicked-up rock, hurled from the road like so much earned karma, punched a hole in her windshield. So… our choices were, a.) wait for the repair in the Utah outback, all the while perpetually searching for shade in the July inferno, or b.) head back to home base (Hays KS), where friends and family graciously allow shaded parking for Rocinante while we wait for the windshield and power link parts to arrive.
And the topper…? Mother Nature saw fit to provide a sustained string of rainy days in the Hays area, so our moored time was downright pleasant. And what do you think of that? Now i don’t believe in interventionist supernatural forces, and i’ve had my share of bad luck, but also, this. You see, without these setbacks, Rocinante and i would have made our way to Northern California by now. This morning’s weather report mentioned how Northern California was breaking heat records. So, rather than our temporary repose in Western Kansas with 80 temps in the day and 60s at night, we could be baking in 108 temps, there.
I’d say we’re right where we need to be, and like Joe Walsh once sang… “Life’s been good to me so far.” By gawd, the universe has been fairly good to me, all things considered. And we’ll leave it at that. Whatever the case, i’m moored at home port, but content, a solitary sailor in a sea of prairie grass. If you are somewhere in the extreme northwest USofA, and you were waiting for me to arrive, i offer humble apologies. I am detained by the random rock-kicks of fate. I will get there when i get there… and i’m looking forward to experiencing your slice of This Land.
So here we are, a new “This Land” tour motto ringing in our ears: “Ever thus to the best laid plans,” like some cosmic Rodney Dangerfield whispering sweet nothings of misfortune. Or, as Iron Mike Tyson would say, “everyone has a plan till they get punched in the face.”
Yessir, Rocinante, our mostly-trusty mount, decided to throw a wobbly right in the heart of Big Sky Country. Talk about a plot twist worthy of a pulp novel! Forget the quaint plan to hug along the northern border till autumn’s cool embrace washes over the central states. We were in Bismarck, North Dakota, staring down the barrel of a Northeast heat wave that could roast a side of beef, when Montana beckoned like a siren song. First stop: Billings. A strip mall Mecca, with Wal Mart to the left and Planet Fitness to the right, and a gloriously semi-shady parking spot (complete with a complimentary grass carpet for Rocinante).
But as the Bard himself might have quipped, a rolling stone gathers no moss, and the siren song of geothermal bliss in Chico lured us onward. The journey was a technicolor blur – us, the befuddled tourists, waltzing through a funhouse of wrong turns, misplaced tickets, and a staff that looked at us like extras from a particularly bizarre reality TV show. But hey, all’s well that ends well, and the mineral pool? Pure, unadulterated bliss.
Bozeman is where we scribbled this dispatch with the ghosts of cowboys and prospectors whispering in our ears. “Oro y Plata,” they rasp, that dusty state motto – a gold-rush relic that speaks of Montana’s glittering past. But Montana’s more than just a bygone era. Here, Native American oral traditions echo through the canyons, while literary giants like Norman Maclean and James Welch spin tales that capture the rugged soul of the place. Forget your fancy bookstores, loopers. The real stories are whispered by the wind and etched in the faces of the locals.
Yellowstone? Sure, it might be Wyoming’s crown jewel, but Montana holds the key to the back door – a secret stash of less-crowded wonderlands for those who know where to look. As for famous Montanans? Think beyond Hollywood. Charles M. Russell, the cowboy artist, paints a truer picture, and Jeannette Rankin, the first woman in Congress, is a testament to Montana’s maverick spirit.
This state’s lifeblood? It pumps to the rhythm of ranching and agriculture, a slow, steady beat that some might find intoxicating, others isolating. Tourism throws a splashy cymbal crash into the mix, a double-edged sword for these close-knit communities. But for the everyday worker? Montana’s a symphony of affordability, a chorus of friendly faces, and an entire concerto dedicated to wide-open spaces and the thrill of self-reliance.
The locals? They’re a rugged bunch, fiercely independent, possessing a deep connection to the land that borders on the spiritual. But don’t be fooled by the gruff exterior. Hospitality here is as vast as the sky, and looking out for one another is the unwritten melody that binds them all.
