(previous chapter)
There weren't many people at holding camp when I arrived, as most people were still in transition from the Ocala gathering. The only camp I remember being set up was Wolfpack 13, though there were a few others.
When we pulled into the campground, I rolled down the window and shouted out the window, "Are we home?"
One of the members of Wolfpack answered, "Are you home? Yes, you're home. Welcome home!"
The man who gave me a ride and I set up camp just off the road, where a fire-pit was already in existence. I kept a stock of wood for fires at night, and making breakfast and coffee in the morning. My ride left after only a few days to go pick up his woman, leaving me with plenty of supplies to feast on. I donated something around half of it to the Stockpot Kitchen, which had become my favorite at Ocala for its very welcoming atmosphere.
An overdose happened very early on at holding camp after a family member consumed a bunch of Benadryl capsules to achieve a high and ended up in the hospital. An emergency council was called to decide on how to act, and one of the members of the family that had not intervened was saved from excommunication for inaction due to a vote that determined that, while sad, the party that had overdosed was an adult - just barely - acting on his own free will. He survived, by the way.
The lake we were gathered beside had been ravaged by Florida State University students that would often come to party, leaving a gigantic mess of nails, broken glass, and other items of trash strewn all around, but focused on the beach. You could shift through the sand for hours in the same place and still be picking up trash. Starting with a girl named Katie, her boyfriend Bo, and myself, we began picking up the mess. The first day was just us, but after that we had an entire group. All we had to do was clean. Other members of the family would satellite us food, drinks, and anything else we might need. I began sorting through the broken glass for pieces to turn into jewelry to reduce the amount being tossed. It wasn't enough. Even with a whole, dedicated group that spent most of their days picking up garbage, there was still trash to be gathered when we left to the actual gathering.
The Forest Service officials that interacted with family were grateful for the effort, giving us a great permit for the Apalachicola gathering, including an extension for cleanup if needed.
I joined up with the Hookah Lounge as a barista at seed camp. I spent almost all of my time there when I wasn't cleaning to keep myself caffeinated and in good company, anyway, so I figured I could learn how to make their (s)expresso (espresso with sweet and condensed milk) and take shifts as barista/host. I traveled with the Hookah Lounge to the Apalachicola seed camp from holding camp
Overall, Apalachicola was a more relaxed gathering than Ocala, with very minimal interference from law enforcement. Well, until the shooting happened.
Towards the end of seed camp, a group of projects kids were engaging in their tradition of burning a tire. The shooter thought he'd record it with his camera, but one of the gatherers took his camera and smashed it. The shooter went back to his truck for his gun, then opened fire, went through a clip, reloaded, then began firing again. Family did what they could to contain the situation and subdue the shooter. Smiley lost his life, while Dice was injured to the point of paralysis. The shooter was also placed in critical condition, having been stabbed multiple times, castrated, and being nearly beaten to death. The mamas came in last minute, claiming he needed to live with what he'd done.
All this, the night after some Front Gaters sought to beat an attendee named Dale for false accusations of him beating his woman. What really happened was a verbal argument between Dale and his woman that a Front Gater stepped in on and picked a fight with Dale over. Dale won, and the Front Gater got his friends. Being afraid for his life, Dale hid while the search party sought him out. I found an elder to call an emergency council, but first Dale had to be brought back to the elder's camp for sanctuary. That elder was Greywolf. I went on a reconnaissance mission to sneak Dale into Greywolf's camp, where he was sheltered until council decided he could leave the woods without confrontation, but he had to leave immediately. His woman went with him, though she was not made to.
Healing council the morning after the shooting, a picture of Dale and Smiley was passed around a circle. The person who had died, and the person that would have likely died had I not stepped in the night before the shooting. It was kind of a surreal moment for me to see the picture.
Law enforcement had set up roadblocks to keep gatherers in and newcomers out while they searched for the murder weapon they had already secured after responding to the shooting, but subsequently lost. Their claim was that all they wanted was the gun, and if it was not turned over in a set amount of time, then a judge was going to sign a blanket search warrant for all gatherers. The whole forest had its mission for the day, with everyone wanting to just find the gun and turn it over to the authorities.
When the deadline to turn the gun over had almost past, the law enforcement officials claimed they found the gun and left. The next day, they came back, claimed it wasn't the gun, and demanded all gatherers be out withing 36 hours, setting into motion a frenzied tear-down of camps that left much cleanup to still be done by the time everyone had evacuated. I acquired a tarp and rope that had been left behind during the mess, and a group that provided family with necessary gear gave me a new tent.
Since everyone was fleeing the gathering so early, there was not much time for me to figure out my ride situation and where I'd be going now. Nano and Mama Frea from the Hookah Lounge had split up, and rides for the Hookah Lounge's staff became uncertain as the van belonged to Mama Frea. Mama Frea gave me permission to accompany her into Alabama, so I left with a caravan of three vehicles - Mama Frea's van, a car with Wolfpack 13, and the RV transporting Brand X Kitchen.
(next chapter)
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
What A Ride: Ocala
(previous chapter)
The four of us set off from our roadside camp in the morning, ready to reach the gathering. After awhile spent walking, a local picked us up and gave us the last ride before we were really in the woods.
It was still holding camp when we got there, meaning there weren't many people, kitchens, or other precious resources - like water buffaloes - on site yet. I wasn't really sure what to do or where to camp when I first got there. People had set up all along the fireroad into the woods, but said most of the people were further ahead. I decided to set up at the point where the road made a right, but on the left-hand side. There had been a fire constructed in the bend in the road, and the early gatherers had made it the place to gather. Fire does that.
From what I knew of rainbow gatherings of the event, they were places of love and gifting, where money is meaningless, and everyone is expected to contribute how they can to help support the community. Kitchens serve free food, mamas and babies eat first, everyone listens to and respects the elders, and everyone is family.
I didn't really have much to offer when I got there, nor did I know how to contribute, really. I knew gathering firewood was always a priority, and stocks were still low and building, so I made that my job. I loved gathering wood and tending fires, and was really good at it. I spent much of my time on the main fire at the intersection of the roads, but contributed to kitchen and personal fires throughout the gathering as well, which gave me invitations to meals and caffeine.
Now, things get kinda blurry at this point.
I became friends with a man obsessed with tea, where I began spending my mornings - and much leisure time - drinking cups of tasty caffeine. I also met, and moved camp with for awhile, Happy Joe, who ended up joining the Bear Necessities kitchen. I also learned how to do wire wraps and started to acquire trades slowly. Trade circle started at the fire in the road, but moved into the woods when seed camp started. Forestry officials shut down the fire in the road sometime around then, anyway.
That fire had actually been a hotspot of activity before it got shut down for being in the road, as it was a central place to gather. During one day, a girl who was autistic, schizophrenic, and French-Canadian became the center-focus of a dispute between gatherers and law enforcement when she, in a state of delirium, made contact with an officer who had been trying to ticket people for their dogs not being on a leash. The officer suspected she was intoxicated, and began asking her questions to determine her state of mind. Because of the language barrier and her psychosis, she had difficulty answering. Before the whole thing was done, there were six law enforcement vehicles, a firetruck, an ambulance, and a helicopter on site for the tense confrontation. The "man" wanted to take her to a mental institution, she didn't want to go, the gathered family didn't want her to go. In the end, amid all the stress, she reached for someone's knife, saying she wanted to kill herself. There was no help for her, then, and it was only a matter of time to get her to go willingly.
The same fire was where forestry officials announced the gathering had exceeded the 75 people limit early, and without a signed permit - a result of the location being released prematurely. That made the gathering "illegal." We didn't get kicked out, but the forestry officials responded with heavy policing. Law enforcement at a gathering is split between the Sheriff department and the Forest Service. We had to deal with often four to six law enforcement vehicles in the woods at a time, rolling in early in the day, late at night, and whenever else they wanted, hanging around as long as they see fit. Also used to police the gathering, helicopters and drones could often be seen flying overhead, especially at trade circle and main circle. Apparently, Ocala is the largest regional Rainbow gathering, and it's where several law enforcement offices, including the Rainbow Task Force, conducts their training.
