One Year

March 18, 2019

Hard to believe, but it’s now officially been a year since I moved out of my house and embarked on this weird and unpredictable journey of Hashtag Vanlife. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about what this year has meant to me, how it’s changed me, what kinds of things I miss about house-living, what I don’t miss, what I’ve learned, and what I foresee the future looking like.

First off, at the one-year mark I certainly did NOT expect to be without a van. As I mentioned in my last blog, this summer I was involved in an accident which dealt my poor van some unrepairable damage, and in mid-February I finally tore everything out of it (with some help from Rich), put all the stuff in a storage unit, then released the van to my insurance company. It’s final day in my possession was just after I left for Europe, and I was a bit sad I didn’t get to see it off in person. Luckily my buddy Joe saw it on the back of a tow truck, sadly puttering down State Street and sent me a photo. Kinda weird to watch your house get towed away. It certainly was a trip to remove everything from the inside over the course of 10 or so hours when it took months to put it together. I got to relive all the agonies and ecstasies of the build with each layer I removed.

When I got my van last year I’d been driving a Honda Element, which I’d partially outfitted for sleeping/traveling for occasional road trips and other adventures. After moving into the van full-time, I opted to keep the Element for a year just to see how often I felt the need/desire to use it before committing to selling it. I sure am glad I kept it. It’s a downgrade as far as space/organization goes, but I can keep my essentials in it and sleep in it whenever necessary. I have to be a little more choosy about where I park when I sleep in the car, since I have to do things like tooth brushing and face washing outside the vehicle. But I can cook in it, change clothes in it, and hang out in it enough to be suitable. Plus I can drive it, obviously.

So… what has this past year of mobile living meant to me? First off, it’s meant letting go of a lot of attachment to stuff, primarily. But also letting go of expectations, letting go of residing in the world of the status quo, letting go of some comfort. Also letting go of complete independence, which has been an ironic challenge. I still rely on friends for sporadic kitchen and shower use, and when the van had to go to the shop I had to rely on friends for a place to sleep. My friends are awesome, generous, and super supportive and always have their doors open to me. But still, in my head, it’s difficult to regularly show up to someone else’s space and insert myself, however innocuously or briefly. I’ve had to let go of some aspects of personal and intimate relationships, which has probably been one of the toughest parts of this lifestyle shift. I’m not gonna go into any details about that because it’s pretty personal, but let’s just say that having a space where others can come visit and spend time has a value that I couldn’t have known until I no longer had it.

As I’d hoped, I’ve been able to travel and see more places, spend a considerably larger amount of time outdoors, and spend time with more people. Time spent with old friends and new is probably one of my favorite parts of this lifestyle. I spent so much time voluntarily cooped up in my house for the previous few years, I’m pleased the van living has helped me shift that.

I get asked all the time (as one does when one travels) where I live, and depending on the person, I’ll still say “Mendocino County”. If folks dig further, I’ll explain that I live in my van and travel, and for the most part people respond positively. Some tell me they envy my life and my freedom, and a few have spent time picking my brain because they’re seriously considering making the move themselves. There have been a few people who kinda look at me quizzically in a way that clearly conveys they don’t get it or don’t like the fact that I live in a van, but whatever.

There are still times - many times a month, actually – where I’m sitting in my van and have a moment of thinking, “I’m 46 years old and I live in a van. I have no house”. I dunno… it’s weird. Some part of me thinks I’m playing some young person’s game, like… why is a middle-aged dude living some hippie-vagabond lifestyle? Shouldn’t I be more… conventional? Then I shake that shit off and get back to doing whatever I was doing.

Do I miss having a house? Rarely. The only things I really miss is that I could set up different parts of my house as a photo “studio” and do portrait work, in addition to hosting people (as mentioned above). But that’s about it.

What are some downsides to van living? It can be cumbersome to pilot such a large vehicle into places that are easily accessible by car. Driving through the city requires pre-planning on the best routes to take, and parking can be a pain in the ass. I have to drive slow wherever I’m going (which is good in many ways), and my ability to explore more off-roadish areas is much more limited than it ever was with my car. I like finding out-of-the-way and isolated spots in nature to spend time and the van just isn’t built to off-road.