Of course, no symphony is complete without a discordant note. Isolation can be a haunting melody, opportunities a little thin on the ground, and change? Well, let’s just say some folks prefer the classics. There’s a whisper of a lack of diversity too, and a tension between those who’ve always known this land and those just discovering its charm.
But hey, that’s the beauty of Montana – a land of contradictions, a place where the unexpected throws a monkey wrench into your meticulously planned itinerary, and the soundtrack of your journey is a wild, unpredictable jazz riff played out against a backdrop of breathtaking beauty. Strap in, loopers, because in This Land, you never quite know what the next verse will hold.
And speaking of verses (again, apologies to Woody Guthrie):
It might be cozy… In Big Sky country… Sharing campsites… With tourists bluntly… And if you can’t swing… Winter’s fury… You might want to go ahead… And move along.
OH BOY. Project 2025… This is where i have to crawl out of the closet:
THIS RESPONSE ADDRESSED TO: Kevin Roberts (Heritage Foundation’s Poobah) See below, a few high points i am compelled to address… Otherwise… this could be a sleepless, nightmare, Hellscape of a year. OR… go HERE for a less angry synopsis (pro & con).
History teaches that a President’s power to implement an agenda is at its apex during the administration’s opening days. To execute requires a well-conceived, coordinated, unified plan and a trained and committed cadre of personnel to implement it. (xiii)
Ummm… ok… organized political action, kudos.
In the winter of 1980, the fledging Heritage Foundation handed to President-elect Ronald Reagan the inaugural Mandate for Leadership. (xiv)
So… in effect, giving POTUS marching orders? You go on to say, for Project 2025, you need to go “back to the future…” ??? LOL… love this wordsmithing, so subtle. I’m starting to warm up to these loopers… 😉
The long march of cultural Marxism through our institutions has come to pass. (xvi)
Ok… seriously… what are you talking about, here? “Cultural Marxism”… what the hell does that even mean? This? -or- This? For now, let’s just put it in the “straw man” category, that way we can get on with it, as Monty Python would say.
The federal government is a behemoth… (xiv).
Truedat… like anything else… there are good and bad aspects. Reform should be a regular feature. As well, some attempt to keep communication and information management capabilities up to date would be nice.
The federal government is weaponized against American citizens and conservative values… (xvi)
Bullshit… bullshit… straight-up bullshit! But even if it were true, no part of the weaponized librul gub’mnt is gonna murder conservative standard-bearers like when the flip was on the other flop. Remember… when America was great, in the 1960s?? Please? Can we just skip over the breathless hyperbole?
…with freedom and liberty under siege as never before. (xvi)
What the hell does this even mean?? Seriously… c’mon… skip the hyperbole…
Ok… now, a quick summary of the four pillars of the… plan… manifesto? Can we call it a manifesto? Sure… let’s do that.
Pillar I: With the help of partisan consultants, each president gets to decide how each federal agency is run. (xiv)
Intriguing, but won’t this lead to a counterproductive level of chaos? Oh… that’s right… you don’t plan to cede power to pedophilic cultural Marxists ever again, am i reading this right? Sure. Got it.
Pillar II: Populate federal agencies with partisan activists only… (xiv)
So… anyone see Stalinist overtones, here… Buhler… Buhler…?
Pillar III: Presidential Administration Academy, an online educational system taught by experts from our coalition. (xvi)
READ => Political indoctrination/grooming… hello…! WAIT…! Isn’t this what conservatives accuse leftists of doing all the time? Isn’t this some classic Freudian Projection? Is every accusation gonna end up, after the receipts come in, freaking confessions? Hey… i’m just asking questions here.
Pillar IV (the playbook): …we are forming agency teams and drafting transition plans to move out upon the President’s utterance of ‘so help me God.’ (xiv)
Ok… you’re ready to rumble as soon as you get your emperor installed. I wonder if anyone saw this coming? Hmmmmmm…
Forty-four years ago, the United States and the conservative movement were in dire straits. Both had been betrayed by the Washington establishment and were uncertain whom to trust. (1)
Still sore about Nixon’s fall from grace?