At some point, I became "Vibe Patrol, keeping the vibes up." That meant I was going around from one end of the gathering to the other, keeping people's vibes up. I usually just ate as I went into a kitchen to keep their vibes up when I was hungry, since I kept myself too busy patrolling a large gathering to really keep up on meals. I think that started the night after I got dosed on some MDMA. Later, being Vibe Patrol led to my other dosing - on LSD - as I walked into a kitchen holding a conversation about how amazing Albert Hofmann is!
After spending somewhere around a month in the woods, the Forest Service informed the gathering it was finally time to leave. I was gonna stay for cleanup, but the Forest Service wanted the names of everyone staying on a list, and they only wanted fifteen people. Rainbow is supposed to have 75 people allotted for cleanup, and they got the number fixed, but not until after most gatherers had already left.
I caught a ride straight from the Ocala gathering to the Apalachicola gathering's holding camp.
(next chapter)
The four of us set off from our roadside camp in the morning, ready to reach the gathering. After awhile spent walking, a local picked us up and gave us the last ride before we were really in the woods.
It was still holding camp when we got there, meaning there weren't many people, kitchens, or other precious resources - like water buffaloes - on site yet. I wasn't really sure what to do or where to camp when I first got there. People had set up all along the fireroad into the woods, but said most of the people were further ahead. I decided to set up at the point where the road made a right, but on the left-hand side. There had been a fire constructed in the bend in the road, and the early gatherers had made it the place to gather. Fire does that.
From what I knew of rainbow gatherings of the event, they were places of love and gifting, where money is meaningless, and everyone is expected to contribute how they can to help support the community. Kitchens serve free food, mamas and babies eat first, everyone listens to and respects the elders, and everyone is family.
I didn't really have much to offer when I got there, nor did I know how to contribute, really. I knew gathering firewood was always a priority, and stocks were still low and building, so I made that my job. I loved gathering wood and tending fires, and was really good at it. I spent much of my time on the main fire at the intersection of the roads, but contributed to kitchen and personal fires throughout the gathering as well, which gave me invitations to meals and caffeine.
Now, things get kinda blurry at this point.
I became friends with a man obsessed with tea, where I began spending my mornings - and much leisure time - drinking cups of tasty caffeine. I also met, and moved camp with for awhile, Happy Joe, who ended up joining the Bear Necessities kitchen. I also learned how to do wire wraps and started to acquire trades slowly. Trade circle started at the fire in the road, but moved into the woods when seed camp started. Forestry officials shut down the fire in the road sometime around then, anyway.
That fire had actually been a hotspot of activity before it got shut down for being in the road, as it was a central place to gather. During one day, a girl who was autistic, schizophrenic, and French-Canadian became the center-focus of a dispute between gatherers and law enforcement when she, in a state of delirium, made contact with an officer who had been trying to ticket people for their dogs not being on a leash. The officer suspected she was intoxicated, and began asking her questions to determine her state of mind. Because of the language barrier and her psychosis, she had difficulty answering. Before the whole thing was done, there were six law enforcement vehicles, a firetruck, an ambulance, and a helicopter on site for the tense confrontation. The "man" wanted to take her to a mental institution, she didn't want to go, the gathered family didn't want her to go. In the end, amid all the stress, she reached for someone's knife, saying she wanted to kill herself. There was no help for her, then, and it was only a matter of time to get her to go willingly.
The same fire was where forestry officials announced the gathering had exceeded the 75 people limit early, and without a signed permit - a result of the location being released prematurely. That made the gathering "illegal." We didn't get kicked out, but the forestry officials responded with heavy policing. Law enforcement at a gathering is split between the Sheriff department and the Forest Service. We had to deal with often four to six law enforcement vehicles in the woods at a time, rolling in early in the day, late at night, and whenever else they wanted, hanging around as long as they see fit. Also used to police the gathering, helicopters and drones could often be seen flying overhead, especially at trade circle and main circle. Apparently, Ocala is the largest regional Rainbow gathering, and it's where several law enforcement offices, including the Rainbow Task Force, conducts their training.
At some point, I became "Vibe Patrol, keeping the vibes up." That meant I was going around from one end of the gathering to the other, keeping people's vibes up. I usually just ate as I went into a kitchen to keep their vibes up when I was hungry, since I kept myself too busy patrolling a large gathering to really keep up on meals. I think that started the night after I got dosed on some MDMA. Later, being Vibe Patrol led to my other dosing - on LSD - as I walked into a kitchen holding a conversation about how amazing Albert Hofmann is!
After spending somewhere around a month in the woods, the Forest Service informed the gathering it was finally time to leave. I was gonna stay for cleanup, but the Forest Service wanted the names of everyone staying on a list, and they only wanted fifteen people. Rainbow is supposed to have 75 people allotted for cleanup, and they got the number fixed, but not until after most gatherers had already left.
I caught a ride straight from the Ocala gathering to the Apalachicola gathering's holding camp.
(next chapter)
Monday, September 7, 2015
What A Ride: To Ocala Part 2
(previous chapter)
Once we were off the train, we had to climb up a hill to get back on the road. A pair of motorcycle cops stopped us almost immediately.
"Just get off the train?" As it turned out, one of the cops used to work in a city with a big train yard and would have to respond to pick up train kids that the railroad cops, known as bulls, had caught. He was pretty cool with us, though. The cops complemented us on our gear and choice of lifestyle, saying that we were, "just living." They gave us directions and sent us on our way.
We split the group up a bit as we set off walking, hoping we'd get picked up sooner if there weren't five of us together. That didn't really make much of a difference, unfortunately, and we all met back up at a gas station after getting some food. The two train kids and I ate at the gas station, while Virgo and Gypsy got some Subway that had been on the way. The two kids were out back in a field behind the gas station when Virgo and Gypsy caught up with us.
While we were waiting for the kids to finish their drink, Gypsy got more directions to a Flying J truck stop that we'd gone in the opposite direction of. The two train kids decided to go the direction we'd been hiking in, staying in Birmingham to make some money and hit the bars. Since the group was no longer so large, Virgo, Gypsy, and I decided to stick together and head towards the Flying J. Once we were going in that way in a smaller group, we managed to get a ride to the truck stop.
The Flying J had a Subway that we spent the rest of the day hanging out at, as the weather was starting to shape up into rain. Gypsy and I scouted out some woods across from the truck stop for camp that night. When we found a site, we went back for our gear and set up my tent, covered by their tarp, to protect us all from the rain.
The next day was nothing but rain. We considered staying back at camp all day, but tore down and went back to the truck stop instead. We spent the last of our money there on breakfast, then hung out in the same corner we'd occupied the day before. Not actually bothering anyone, a manager eventually came up to us and told us we had to leave because we weren't spending enough money and we'd hung out all day the day before. We tried to plead we be allowed to stay at least until the weather let up, but this woman would hear none of it.
We stood out in the rain, using tarps to protect our gear from getting too wet while we waited on a ride to pick us up. A veteran on his way to Texas was the first car to stop and fit us in. Our ride split what money he had on him with the three of us, since we had spent the last of what we had at the truck stop. We'd be taking I-59 south to Louisiana, at which point he'd join with I-10 to go west. Since we had already gone so far west already, and since the ride was continuing west, Virgo and Gypsy decided to stay with the ride and go visit a friend of theirs in New Mexico. I got out in Sidell, LA, still on my way to Ocala.
It was already night when I set out on my own. I started to look for a good place to set up camp, but I was in the middle of a city without many wooded areas to conceal me, and everything was wet. I encountered a man dropping a bag of trash in a dumpster and asked him about homeless shelters in the area. He let me use his phone to look up and call around until I finally found a place to put me up for the night, Trumpet of Truth Ministries, then he gave me a ride there.