I find myself slightly annoyed by having to find places to refill my water jugs, find places to dump my grey water, find places to dump my trash and recycling, and find places that aren’t in public where I can open the van up and clean/rearrange things. I still long for a spot to park that’s completely private, isolated, and beautiful where I can just be by myself and not worry about being in someone else’s space. I also long for complete independence, which I think is attainable once I finish building out my kitchen space, maybe get a portable outdoor shower thing or maybe get a gym membership for showers. And really, all of these things are pretty small potatoes in the big picture. I have SO much more to be grateful for.

Now that it’s been a month of living in my car, I’m definitely missing my van. I’ve been scouring the internet for a new one but haven’t come up with anything yet, unfortunately. Luckily I’ve been traveling a lot this past month, so I’ve been able to stay in lots of comfortable places and haven’t had to rely on the car too much. I’m leaving next week to go on tour with Amenra for a month on the East Coast, so the adventure continues with or without a van.

The Interlude

February 02, 2019

Yep, things have been pretty silent over here at the Midlife Rambler for a while. It’s been a bit of a hibernation time for me, which is what this time of the year is for, really. There have been a number of influencing circumstances as well, which I’ll get to forthwith.

January has been an unusual month in the over-all trajectory of my Van Life thing. But the roots of this stretch back to this past June, when I got rear-ended in traffic on the freeway. The guy who hit me smashed the corner of my bumper, but looked like a fairly easy fix. Come to find out the frame was buckled, the resulting damage was un-repairable, and I would need to total out my van. My two options were: keep the van and a small settlement, (but I’d never be able to build any storage in back under the bed and my wheels would never properly align) or get rid of the van and buy a new one. The second option would require my completely dismantling the van’s interior and storing all the stuff somewhere, then upon purchase of a new van, re-building the whole thing. I chose the second option, but for a number of reasons had to put the project on hold while I tried to settle some insurance issues. Plus, it was just hard to swallow the idea that I’d have to take my home apart, be homeless for some indeterminate amount of time, then build it all over again.

The rest of the story is complicated and boring, but after the van began having some mechanical issues that repeatedly drained my bank account, I opted to drive as little as possible. So aside from a couple forays down to the Bay and back, I’ve been hunkered down in Ukiah. I found a little parking lot downtown that’s not only free, but seems to be patrolled by no one and a surprisingly quiet place to be. It’s a block from the café where I love to work and I can take strolls around town in the early morning hours when no one is out and about. It’s actually one of my favorite things to do. It’s funny too, because I’m literally two blocks from where I lived for five years, except now I live in a parking lot. Some part of me thinks I should be bothered by this, but I’m not. I mean, I wish I were out exploring the world, but if I’m gonna be stuck somewhere, this spot is OK with me.

Soooooo… I’m reaching the cusp of that strange moment when I begin dismantling my van and waiting to see how all this shakes out. If all goes to plan, it’ll be stripped out by Wednesday and taken away by my insurance company by Friday.

So, if I’m not living in my van, can I still be living the #vanlife or am I just a homeless dude? You be the judge.

The last couple of months haven’t been totally bereft of activity, I’m happy to report. Here’s a brief recap:

At the beginning of December, I spent a little bit of time in Bolinas, drawn there initially by a Rainbow Girls performance at Smiley’s Schooner Saloon but kept there by the calm of the rustic harbor and draw to explore the quirky little town. There’s a part of me that feels some nostalgic connection to the era of hippie migration from the Summer of Love San Francisco to the rural, back-to-the-land farmscapes and hidden enclaves of west Marin. I was born in the early 70’s and spent my whole childhood in the suburbs about 50 miles south, so I’m not exactly sure what the emotional connection is for me, but I think it connects to my identity as a native Californian as well as my appreciation for the underlying ethos of that movement. I also have pockets of vague memory from my early years that I can’t quite place, but make me feel like it’s not just some weird secondhand nostalgia.