Now, as then (1970s), our political class has been discredited by wholesale dishonesty and corruption. (1)
Couldn’t agree more… but… to lay it all at the feet of your political opponents is disingenuous at best, political expedience at second best, willful deceit in fact.
Contemporary elites have even repurposed the worst ingredients of 1970s ‘radical chic’ to build the totalitarian cult known today as ‘The Great Awokening.’ (1)
Totalitarian cult? Again… disingenuous treatment. You see, in the wake of the ‘summer of racial reckoning’ there was an academic movement scrutinizing the plague of institutional racism. The media bubble Jon Stewart calls “Bullshit Mountain” and others, latched onto this moniker (The Great Awokening). They identified a convenient boogyman, and are now furiously tilting at it while the rest of us stand back and marvel at the energy expelled by these Errant Knights of Christendom.
Most alarming of all, the very moral foundations of our society are in peril. (1)
Please explain yourself… cos, to me, this sounds like desperation. Your churches are losing their cultural dominance, and you want to call this “moral decline” as if your moral compass is the only one worth considering? I know this might sound harsh, but bless you, bless you, and by all means, bless all the way off. Yours is not the only worthy moral code out there. In fact, it’s not even the most beneficial. Please take a look at your ten commandments… four out of the ten are no better than tossing glitter to the sky for all the benefit they provide. Again… bless you, and the unicorn you rode in on!
We brought together hundreds of conservative scholars and academics across the conservative movement. Together, this team created a 20-volume, 3,000-page governing handbook containing more than 2,000 conservative policies to reform the federal government and rescue the American people from Washington dysfunction. (2)
Admirable collective effort, no knock there. Unfortunately, your policies are not popular with the one-person-one-vote world. You know… democracy? I suspect you had picked up on this, and so now, you want to keep Mr. Trump’s 2025 campaign platform mum till such time as it is too late for voters to thoughtfully consider the implications. You employ subterfuge and obfuscation to slip your plan into a place that can’t be easily dislodged? Hey… i get it, your pragmatism is admirable, but i think i’d rather see a federal government reflect the actual will of the governed… you know the kind of government Lincoln dedicated his life to preserve. Ah shucks, i know… that’s just me… me and 81,283,500 others.
As Ronald Reagan put it: (2)
Seriously… i. don’t. care! The only thing i’ll remember about Mr. Reagan, other than that whole Bed Time for Bonzo business, is his VooDoo economic plan gutting the US middle-class, turning them into the “working poor.” Congratulations Conservatives (in name only), you’ve made billionaires very happy. all the while slowly deleting the very thing that made America Great in the first place (a thriving middle-class).
The bad news today is that our political establishment and cultural elite have once again driven America toward decline. (2)
Unfortunately, it’s hard to mount a counter argument here, but again with your disingenuousness. The blame does not simply lie at the feet of your political opponents. I know that kind of talk gives your base a swell of righteous pride, and gives your opponents a rallying cry against zero-sum zealots, but to the rest of us (non-affiliated independents), it just makes you look like playground simpletons, and thanks a lot, you’ve allowed the neighborhood bully into your “cool kids” clique… tsk tsk.
…this book is the work of the entire conservative movement. As such, the authors express consensus recommendations already forged, especially along four broad fronts that will decide America’s future: 1) Restore the family as the centerpiece of American life and protect our children, 2) Dismantle the administrative state and return self-governance to the American people, 3) Defend our nation’s sovereignty, borders, and bounty against global threats, and 4) Secure our God-given individual rights to live freely—what our Constitution calls ‘the Blessings of Liberty.’ (3)
Right… to have our kids raised with loving, stable families is super important, but restoring the “nuclear family?” … yea… no thanks… this is an outmoded bankrupt system of determining a man’s “chattel property” … it’s no longer a sustainable model… let’s go back to the drawing board, shall we?
Yes, there have been difficult and dysfunctional periods in the regulatory movements and agencies in the past. But these agencies have also done much to mitigate dangers inherent with laissez-faire capitalism. Example… Denver’s “brown cloud“… in the 70s… damn… very bad… by the time the Clinton Admin was finished, much improvement. I imagine this story isn’t uncommon among industrial centers of the USofA.