Trumpet of Truth was almost completely black, with only one other white person at the time. They let me take a shower, eat, and stay on the couch for the night, trying to convince me to stay longer and get a job in the area. I insisted that I was on my own personal mission to reach the Ocala gathering.
I hit I-10 again in the morning, catching a ride rather quick from a man who had spent the night in town on his way back to Florida, from Texas. Apparently, he makes the trip to pick up a bunch of weed - ten pounds to be exact. We went cruising down the interstate smoking down, talking about the legal system and how rights work. He's the kind of person who buys bulk quantities of the Constitution to pass out to people for free. I've still got the one he gave me. He had plenty of books on law in the car, too. It was quite the enlightening ride.
He took me as far as De Funiak Springs, FL, dropping me off at the McDonald's with $23, a dime bag, and all the roaches from the joints we'd smoked on the ride. I ate at the McDonald's, but could hear people commenting on my weed smell in there so decided to not go stand at the on-ramp, which was in view of the restaurant, and instead began walking HW-331 south.
An older couple picked me up, informing me I didn't want to go in the direction I was headed being homeless, as the area I was going towards had cops that'd try to arrest me for it. They took me back to De Funiak Springs, where I finally went ahead and hit the interstate on-ramp. A ride didn't come. I stood there all of the rest of the day. The hitchhiker I was supposed to meet up with in Richmond Hill informed me of a good place to camp behind the Walmart in town, which is where I slept for the night.
The next day was shaping up to be just as unproductive at the on-ramp. Eventually, I decided to just walk HW-90, which runs parallel with I-10. HW-90 is a lot of nothing back road. After walking for a couple hours, I got my first ride past a blink-and-you-miss-it town called Ponce De Leon by a father and his son. From there, I walked for another few hours until I had worn myself down to the point of limping from all the weight on my back I had carried all this way without rest.
That's when I got picked up by a rapist. I was eager to get in the white pickup truck when it pulled over and the man inside told me to, "Throw your stuff in the back and get in."
All the trash in the back and in the cab had set off a red flag, but I figured he was just a hoarder, which isn't that bad. He was heavyset, with a big, black cross around his neck. He also kept shifting his right hand between the steering wheel, and a box that sat between us. The box was half-locked; the switch nearest me was undone, while the switch nearest him was still clasped. I had the sinking feeling that the box had a gun inside it, and his hand kept going between the wheel and the box the whole ride.
I started off by telling him why I was on this empty road in the first place, where I was from, where I was going, and what all I'd been through so far. When I finished my story, the first word out of his mouth were, "So how do you feel about a boy raping a girl?"
I didn't know how to respond, "Uh, that's bad, and he should go to jail."
"Okay, so how do you feel about a boy raping three girls?"
I couldn't believe the situation I had gotten myself in. I had some pepper spray, but if he had a gun I might end up dead if I said or did the wrong thing. I didn't want to ask him to just let me out on the side of the road for fear he'd shoot me with no one around and just leave. So I rode along, dealing with questions about castration and insisting that I didn't want to be adopted into a "manly family" - whatever that meant. Eventually, I saw a McDonald's up ahead and requested he let me out there, as I was hungry and wanted a burger. He tried to convince me to let him take me another four miles. I insisted I wanted out at McDonald's, ready to use the pepper spray if he didn't stop. He did stop, but on the other side of the road from the McDonald's and threw a fit about me leaving. I got out, got my pack, and didn't look back, glad the ride was over.
A man at the McDonald's who was biking across the country bought me a burger and listened to my story of the ride I had just escaped, but night was approaching fast and I needed somewhere safe to set up camp for the night.
It was already dark by the time I encountered a group of five dirty kids and four dogs spanging outside of some business towards the other end of town. Once I got there, we went over a hill across the road from us where they had intended to camp for the night and stayed with them and got them high. The next morning, I got them high again and gave them a bunch of food and other supplies I felt I could spare, before hitting I-10 again.
I caught a ride rather quickly, making it to the first Tallahassee exit. From there, I caught a ride to the last exit in Tallahassee. Then, I got a ride to another town between Tallahassee and I-75. It had already been such a wonderful day for rides that I could have easily been satisfied after my last couple days, but I figured I'd keep flying a sign a little bit longer and maybe get lucky enough to catch one more ride to I-75 before the day was over. If it didn't happen, I was already eyeing some woods across the road where I could stay the night.
As luck would have it, a former hitchhiker-turned truck driver was hungry and stopped at my exit's McDonald's, even though he never eats there, because he only had a couple dollars on him and that's where his sons in college always ate when they only had a couple dollars.
He asked where I was going, to which I responded, "Ocala."
"No shit, you're in luck. I'm going straight through there."
Turns out, he was on his way back from shipping a load in his box truck. He used to hitchhike, then became a trucker, and was now an independent. He also used to hang out at Rainbow gatherings in Ocala, and his girlfriend had friends who still did. When he learned that the gathering was my destination, he decided he'd help me get as close as he could. After all, it would be late by the time we made it to Ocala and he was coming off running his rig, and his girlfriend was waiting on him - which he was going to see because taking me towards the gathering would take him closer towards her than his home, so it was a win for both of us.
His girlfriend got her friend to get us some directions to the gathering, but it was late and we were having a hard time finding it. We decided I'd just go back to town and try to find a ride the next day, but as we came back to a four-way intersection, I noticed a fire had been lit where there wasn't one before.
We pulled over to investigate, and I shouted out at the campers, "You guys Rainbows?"
"Um, yeah, sorta," two of the group were also on there way to their first gathering, the other one was a long-time front gater named Mouse.
I thanked the trucker and we parted ways. After the ride the day before, I was finally just outside of the gathering - my destination. I felt like it had been gifting the dirty kids earlier that morning that gave me the karmic boost I needed.
Anyways, we weren't to the gathering yet. That journey would come in the morning. Some locals kept going by and had been upset we had a fire on the side of the road. Forestry officials came over to investigate, but they told us we were okay because we were in the national forest, and the fire was about survival. They did have to run our names though. Most of us came back clean, but Mouse came back with an escapee charge that was non-extraditable - so he was still good to go. Before the officers left, Mouse got it in his mind that he he was gonna tell them a joke. We tried to talk him out of it, as he approached the officers at their cars, drunk. The officers said it was okay, they'd listen to the joke - and they loved it. Mouse got them to laugh hard at a couple jokes, then they left us alone.
(next chapter)
Once we were off the train, we had to climb up a hill to get back on the road. A pair of motorcycle cops stopped us almost immediately.
"Just get off the train?" As it turned out, one of the cops used to work in a city with a big train yard and would have to respond to pick up train kids that the railroad cops, known as bulls, had caught. He was pretty cool with us, though. The cops complemented us on our gear and choice of lifestyle, saying that we were, "just living." They gave us directions and sent us on our way.
We split the group up a bit as we set off walking, hoping we'd get picked up sooner if there weren't five of us together. That didn't really make much of a difference, unfortunately, and we all met back up at a gas station after getting some food. The two train kids and I ate at the gas station, while Virgo and Gypsy got some Subway that had been on the way. The two kids were out back in a field behind the gas station when Virgo and Gypsy caught up with us.
While we were waiting for the kids to finish their drink, Gypsy got more directions to a Flying J truck stop that we'd gone in the opposite direction of. The two train kids decided to go the direction we'd been hiking in, staying in Birmingham to make some money and hit the bars. Since the group was no longer so large, Virgo, Gypsy, and I decided to stick together and head towards the Flying J. Once we were going in that way in a smaller group, we managed to get a ride to the truck stop.
The Flying J had a Subway that we spent the rest of the day hanging out at, as the weather was starting to shape up into rain. Gypsy and I scouted out some woods across from the truck stop for camp that night. When we found a site, we went back for our gear and set up my tent, covered by their tarp, to protect us all from the rain.