I was lucky enough to spend a mid-December week on the road with some of my favorite musicians, Jaye Jayle and Emma Ruth Rundle, traveling from SF up to Seattle and back. What a treat. I truly do appreciate how fortunate I am to be able to spend time with people I genuinely like who ALSO play music I love. On top of that, I always love an excuse to head to the Pacific Northwest.

My friend Charley Crockett came into town briefly and asked me to film a music video for him, which I eagerly agreed to do. He and I, along with my former bandmate and good buddy Kyle spent the day driving around the county shooting clips of him riding his bike and singing a song about persevering despite hardships. As the day drew to a close, we ended up on the Northeast side of the valley where we were treated to a spectacular sunset, made more perfect by the numinous fog that rose and blanketed the landscape around us. We filmed the final scenes with this more-than-perfect background and couldn’t help but feel giddy for our dumb luck and grateful that nature provided something so gorgeous for us to enjoy.

My buddies in Cult Leader finished up their barnstorming US tour in SF, and I managed to putter down there to say hey and shoot some photos. Always great to see those dudes, and it’s exciting to see their careers shooting to the next level.

My Christmas Eve was spent alone, for the very first time since… well… I’m not sure really. Ever? Definitely since my kids were born. Now that they’re grown and tend to have a little more space for alternative celebrations, I’m able to be a little looser with my own plans. Honestly I’ve never had an emotional bond with Xmas, having grown up with a Jehovah’s Witness parent and gone without celebrating it until I started tagging along to my friends’ houses when I was in high school.

I decided to drive out to Potter Valley, not far from the house where I/we lived for 13 years. Spent the cold evening in my cozy van, finishing my wrapping/making of Xmas presents and enjoying a night away from cell service and other human beings. Right next to the Eel River. Xmas morning was delightfully foggy, and I enjoyed a walk around the bridge and managed to snap a few shots of the moon as it made its way behind the hills to the west.

Spent Xmas day on the coast with Aurora (Mickey couldn’t join because he wasn’t feeling well), talking about our lives and relationships and enjoying a gorgeous day at Big River. We somehow managed to cap off the day by getting dinner at Denny’s, which I came to regret. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

I was also fortunate enough to get a quick Tahoe visit with Megan, spending a weekend up in Kirkwood doing some snowshoeing and enjoying the bluebird days. We’d both planned to do some downhill skiing, but both begged off due to body issues & nagging injuries. Next time. It was still pretty great to get some time in my beloved Sierras, soaking up some real winter experiences.

Japan With Amenra, Pt 2

December 23, 2018

On our first non-show day, I woke before everyone and got myself some breakfast before heading to my favorite little coffee shop to edit photos and enjoy some quiet time. My reverie was interrupted by the subtle quivering of my couch and low rumble emanating from outside, which I first mistook for a train going by but remembered there weren’t any train tracks near the building. The lamp across from me was gently rocking back and forth and I quickly realized I was experiencing my first Japanese earthquake. I knew earthquakes were common here so I chilled and waited for it to stop, which eventually it did.

Back at the house, plans were being made for the day’s activities. Those band members with wives or girlfriends split off on their own, and I joined Levy and Hein for a foray into a huge shopping district to find some gifts to bring home. We spent the day wandering from little shop to little shop, just tripping out on the bizarre variety of things for sale, including a shop devoted entirely to 8 x 12 glossy photos of what I presumed to be boy bands and pop stars, cartoonish hip-hop fashion, designer sneakers, and shit tons of other things that I can’t even really begin to describe.

We wandered into this little underground store that was painted all white and had about half a dozen little curtained kiosks with young women and teen girls wandering in and out of them. We had no idea what was going on in there, but as soon as we saw a dude walking around we figured it was OK for us to go in. We discovered little enclosed workstations where you can take photos with your friend, then use various software tools to turn yourself into a ultra-feminized Anime character. So strange. Observe the results:

Just by chance we ran into Mathieu on one of the streets, and it kinda blew our minds how we could just randomly run into each other in such a huge place having had no plans to connect at all. He’d taken the bus to the airport and back early this morning to see his girlfriend off, and happened to decide to go where we ended up going.