Yes… agree, but immigrants aren’t the enemy. The real question should be whether the USofA still has carrying capacity for more of the world’s “tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free”? If not, then we should start restricting immigration to emergency cases? I don’t know… and i wouldn’t want to be responsible for making these damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t decisions.
Just what are you referring to with this “blessings of liberty” thing? I suspect this is just an excuse for “predatory acquisitive individualism” because, founding fathers, baseball, apple pie, Mom… Jesus? And though i have given over to the logic of markets, i’m not sold on the current trend of rendering individual votes subordinate to the almighty dollar. See, the gap between those obscenely rich and merely getting by, those millions of “working poor,” is so wide now as to be unimaginable for anyone not trained in exponential mathematics. Democracy is at stake, but not due to the straw man right-wingers have constructed (the deep state), but rather the corrosive influence of filthy rich donors manipulating power in their favor, against the interests of the working poor, and the doomed. Yea… in other universes, this might be known as institutionalized corruption.
This was one of the secrets of conservatives’ success in the Reagan Era, one our generation should emulate. (3)
Again… we have a fundamental disagreement on the matter of Reagan’s legacy… and i would be fine if we never brought it up again. I’ll make an exception if you want to discuss Mr. Reagan in the context of the relative merits of “Supply Side” economics.
…conservatives should gratefully celebrate the greatest pro-family win in a generation: overturning Roe v. Wade, a decision that for five decades made a mockery of our Constitution and facilitated the deaths of tens of millions of unborn children. (6)
So… first, let’s take a look at the premise of this longstanding argument. That advocates for female agency and bodily autonomy do not “value human life”? Again, with the disingenuousness… you KNOW your political opponents value life, and their children. Yet, your bald-faced lie persists. In my view, the cruxt of the disagreement is where we can logically recognize a sentient human life. The Roe standard is at the point of “fetal viability,” that is the point where a NICU could keep a baby healthy and vital outside the confines of the mother’s womb. You profess to believe a dignified, ensouled human life is created as soon as the egg accepts a sperm and begins cell division. But… this is at odds with your own holy book. Genesis 2:7 says life begins with the first breath. Not deterred, you declare, your conception of Pro-Life to be the ultimate moral stand, and with self-righteous pomposity, you say it out loud between bites of a pulled pork sandwich, then proudly assert yourself occupier of the high ground, like Donald J. Trump at a NATO summit, all the while cheering the latest state-sanctioned execution… “Pro-Life”? Please…?? I’ve read Orwell… i’m on to your jam.
Listen: You KNOW there have been instances of unjust capital punishment, but you rationalize it as a deterrent anyway. Living, dreaming, self-aware human beings? In my view, one unjust execution is too many and should trigger YOUR “right to life” instinct far more than the abortion of a 12-week-old fetus. Astounding hypocrisy! And then there’s the exercise of geo-political power in the form of war. We willingly kill those we perceive as enemies… living, dreaming self-aware human beings? No problem. But… abort an unplanned, unwanted, pre-viability pregnancy, even IF it’s the product of rape or incest, and oh boy do we have a problem! In my view, it’s none of your business what goes on with Shelly down the street’s rape baby, or Patty’s oops. Medically reversing these mistakes engenders more outrage in you than the execution of an innocent person… especially when that innocent person doesn’t look like you or any of your neighbors? Tsk tsk… shame on you!
Want to hear an alternative vision for where humanness begins? Yea, i know, you don’t. You think your view is backed by the creator of the universe. Wow! News flash! Your view of the source of “ultimate authority” isn’t universally embraced. In fact, the fastest growing religious affiliation in the US is “none of the above,” a group to which i belong after a reasonably normal childhood of indoctrination, groomed in the Christian bosom (baptized Mennonite). So, that said, i’ll throw it out there, cos i can. What if true humanness requires self-awareness? You know, that point when a baby starts recognizing Mom or Dad. When the baby starts looking at items around them, like toes, and toys, and crib bars, etc. Two months or so after trauma of birth? Does anyone actually want to draw the line there? No one i know of, but you could put the logic to the test. And what if that logic was put to the test, and what if it were determined the baby isn’t really self-aware until weeks after the trauma of birth, would that justify infanticide for unwanted or defective pregnancies as Mr. Tumpty Dumpty repeatedly alleges? Hell to the no! But drawing the line needs to address all concerned parties. Yes, even the pearl-clutching church crowd. In my view, Roe got it about as right as it can be got. Listen, if we could interview everyone approaching legitimate medical practitioners for abortion services, i believe we’d find an ocean of remorse and mourning for the life that could have been, and the means for reversing the course nature was on. Again… none of my, or your, business.