The next day was nothing but rain. We considered staying back at camp all day, but tore down and went back to the truck stop instead. We spent the last of our money there on breakfast, then hung out in the same corner we'd occupied the day before. Not actually bothering anyone, a manager eventually came up to us and told us we had to leave because we weren't spending enough money and we'd hung out all day the day before. We tried to plead we be allowed to stay at least until the weather let up, but this woman would hear none of it.
We stood out in the rain, using tarps to protect our gear from getting too wet while we waited on a ride to pick us up. A veteran on his way to Texas was the first car to stop and fit us in. Our ride split what money he had on him with the three of us, since we had spent the last of what we had at the truck stop. We'd be taking I-59 south to Louisiana, at which point he'd join with I-10 to go west. Since we had already gone so far west already, and since the ride was continuing west, Virgo and Gypsy decided to stay with the ride and go visit a friend of theirs in New Mexico. I got out in Sidell, LA, still on my way to Ocala.
It was already night when I set out on my own. I started to look for a good place to set up camp, but I was in the middle of a city without many wooded areas to conceal me, and everything was wet. I encountered a man dropping a bag of trash in a dumpster and asked him about homeless shelters in the area. He let me use his phone to look up and call around until I finally found a place to put me up for the night, Trumpet of Truth Ministries, then he gave me a ride there.
Trumpet of Truth was almost completely black, with only one other white person at the time. They let me take a shower, eat, and stay on the couch for the night, trying to convince me to stay longer and get a job in the area. I insisted that I was on my own personal mission to reach the Ocala gathering.
I hit I-10 again in the morning, catching a ride rather quick from a man who had spent the night in town on his way back to Florida, from Texas. Apparently, he makes the trip to pick up a bunch of weed - ten pounds to be exact. We went cruising down the interstate smoking down, talking about the legal system and how rights work. He's the kind of person who buys bulk quantities of the Constitution to pass out to people for free. I've still got the one he gave me. He had plenty of books on law in the car, too. It was quite the enlightening ride.
He took me as far as De Funiak Springs, FL, dropping me off at the McDonald's with $23, a dime bag, and all the roaches from the joints we'd smoked on the ride. I ate at the McDonald's, but could hear people commenting on my weed smell in there so decided to not go stand at the on-ramp, which was in view of the restaurant, and instead began walking HW-331 south.
An older couple picked me up, informing me I didn't want to go in the direction I was headed being homeless, as the area I was going towards had cops that'd try to arrest me for it. They took me back to De Funiak Springs, where I finally went ahead and hit the interstate on-ramp. A ride didn't come. I stood there all of the rest of the day. The hitchhiker I was supposed to meet up with in Richmond Hill informed me of a good place to camp behind the Walmart in town, which is where I slept for the night.
The next day was shaping up to be just as unproductive at the on-ramp. Eventually, I decided to just walk HW-90, which runs parallel with I-10. HW-90 is a lot of nothing back road. After walking for a couple hours, I got my first ride past a blink-and-you-miss-it town called Ponce De Leon by a father and his son. From there, I walked for another few hours until I had worn myself down to the point of limping from all the weight on my back I had carried all this way without rest.
That's when I got picked up by a rapist. I was eager to get in the white pickup truck when it pulled over and the man inside told me to, "Throw your stuff in the back and get in."
All the trash in the back and in the cab had set off a red flag, but I figured he was just a hoarder, which isn't that bad. He was heavyset, with a big, black cross around his neck. He also kept shifting his right hand between the steering wheel, and a box that sat between us. The box was half-locked; the switch nearest me was undone, while the switch nearest him was still clasped. I had the sinking feeling that the box had a gun inside it, and his hand kept going between the wheel and the box the whole ride.
I started off by telling him why I was on this empty road in the first place, where I was from, where I was going, and what all I'd been through so far. When I finished my story, the first word out of his mouth were, "So how do you feel about a boy raping a girl?"
I didn't know how to respond, "Uh, that's bad, and he should go to jail."
"Okay, so how do you feel about a boy raping three girls?"
I couldn't believe the situation I had gotten myself in. I had some pepper spray, but if he had a gun I might end up dead if I said or did the wrong thing. I didn't want to ask him to just let me out on the side of the road for fear he'd shoot me with no one around and just leave. So I rode along, dealing with questions about castration and insisting that I didn't want to be adopted into a "manly family" - whatever that meant. Eventually, I saw a McDonald's up ahead and requested he let me out there, as I was hungry and wanted a burger. He tried to convince me to let him take me another four miles. I insisted I wanted out at McDonald's, ready to use the pepper spray if he didn't stop. He did stop, but on the other side of the road from the McDonald's and threw a fit about me leaving. I got out, got my pack, and didn't look back, glad the ride was over.
A man at the McDonald's who was biking across the country bought me a burger and listened to my story of the ride I had just escaped, but night was approaching fast and I needed somewhere safe to set up camp for the night.
It was already dark by the time I encountered a group of five dirty kids and four dogs spanging outside of some business towards the other end of town. Once I got there, we went over a hill across the road from us where they had intended to camp for the night and stayed with them and got them high. The next morning, I got them high again and gave them a bunch of food and other supplies I felt I could spare, before hitting I-10 again.
I caught a ride rather quickly, making it to the first Tallahassee exit. From there, I caught a ride to the last exit in Tallahassee. Then, I got a ride to another town between Tallahassee and I-75. It had already been such a wonderful day for rides that I could have easily been satisfied after my last couple days, but I figured I'd keep flying a sign a little bit longer and maybe get lucky enough to catch one more ride to I-75 before the day was over. If it didn't happen, I was already eyeing some woods across the road where I could stay the night.
As luck would have it, a former hitchhiker-turned truck driver was hungry and stopped at my exit's McDonald's, even though he never eats there, because he only had a couple dollars on him and that's where his sons in college always ate when they only had a couple dollars.
He asked where I was going, to which I responded, "Ocala."
"No shit, you're in luck. I'm going straight through there."
Turns out, he was on his way back from shipping a load in his box truck. He used to hitchhike, then became a trucker, and was now an independent. He also used to hang out at Rainbow gatherings in Ocala, and his girlfriend had friends who still did. When he learned that the gathering was my destination, he decided he'd help me get as close as he could. After all, it would be late by the time we made it to Ocala and he was coming off running his rig, and his girlfriend was waiting on him - which he was going to see because taking me towards the gathering would take him closer towards her than his home, so it was a win for both of us.
His girlfriend got her friend to get us some directions to the gathering, but it was late and we were having a hard time finding it. We decided I'd just go back to town and try to find a ride the next day, but as we came back to a four-way intersection, I noticed a fire had been lit where there wasn't one before.
We pulled over to investigate, and I shouted out at the campers, "You guys Rainbows?"
"Um, yeah, sorta," two of the group were also on there way to their first gathering, the other one was a long-time front gater named Mouse.
I thanked the trucker and we parted ways. After the ride the day before, I was finally just outside of the gathering - my destination. I felt like it had been gifting the dirty kids earlier that morning that gave me the karmic boost I needed.
Anyways, we weren't to the gathering yet. That journey would come in the morning. Some locals kept going by and had been upset we had a fire on the side of the road. Forestry officials came over to investigate, but they told us we were okay because we were in the national forest, and the fire was about survival. They did have to run our names though. Most of us came back clean, but Mouse came back with an escapee charge that was non-extraditable - so he was still good to go. Before the officers left, Mouse got it in his mind that he he was gonna tell them a joke. We tried to talk him out of it, as he approached the officers at their cars, drunk. The officers said it was okay, they'd listen to the joke - and they loved it. Mouse got them to laugh hard at a couple jokes, then they left us alone.
(next chapter)
Sunday, September 6, 2015
What A Ride: To Ocala Part 1
(previous chapter)
One of my uncles was on his way to visit some of his family in South Carolina when I was getting ready to leave, so I caught a good ride out of Ohio. We left early in the morning and arrived just outside of Spartanburg that night. I stayed with his family since it was late, but it wasn't long before I was on my own the next morning.