Spent the rest of the day eating, shopping, wandering around and marveling at the strange wonder of Tokyo. As it got dark, the dudes wanted to stop for a beer. We managed to find, of all things, a Portland-themed bar called the Portland Taphouse. It had only Portland microbrews, had photos and posters of Portland covering the walls, and a rack full of traveler’s brochures about Portland and Oregon on a wall facing the bar. So bizarre.

I decided that no trip to Japan would be complete without some authentic Japanese Sushi, so we checked Yelp for a recommendation and grabbed a cab to head 20 minutes across town. I can say with absolute confidence that this was the best sushi I’ve ever had. And it was the 6th highest ranking sushi place on Yelp, so imagine how good the top-rated one is.

We slowly wandered back into some upper-scale shops, then residential neighborhoods, then hopped on a train back to the house where others were trickling back in after their daily adventures. Most of us got to bed early tonight, for a change.

My final day in Japan eventually arrived, and we’d made plans to go as a group to some temples to take some photos and do a little sight seeing. We took the 30-minute train ride to the Senso-ji temple, a Shinto temple dedicated to the goddess of mercy in the Taito district of Tokyo. It’s one of the most famous temples in Japan and was swarming with tourists of all nationalities. It was incredibly impressive and awe-inspiring, and after craning our necks to marvel at the gorgeous interiors, buying some charms from the temple store, and saying some prayers over giant urns of incense, we huddled up for a few group photos.

Having finished with the temples, we wandered the nearby streets looking at some amazing stalls with gorgeous handmade and vintage Japanese weapons and statues, wondering what stories those objects could tell. After finding a spot for lunch, I had to say my goodbyes to everyone and strike off on my own for the long-ass journey back to the house and to the airport. I admit I was nervous about having to coordinate lots of variables, but gave myself plenty of time for the multiple train and bus rides required to arrive at my final destination. First was a 20-minute walk to the train station, a 30-minute train ride back to Shinjuku, a short walk back to the house to pack up my 50lbs of stuff and hoist it on my shoulders, then back onto the train for 10 minutes to the bus station. I got totally lost in the Shinjuku city center trying to find the bus depot (even though I thought I knew where it was) and just barely made it to my bus on time. Finally, the 1.5 hour ride to the airport.

The bus escaped the confines of the big city and we eventually found ourselves passing through the countryside, which I was happy to get a glimpse of on this trip. If I come back, I want to spend all my time visiting the mountains, rivers and villages outside the big cities.

My trip ended with one of the longest days of my life. With the 17-hour time difference, I left the airport at 7 PM on Tuesday and arrived back in SF at 4:30 that same Tuesday. Weird. But having woken at 7 AM Tokyo time, then getting back to Megan’s house in Oakland to sleep, I’d been awake 31 hours.

Huge thanks to the stellar individuals in the band and crew of Amenra, Kimi for taking care of us in Tokyo, and especially Colin for inviting me along on this fantastic adventure I won’t soon forget.

Japan With Amenra, Pt 1

December 18, 2018

As you may remember, I went on tour with Belgian metal giants Amenra for a week last summer on the West Coast. In addition to taking photos, I captured a bunch of video footage with the intention of putting together a quick little documentary of my time with them. After about a month of fudging around with it, I finished the film and sent it over to the band. The reaction was enthusiastically positive (to my surprise and delight), and talks began around making a full-length film to commemorate their 20th anniversary as a band. I was invited to join them in Japan for five days to film, which was incredibly exciting. After a couple months of giddy anticipation, the time to leave for Japan finally arrived.