And if we can just drop all the subterfuge surrounding this issue, we’d have to acknowledge this full-court press to stop abortion as a means of birth-control is more about a fear of brown people outbreeding whites than anything else. With the white grievance crowd fearing browns might exact a similar sort of oppression that they (whites) exercised and continue to exercise over non-whites now. If we can drop the obfuscation and subterfuge, we can confess this “Project 2025” is all about control. But i suspect this control, if applied, is going to be no more effective than the legend of the Dutch boy holding back the dam with his finger. I learned from my civil-engineering friends, water always finds its way “downhill.” This whole Project 2025 swagger has got desperate fear written all over it. And you, Kevin Roberts, when you say the quiet part out loud, when you threaten your political opponents with violence, you will answer to the government of, by, and for the people when the people finally prevail. It may not be this time around, but it will happen. You will lose in a truly democratic contest. And when you do, you will have to account for your authoritarian aspirations.
The people will out… “From many, One. E’Pluribus Unum.” “One Nation, Indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for All.”
There’s a certain breed of American, bless their star-spangled hearts, convinced they hold the exclusive lease on the Almighty’s ear canal. Like a toddler throwing a tantrum in a supermarket checkout, they believe their brand of piety is the only gateway to a decent life or the ticket to a glorious afterlife. To them, faith is less a comfort and more a cudgel to whack everyone else into submission.
Now, listen up, Bible thumpers and incense-waving gurus of every persuasion. If blind faith brings you existential relief, knock yourselves out. But the second you try shoving your dogma down our throats louder than a carnival barker with a megaphone, well, there’s gonna be trouble. This isn’t some backwater church social, loopers. This is the United States of freaking Everything, a kaleidoscope of cultures clashing in a glorious, messy mosh pit of individuality.
We built this nation with the blood, sweat, and tears of those fleeing religious persecution, remember? We’re a nation conceived in liberty, not some divinely ordained daycare center. This whole “one size fits all” piety might fly in some homogenous, beige part of the multiverse, but here in this cosmic bubble, in this vibrant, cacophonous land of the free and the home of the brave, it sticks out like a polka-dotted clown suit at a funeral.
Think about it. You got loopers praying to eight-armed deities in India, chanting to ancestors in China, and down here in the good ol’ US of A, we have a smorgasbord of salvation schemes, from the hallelujah hollering Baptists to the crystal-clutching New Agers. It’s beautiful, in a completely batty way, like a fireworks display gone rogue, illuminating the sky with a thousand different colors.
Sure, some might say this multiplicity makes for a messy democracy. Like herding cats on roller skates, right? But here’s the thing, loopers: forcing everyone into the same drab uniform of belief is a recipe for disaster. Look at history, it’s littered with the wreckage of holy wars and inquisitions, all fueled by the delusion that one brand of faith is the One True Path. Bunk! It’s a celestial cul-de-sac, leading nowhere but to resentment and bloodshed.
The beauty of America is the glorious, chaotic cacophony, remember? We tolerate, we debate, we argue like drunken sailors on shore leave, but somehow, someway, this messy gumbo keeps bubblin’ along. It’s not perfect, hell no, but it’s a damn sight better than some theocratic theme park where everyone wears the same itchy robes and sings the same hymns.
So, to those monoculture missionaries, those who dream of a beige, homogenous America where everyone worships at the same altar, i say this: be careful what you wish for. Because the line for religious dominance is a lot longer than you think, and it winds all the way back to the days of inquisitions and witch trials. In the meantime, the rest of us will be here, celebrating the glorious mess that is the USofA, a multicolored mosh pit with a divine soundtrack blaring from a thousand different speakers. Now, who wants to crowd surf?
Loopcircus 