I got dropped off on HW 176, choosing to avoid the interstate at first since I wouldn't be able to just walk the interstate if I didn't get a ride, as Charleston was still in the back of my mind. Then, I set off south to the tune of "Wagon Wheel" on loop in my head.
My first ride came from a friendly, older fellow that took me as far as Union, SC, then gave me a nice camouflage jacket to help keep me warm. I continued walking from there as the sun got lower and the temperature got colder.
On the outskirts of Union, outside of the actual city itself, I encountered a man named Dale, and his girlfriend. Dale had called me over to his side of the road when he noticed the large backpack on my back. In a period of "roughing it" himself, Dale was curious why I was carrying such a load around. We began to chat and ponder over the workings of the universe, synchronicity, and things happening for a reason, while I enjoyed a meal he had given me. I asked if he knew a place I could set up camp for the night, as the light was fading rapidly, still in early January. In response, he and his girlfriend called the pastor of Philippi Baptist Church of Union, who was away on church business at the time. Even though he was wasn't in town, the pastor still set me up with a room at the Magunison Motel for the night, where I was able to shower and rest in a comfortable bed.
The next day, Dale was going to run me to Whitmire, the next town over. Instead, we just ended up running around together. We hung out with some of Dale's friends, including one that gave me an extra bag with wheels to pull behind me, and one that said he'd get me to Charleston, SC the next day. And Dale ended up breaking up with his girlfriend, but that's another matter. Dale also traded me a lifesaving jumpsuit for the jacket my ride the previous day had given me. I ended up crashing out on the couch at Dale's that night.
Dale's friend gave me the ride to Charleston the next day, but it wasn't until later in the day and the sun had already set by the time we got there. I wasn't comfortable in such a big city at night when I didn't know much about the place, so I had Dale's friend take me to a free campsite in Francis Marion National Forest.
The next day was a long walk back to Charleston along HW 17. It took a few hours just to leave the forest, then another couple hours of walking before I finally caught a ride with some older black gentlemen. When they dropped me off in Charleston, a group of more blacks on a job-site gave me advise on the city bus system, then tried to outdo each other in the amount of money they gave me. Since I had left with almost nothing, that had been a welcome and needed surprise.
The bus didn't seem keen to pick me up, though. I sat at the bus stop for a couple hours as buses went passed with no sign they intended to stop. Eventually, I called the line and a bus stopped shortly after. I rode to where I'd catch the next bus, then rode that bus as far as they went towards leaving town.
I ate some Burger King before going on down the road. Some man stopped me and offered me a place to shower and rest for the night in the motel room he was staying at. Maybe I didn't have anything to worry about, but the fact that his first question to me had been how would I respond if someone took all my things, which left me with a red flag big enough to turn the offer down. He kept persisting that I stay. He was also drunk. I insisted that I wanted to cover as much ground as I could before I stopped to rest and kept walking. He stared at me for longer than I was comfortable with as the distance between us grew, which solidified my decision to keep going.
I took HW 17, also known as Savannah Highway, south out of Charleston. It was dark by the time I set up camp that night. I had wandered into some neighborhood off the highway with a path into a wooded area where I could conceal myself.
I hit the highway again in the morning, making it to a gas station where the manager gave me some cardboard and free food she was about to toss out. I put "Georgia" on the cardboard and enjoyed the gift of food while standing on the other side of the road from the gas station, trying to catch a ride. It was actually a pretty attractive woman that picked me up. She was on her way to Florida and decided to turn around and come back to give me a ride after passing by the first time.
My next destination was Richmond Hill, GA. I was supposed to meet up with another traveler on his way to Ocala there, though he was a few days behind in his journey. From there, I was supposed to continue south to St. Mary's, GA to meet up with a friend from Nelsonville, Ohio that had moved away. I made it to Richmond Hill, but those other two things never happened.
The woman let me out at the McDonald's in Richmond Hill. No sooner had I left the ride that a man, Gypsy, comes out of the restaurant and asked if I was traveling, and if I was hungry. He told me to come inside, then bought me four McChickens.
As it turned out, there were quite a few dirty kids in town at the moment. There was Gypsy, his wife Virgo, and another four kids - I can't remember everyone's names, but for the sake of anyone who may recognize his traveling name, Strings was one of the four. I include that information because I've since met many other people who've claimed to have known Strings since he was a young, naming him as an inspiration they began traveling. Unfortunately, Strings and some other kid got a ride out shortly after I got there, so I didn't really get to know him. The rest of us hung out in the McDonald's until it got late enough to go set up camp in the woods behind the restaurant.
The woods we camped in was obviously a bum camp already, with a tarp strung up for shelter and other trash around the site. After creating some bridges across a couple creeks, we could also reach some railroad tracks at a location where trains would often stop so one train could pass another. We spent the night at the bum camp, then went back to the McDonald's the next morning. We hung out there for awhile, but by around 4:00 in the afternoon we were back in the camp, waiting on a train.
We had to be quick finding a place when the southbound stopped. I was the last one on, and the train began moving again as I began stepping up on it, temporarily knocking me off balance. It was my first time hopping, so I shared a car with Virgo and Gypsy. The other two kids took the car in front of us. I decided to leave my extra bag, which had really been more of a hindrance anyway.
Being on the outside of a moving train left me pretty nervous at first, but the nerves quickly subsided once I settled into place. The view was incredible! Unfortunately, it wasn't the train we were looking for.
When we hopped, we were expecting to be in Jacksonville around 6:00 that day, having hopped around 4:00. The course the train took seemed strange to the more experienced rail-riders I was with once we started noticing the towns we were passing through. We assumed the train was headed for the station in Waycross, GA, where we might have needed to be ready to get off in a hurry, or perhaps to Tallahassee. Then, we passed right through the Waycross station without showing any signs of slowing down or stopping, confusing our party as to where we were going more, as we were now headed north-west.
While the view and experience made everything worth it, what was to be a couple hour ride into Florida became an all-night ride to just outside of Birmingham, AL. We spent the whole time joking about the ride, saying that one of us should go ask the conductor where we were going, demand the train go to Florida, or that he knew we were there and had gone off-course just to mess with us. We had, after all, passed plenty of railroad workers that either didn't see us, or looked the other way. We waved at plenty of pedestrians as we passed, including some people that slowed their car down to videotape us with their phone. I imagine the footage is on YouTube somewhere. The night was pretty cold on the outside of a moving train, even with my jumpsuit and sleeping bag. It could have easily been a longer ride to who knows where, but when the train finally finally stopped somewhere it seemed reasonable to get off in the morning, we decided the ride had already been ridiculous enough.
(next chapter)
One of my uncles was on his way to visit some of his family in South Carolina when I was getting ready to leave, so I caught a good ride out of Ohio. We left early in the morning and arrived just outside of Spartanburg that night. I stayed with his family since it was late, but it wasn't long before I was on my own the next morning.
I got dropped off on HW 176, choosing to avoid the interstate at first since I wouldn't be able to just walk the interstate if I didn't get a ride, as Charleston was still in the back of my mind. Then, I set off south to the tune of "Wagon Wheel" on loop in my head.
My first ride came from a friendly, older fellow that took me as far as Union, SC, then gave me a nice camouflage jacket to help keep me warm. I continued walking from there as the sun got lower and the temperature got colder.
On the outskirts of Union, outside of the actual city itself, I encountered a man named Dale, and his girlfriend. Dale had called me over to his side of the road when he noticed the large backpack on my back. In a period of "roughing it" himself, Dale was curious why I was carrying such a load around. We began to chat and ponder over the workings of the universe, synchronicity, and things happening for a reason, while I enjoyed a meal he had given me. I asked if he knew a place I could set up camp for the night, as the light was fading rapidly, still in early January. In response, he and his girlfriend called the pastor of Philippi Baptist Church of Union, who was away on church business at the time. Even though he was wasn't in town, the pastor still set me up with a room at the Magunison Motel for the night, where I was able to shower and rest in a comfortable bed.
The next day, Dale was going to run me to Whitmire, the next town over. Instead, we just ended up running around together. We hung out with some of Dale's friends, including one that gave me an extra bag with wheels to pull behind me, and one that said he'd get me to Charleston, SC the next day. And Dale ended up breaking up with his girlfriend, but that's another matter. Dale also traded me a lifesaving jumpsuit for the jacket my ride the previous day had given me. I ended up crashing out on the couch at Dale's that night.
Dale's friend gave me the ride to Charleston the next day, but it wasn't until later in the day and the sun had already set by the time we got there. I wasn't comfortable in such a big city at night when I didn't know much about the place, so I had Dale's friend take me to a free campsite in Francis Marion National Forest.
The next day was a long walk back to Charleston along HW 17. It took a few hours just to leave the forest, then another couple hours of walking before I finally caught a ride with some older black gentlemen. When they dropped me off in Charleston, a group of more blacks on a job-site gave me advise on the city bus system, then tried to outdo each other in the amount of money they gave me. Since I had left with almost nothing, that had been a welcome and needed surprise.
The bus didn't seem keen to pick me up, though. I sat at the bus stop for a couple hours as buses went passed with no sign they intended to stop. Eventually, I called the line and a bus stopped shortly after. I rode to where I'd catch the next bus, then rode that bus as far as they went towards leaving town.
I ate some Burger King before going on down the road. Some man stopped me and offered me a place to shower and rest for the night in the motel room he was staying at. Maybe I didn't have anything to worry about, but the fact that his first question to me had been how would I respond if someone took all my things, which left me with a red flag big enough to turn the offer down. He kept persisting that I stay. He was also drunk. I insisted that I wanted to cover as much ground as I could before I stopped to rest and kept walking. He stared at me for longer than I was comfortable with as the distance between us grew, which solidified my decision to keep going.
I took HW 17, also known as Savannah Highway, south out of Charleston. It was dark by the time I set up camp that night. I had wandered into some neighborhood off the highway with a path into a wooded area where I could conceal myself.
I hit the highway again in the morning, making it to a gas station where the manager gave me some cardboard and free food she was about to toss out. I put "Georgia" on the cardboard and enjoyed the gift of food while standing on the other side of the road from the gas station, trying to catch a ride. It was actually a pretty attractive woman that picked me up. She was on her way to Florida and decided to turn around and come back to give me a ride after passing by the first time.
My next destination was Richmond Hill, GA. I was supposed to meet up with another traveler on his way to Ocala there, though he was a few days behind in his journey. From there, I was supposed to continue south to St. Mary's, GA to meet up with a friend from Nelsonville, Ohio that had moved away. I made it to Richmond Hill, but those other two things never happened.
The woman let me out at the McDonald's in Richmond Hill. No sooner had I left the ride that a man, Gypsy, comes out of the restaurant and asked if I was traveling, and if I was hungry. He told me to come inside, then bought me four McChickens.
As it turned out, there were quite a few dirty kids in town at the moment. There was Gypsy, his wife Virgo, and another four kids - I can't remember everyone's names, but for the sake of anyone who may recognize his traveling name, Strings was one of the four. I include that information because I've since met many other people who've claimed to have known Strings since he was a young, naming him as an inspiration they began traveling. Unfortunately, Strings and some other kid got a ride out shortly after I got there, so I didn't really get to know him. The rest of us hung out in the McDonald's until it got late enough to go set up camp in the woods behind the restaurant.
The woods we camped in was obviously a bum camp already, with a tarp strung up for shelter and other trash around the site. After creating some bridges across a couple creeks, we could also reach some railroad tracks at a location where trains would often stop so one train could pass another. We spent the night at the bum camp, then went back to the McDonald's the next morning. We hung out there for awhile, but by around 4:00 in the afternoon we were back in the camp, waiting on a train.
We had to be quick finding a place when the southbound stopped. I was the last one on, and the train began moving again as I began stepping up on it, temporarily knocking me off balance. It was my first time hopping, so I shared a car with Virgo and Gypsy. The other two kids took the car in front of us. I decided to leave my extra bag, which had really been more of a hindrance anyway.
Being on the outside of a moving train left me pretty nervous at first, but the nerves quickly subsided once I settled into place. The view was incredible! Unfortunately, it wasn't the train we were looking for.
When we hopped, we were expecting to be in Jacksonville around 6:00 that day, having hopped around 4:00. The course the train took seemed strange to the more experienced rail-riders I was with once we started noticing the towns we were passing through. We assumed the train was headed for the station in Waycross, GA, where we might have needed to be ready to get off in a hurry, or perhaps to Tallahassee. Then, we passed right through the Waycross station without showing any signs of slowing down or stopping, confusing our party as to where we were going more, as we were now headed north-west.
While the view and experience made everything worth it, what was to be a couple hour ride into Florida became an all-night ride to just outside of Birmingham, AL. We spent the whole time joking about the ride, saying that one of us should go ask the conductor where we were going, demand the train go to Florida, or that he knew we were there and had gone off-course just to mess with us. We had, after all, passed plenty of railroad workers that either didn't see us, or looked the other way. We waved at plenty of pedestrians as we passed, including some people that slowed their car down to videotape us with their phone. I imagine the footage is on YouTube somewhere. The night was pretty cold on the outside of a moving train, even with my jumpsuit and sleeping bag. It could have easily been a longer ride to who knows where, but when the train finally finally stopped somewhere it seemed reasonable to get off in the morning, we decided the ride had already been ridiculous enough.
(next chapter)
Saturday, September 5, 2015
What A Ride: As Winter Approached
(previous chapter)
At first, I loved having so much acid around. I wasn't always on it, but it was always on me, so the option was always there. I was living life how I wanted to at the time, high and in the woods.
But it wasn't sustainable.
I often needed help from friends and family to keep myself fed. When I did have money, the food I bought was mostly dry and ready to eat from the packaging; lots of peanut butter, granola, and pop tarts. My diet wasn't healthy at all, and barely kept me full.
As the weather got colder and wetter, I began relying on friends and family more for shelter, too, making me feel like a useless burden at times. Whenever I needed to shower, shave, wash clothes, or even prepare some of my meals, I needed to find a house I was allowed to do those things in.
I fell into a depression, at which point I stopped being able to hold onto acid without doing it. Between my own acid, and the acid of the friend I was effectively living with, I started to trip at least three times a week, though most weeks that number was more like five or six times. That went on for a few months as the weather got colder and colder.
I didn't sleep much during that period. Almost every night was a party that I attended for the sake of having somewhere to be for the night. I'd end up on acid, go all night, then run on coffee the next morning because I couldn't sleep once the sun was up. The triple-loaded cocktail of THC, LSD, and caffeine kept me functioning, but left me stressed and mentally exhausted.
It was only a matter of time before I started to experience health issues. Everything from trench foot to dental problems tore at my body, while the lower-left area of my stomach region would sometimes spaz out and get hard for a reason I still don't know the origin of. Maybe it was my diet. Maybe it was the acid. Maybe it was both. I began to lose faith in my life and accept that I would probably die young, if I even made it through winter. Something had to change. I had to leave the situation I had trapped myself in, but I was also afraid of leaving. That would mean facing the unknown far from home when my body felt like it was falling apart. But still, I knew I had to go.
My family is pretty big on Ohio State, so with the run they were having I decided to stay around long enough to watch them win the first ever College Football Playoff. Then, I set out for my first Rainbow gathering in Ocala.
(next chapter)
At first, I loved having so much acid around. I wasn't always on it, but it was always on me, so the option was always there. I was living life how I wanted to at the time, high and in the woods.
But it wasn't sustainable.
I often needed help from friends and family to keep myself fed. When I did have money, the food I bought was mostly dry and ready to eat from the packaging; lots of peanut butter, granola, and pop tarts. My diet wasn't healthy at all, and barely kept me full.
As the weather got colder and wetter, I began relying on friends and family more for shelter, too, making me feel like a useless burden at times. Whenever I needed to shower, shave, wash clothes, or even prepare some of my meals, I needed to find a house I was allowed to do those things in.
I fell into a depression, at which point I stopped being able to hold onto acid without doing it. Between my own acid, and the acid of the friend I was effectively living with, I started to trip at least three times a week, though most weeks that number was more like five or six times. That went on for a few months as the weather got colder and colder.
I didn't sleep much during that period. Almost every night was a party that I attended for the sake of having somewhere to be for the night. I'd end up on acid, go all night, then run on coffee the next morning because I couldn't sleep once the sun was up. The triple-loaded cocktail of THC, LSD, and caffeine kept me functioning, but left me stressed and mentally exhausted.
It was only a matter of time before I started to experience health issues. Everything from trench foot to dental problems tore at my body, while the lower-left area of my stomach region would sometimes spaz out and get hard for a reason I still don't know the origin of. Maybe it was my diet. Maybe it was the acid. Maybe it was both. I began to lose faith in my life and accept that I would probably die young, if I even made it through winter. Something had to change. I had to leave the situation I had trapped myself in, but I was also afraid of leaving. That would mean facing the unknown far from home when my body felt like it was falling apart. But still, I knew I had to go.
My family is pretty big on Ohio State, so with the run they were having I decided to stay around long enough to watch them win the first ever College Football Playoff. Then, I set out for my first Rainbow gathering in Ocala.
(next chapter)
Thursday, September 3, 2015
What A Ride: Into the Woods
(previous chapter)
I was still flipping burgers when I first moved into the woods. Instead of paying for rent, I bought gear and weed. It was so serene hiking into the woods at the end of the day, setting up camp, then hotboxing the tent before going to sleep.
Most nights I would stay in a cave about a half-hour's hike behind the nature center of the local college. I had attended a party at the cave earlier in the winter and decided it'd be a great shelter to live. My favorite part about the place was watching the thunderstorms from the cave, which was truly magical. Other nights I'd stay on a trail closer to town, just off the bike path. If I had to close or work late, some friends might let me stay at their house afterwords.
Now that I had work and an even less stable living situation than before, I decided to leave the editorial staff of The Oddville Press. I kept operating The Adventurous Pen for awhile, but I needed something to really stand out to promote myself as a writer - my own niche. I was always talking about psychedelics. Being introduced to LSD at the age of 13 left me open to study the chemicals with great passion from that early of an age. By this point in my story, I was 20 and had quite the knowledge of psychedelics. Even in everyday conversation, I was spouting the gospel of psychedelics, defusing myths, stating random facts, and generally raising interest and awareness of the magic chemicals. I felt like doing so was my calling in life. Even my poetry in Through Kaleidoscopes had been based on the psychedelic experience. It only felt right that I launch a website to help spread that information, thus Tea With the Captain was born.
At this point, I should probably detract a little to tell you how I got the name Captain Chucke. Having just graduated high school - just age 18 - I was at Wisteria Summer Solstice Festival 2012. One of my uncles makes mead, and he gets the honey off his neighbor that raises bees. I brought two bottles of this mead to share with people at the festival and get their feedback on it. There was a theater troupe called the Pirates of the C.U.C. Constantine that hold a 21+ only party-ritual called "Tortuga" at the summer solstice festival each year on the Friday of the event. The festival is now only a Thursday through Sunday event, but in 2012 it was a full week. I met the pirates earlier in the week at their 21+ only knot tying workshop. I walked in and the first words from my lips were, "Pirates, drink my uncle's mead."
They never questioned my age, so I never actually lied. They accepted the drink, then returned the favor by blessing me with "hilarious" lemonade - rum with lemonade powder. From that point on, the pirates and I became friends. When Tortuga rolled around, I asked them if I could borrow some pirate garb for the party and if they needed any help carrying things down to set up. They loaned me a pirate hat and had me carry a ship wheel and some thick rope, effectively sneaking myself into the party like I'm supposed to be there. I hung out in the back away from the fire at first, drinking lemonade to catch a buzz while trying to decide if I should stay hidden in the shadows, or just act like I'm supposed to be there. The decision was made for me. One of the pirates, Dirty Alice, came up to me and asked if I would do a big pirate favor; they wanted me to declare myself "Captain Chucke".
The Captain is an integral part of the Tortuga ritual. Whomever gets the title must undergo the "mutiny" game, Drink Or Drown, where the Captain is "tied" to the ship wheel I carried down with the rope I carried down (doesn't sound planed at all), before being walked around the fire a few times, then made to, essentially, beerbong some hilarious lemonade. I drank and didn't drown, thus earning me the title Captain Chucke.
At first, it was just a name close friends knew me by - a fun name with a cool story behind it. Over time, I put together my own pirate outfit to wear to parties, festivals, or even just around town when I felt like being a little odd for the fun of it. Soon, Captain Chucke became a common nickname that I'd introduce myself as. Since I was already this character, I decided to run with it as my psychonaut name when I started Tea With the Captain, thinking that an interesting character would make more people pay attention.
I left my job flipping burgers during a particularly stressful shift where the people in the back couldn't do their jobs right because they were still new, and the people in the front kept losing the sandwiches I'd make. I should have just stuck through it, but I was frustrated and left instead. From that point, Tea With the Captain became my life. I wrote articles and did videos on psychedelics, festivals, and other related things, then spent the rest of my time promoting and link building. I made it my gimmick to try to appear crazy, done up in weird costumes to mock the idea that psychedelics make you crazy.
Talking about how great psychedelics are naturally led to helping people find them, which since I no longer had a job became the deal I would make to keep myself high and fed. LSD and other psychedelics were slowly becoming more prevalent and popular in the area as people's fears from myths became alleviated and more information spread on the benefits of psychedelics and how to ID the chemical you're taking came out. With more people doing psychedelics, more people wanted to try the chemicals for themselves. I was watching, online and in the real world, the progression of a new psychedelic dawn. Zane Kesey had his father's bus, Further, out spreading family love. I got dosed by the Pranksters at the Gathering of Juggalos a couple weeks before the bus landed at Smoke Rise Ranch, at which point LSD gained more abundance and staying power than I had previously seen in my area. The renewed popularity only helped ensure it stick around.
(next chapter)
I was still flipping burgers when I first moved into the woods. Instead of paying for rent, I bought gear and weed. It was so serene hiking into the woods at the end of the day, setting up camp, then hotboxing the tent before going to sleep.
Most nights I would stay in a cave about a half-hour's hike behind the nature center of the local college. I had attended a party at the cave earlier in the winter and decided it'd be a great shelter to live. My favorite part about the place was watching the thunderstorms from the cave, which was truly magical. Other nights I'd stay on a trail closer to town, just off the bike path. If I had to close or work late, some friends might let me stay at their house afterwords.
Now that I had work and an even less stable living situation than before, I decided to leave the editorial staff of The Oddville Press. I kept operating The Adventurous Pen for awhile, but I needed something to really stand out to promote myself as a writer - my own niche. I was always talking about psychedelics. Being introduced to LSD at the age of 13 left me open to study the chemicals with great passion from that early of an age. By this point in my story, I was 20 and had quite the knowledge of psychedelics. Even in everyday conversation, I was spouting the gospel of psychedelics, defusing myths, stating random facts, and generally raising interest and awareness of the magic chemicals. I felt like doing so was my calling in life. Even my poetry in Through Kaleidoscopes had been based on the psychedelic experience. It only felt right that I launch a website to help spread that information, thus Tea With the Captain was born.
At this point, I should probably detract a little to tell you how I got the name Captain Chucke. Having just graduated high school - just age 18 - I was at Wisteria Summer Solstice Festival 2012. One of my uncles makes mead, and he gets the honey off his neighbor that raises bees. I brought two bottles of this mead to share with people at the festival and get their feedback on it. There was a theater troupe called the Pirates of the C.U.C. Constantine that hold a 21+ only party-ritual called "Tortuga" at the summer solstice festival each year on the Friday of the event. The festival is now only a Thursday through Sunday event, but in 2012 it was a full week. I met the pirates earlier in the week at their 21+ only knot tying workshop. I walked in and the first words from my lips were, "Pirates, drink my uncle's mead."
They never questioned my age, so I never actually lied. They accepted the drink, then returned the favor by blessing me with "hilarious" lemonade - rum with lemonade powder. From that point on, the pirates and I became friends. When Tortuga rolled around, I asked them if I could borrow some pirate garb for the party and if they needed any help carrying things down to set up. They loaned me a pirate hat and had me carry a ship wheel and some thick rope, effectively sneaking myself into the party like I'm supposed to be there. I hung out in the back away from the fire at first, drinking lemonade to catch a buzz while trying to decide if I should stay hidden in the shadows, or just act like I'm supposed to be there. The decision was made for me. One of the pirates, Dirty Alice, came up to me and asked if I would do a big pirate favor; they wanted me to declare myself "Captain Chucke".
The Captain is an integral part of the Tortuga ritual. Whomever gets the title must undergo the "mutiny" game, Drink Or Drown, where the Captain is "tied" to the ship wheel I carried down with the rope I carried down (doesn't sound planed at all), before being walked around the fire a few times, then made to, essentially, beerbong some hilarious lemonade. I drank and didn't drown, thus earning me the title Captain Chucke.
At first, it was just a name close friends knew me by - a fun name with a cool story behind it. Over time, I put together my own pirate outfit to wear to parties, festivals, or even just around town when I felt like being a little odd for the fun of it. Soon, Captain Chucke became a common nickname that I'd introduce myself as. Since I was already this character, I decided to run with it as my psychonaut name when I started Tea With the Captain, thinking that an interesting character would make more people pay attention.
I left my job flipping burgers during a particularly stressful shift where the people in the back couldn't do their jobs right because they were still new, and the people in the front kept losing the sandwiches I'd make. I should have just stuck through it, but I was frustrated and left instead. From that point, Tea With the Captain became my life. I wrote articles and did videos on psychedelics, festivals, and other related things, then spent the rest of my time promoting and link building. I made it my gimmick to try to appear crazy, done up in weird costumes to mock the idea that psychedelics make you crazy.
Talking about how great psychedelics are naturally led to helping people find them, which since I no longer had a job became the deal I would make to keep myself high and fed. LSD and other psychedelics were slowly becoming more prevalent and popular in the area as people's fears from myths became alleviated and more information spread on the benefits of psychedelics and how to ID the chemical you're taking came out. With more people doing psychedelics, more people wanted to try the chemicals for themselves. I was watching, online and in the real world, the progression of a new psychedelic dawn. Zane Kesey had his father's bus, Further, out spreading family love. I got dosed by the Pranksters at the Gathering of Juggalos a couple weeks before the bus landed at Smoke Rise Ranch, at which point LSD gained more abundance and staying power than I had previously seen in my area. The renewed popularity only helped ensure it stick around.
(next chapter)
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
What A Ride: Before the Woods
(previous chapter)
When I got back to Ohio I learned that, after a month of nothing on my schedule, I missed some work while I was away and lost my job.
The Athens-area of Ohio is the poorest in the state, with the few job prospects. I applied to everywhere I could, I checked in frequently, I did everything that would normally make landing a job easy. There's just so many people fighting over so few jobs.
I kept myself occupied by writing. I began work on my first volume of poetry, Through Kaleidoscopes. I also started to learn more about putting myself out there as a writer by joining the forum website, www.writersbeat.com. This website gave me the ability to network with other starting and independent writers and learn how they participated in the literary industry. It also gave me a place to have my work critiqued and improved. Some of the poems that made it into Through Kaleidoscopes had been critiqued and altered after being posted to Writer's Beat.
The forums also got me on the editorial staff of The Oddville Press for Volume II, Issue II when I responded to an ad in the website's Classifieds section, giving me insight into and experience in the other side of the publishing door. I took that experience into my own project, The Adventurous Pen. Through Kaleidoscopes finally came out shortly after The Adventurous Pen's launch. I was also teaching chess to local kids at the library.
While all this was going on, I was still living at my mom's, with my stepfather, two little brothers, and an infestation of bed bugs. All of a sudden, bed bugs were everywhere in town, and our house was no exception. It was driving everyone crazy with stress as we all became alert to every little motion out of the corner of our eyes, or the feeling of something against our skin, only to lay awake at night as the bugs crawled all over, feasting in an unstoppable manner, while we wished only for a peaceful rest. Already lacking money, many funds were spent trying to eradicate the pests, unsuccessfully.
As spring began to poke its head, my mom was able to get me a job flipping burgers where she and my stepfather worked. Shortly after I began working, my mom and stepfather moved to escape the bugs. I stayed behind in the house as a squatter for another week or two, before moving into a friend's house and helping him pay rent for the next month.
I love festivals. I love the energy and the love at festivals. It rejuvenates me and gives me hope for humanity. I've been volunteering at the festivals at Wisteria Event Site since I was 16. Festivals are a big part of my life. That's why, when I had to decide on paying for new camping gear that I needed, or rent, I chose the camping gear. I bought a High Sierra 90L backpack, which is still my pack after everything it's gone through with me. One of my friends loaned me a tent, as mine was in no condition for long-term living like I was about to do anymore. I figured out how to sort through what I had left and put it in my pack. What I didn't need got tossed away and my pack became all my worldly possessions, my life on my back.
I moved into the woods.
(continue reading)
When I got back to Ohio I learned that, after a month of nothing on my schedule, I missed some work while I was away and lost my job.
The Athens-area of Ohio is the poorest in the state, with the few job prospects. I applied to everywhere I could, I checked in frequently, I did everything that would normally make landing a job easy. There's just so many people fighting over so few jobs.
I kept myself occupied by writing. I began work on my first volume of poetry, Through Kaleidoscopes. I also started to learn more about putting myself out there as a writer by joining the forum website, www.writersbeat.com. This website gave me the ability to network with other starting and independent writers and learn how they participated in the literary industry. It also gave me a place to have my work critiqued and improved. Some of the poems that made it into Through Kaleidoscopes had been critiqued and altered after being posted to Writer's Beat.
The forums also got me on the editorial staff of The Oddville Press for Volume II, Issue II when I responded to an ad in the website's Classifieds section, giving me insight into and experience in the other side of the publishing door. I took that experience into my own project, The Adventurous Pen. Through Kaleidoscopes finally came out shortly after The Adventurous Pen's launch. I was also teaching chess to local kids at the library.
While all this was going on, I was still living at my mom's, with my stepfather, two little brothers, and an infestation of bed bugs. All of a sudden, bed bugs were everywhere in town, and our house was no exception. It was driving everyone crazy with stress as we all became alert to every little motion out of the corner of our eyes, or the feeling of something against our skin, only to lay awake at night as the bugs crawled all over, feasting in an unstoppable manner, while we wished only for a peaceful rest. Already lacking money, many funds were spent trying to eradicate the pests, unsuccessfully.
As spring began to poke its head, my mom was able to get me a job flipping burgers where she and my stepfather worked. Shortly after I began working, my mom and stepfather moved to escape the bugs. I stayed behind in the house as a squatter for another week or two, before moving into a friend's house and helping him pay rent for the next month.
I love festivals. I love the energy and the love at festivals. It rejuvenates me and gives me hope for humanity. I've been volunteering at the festivals at Wisteria Event Site since I was 16. Festivals are a big part of my life. That's why, when I had to decide on paying for new camping gear that I needed, or rent, I chose the camping gear. I bought a High Sierra 90L backpack, which is still my pack after everything it's gone through with me. One of my friends loaned me a tent, as mine was in no condition for long-term living like I was about to do anymore. I figured out how to sort through what I had left and put it in my pack. What I didn't need got tossed away and my pack became all my worldly possessions, my life on my back.
I moved into the woods.
(continue reading)
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