The majority of advice I got around dealing with a huge time change (Japan is 17 hours ahead of California) was to not sleep on the plane at all and just forge ahead to get on the new schedule as much as possible, which is exactly what I did. It all started with a two-hour flight to Vancouver, then a 10 hour flight to Tokyo. There had been some sketchiness about whether I was going to be met by someone at the airport that would arrange my getting to the place we were staying or if I was gonna have to take a bus/train by myself. It’s a long story, but after much handwringing, losing WiFi service multiple times, running from one terminal to the other, and praying things would work out in my favor, I found Colin from Amenra, his wife and their friend, and we hopped on a bus headed for Tokyo. From the bus terminal in Shinjuku, we walked about 20 min to the apartment that had been rented for the band, set all my shit down, then turned around and headed back out into the night to meet up with the rest of the entourage who were having drinks at a tiny little random karaoke bar. The first things that struck me about Japan were that everything was clean and orderly, all the cars/trucks/trains were shiny and small, and there were tons of people swarming the streets. Tons. After a brief and torturous time listening to drunk Japanese folks shriek over weird pop songs at this karaoke bar, we left to grab some food and head back to the house to sleep. I’d been awake for 29 hours by this point and surprisingly I didn’t feel that bad.

Managed to sleep about 7 hours or so last night, which was a pleasant surprise. After breakfast and coffee in a cute little spot just down the street from us, we gathered outside the house and headed to the venue. Since many of the bands wives/girlfriends had joined for the week, we were a giant gang of 13 people snaking through the subways carrying gear, trying to get a feel for how to get around. We noticed that the Japanese people we encountered were not only unfailingly polite and orderly, but they never made eye contact in public and remained fairly quiet at all times. Every time we all took a train anywhere (which was a lot), we were absolutely the loudest people on the train, and we were just talking.

Like just about everything I saw in Tokyo, the venue was in a multi-level building, narrow and compact and squeezed right next to other buildings. There were two floors with rehearsal rooms (for bands to practice in), then a 4th floor that held the 200-person-capacity venue, then a rooftop patio where merch was eventually set up. I realized quickly that filming/shooting in this small of a spot was going to present me with some challenges, so I spent some time trying to get my shit figured out while all the bands soundchecked.

There was a brief outing taken to find some food to eat, and we found this cute little Japanese/American food café where I had one of the best hamburgers of my life. No joke. We walked the neighborhood checking out shops and stretching our legs for a bit, then back to the venue to hang out and wait for the show to start. We didn’t have to wait long, considering the first (of four) bands was scheduled to begin at 5:30 PM. Because I’m a grumpy old man, I was delighted that the show was going to be over by 10PM sharp, which is completely unheard of in the States.

Opener Treha Sektori is a one-man aural descent into the underworld, with haunting images projected over him as he pounds trigger pads and growls over rumbling drones straight from the abyss. He’s from Paris (and was brought over to Japan by Amenra) and a super cool dude to boot. It was great getting to hang out with him a little bit. There was a local band Vampilla who played a strangely interesting combo of doom metal and ambient jazz with strings, plus a Canadian/European duo Nadja whose mix of metal guitars and ambient electronica was soothing and creepy at the same time. All the support groups were eclectic and distinct, but had an aesthetic and vibe that really blended well with Amenra’s.

As Amenra prepared to play, the entire audience (which was filled to capacity) was eerily silent while waiting for the show to start. No cheering, very little talking, so quiet you could hear the footsteps of the band walking around the stage. So very different from how shows are in the states. I stood on the side of the stage filming (which was my purpose for being there in the first place) for most of the show, then shuffled through the crowd to the sound booth to get some shots from there. Everyone got out of my way as I walked through the crowd, politely stepping aside unlike anything I’ve experienced in the states. Quite refreshing. The show ended right on time and everyone hustled to pack up and get out of the venue before 10:30. We walked through the neighborhoods looking for food, but eventually the group split up and I went with Colin and Evie (his wife) to a little curry spot for a nightcap before making the 30 minute walk back to the house for another good night’s sleep.

The next day began much as the first, coffee and food, then the 30 minute walk/train ride to the venue, this time sans equipment (except for me, loaded with two full backpacks of gear and various items). After sound check we all split off to explore the neighborhood again, this time I meandered alone, hoping I wouldn’t get hopelessly lost while trying to buy some gifts to bring back to Megan and my kids. There were literally half a dozen hair salons on every street, including pet salons. Clothing stores with hilariously mangled English titles, tons of strange chachki shops and bazillions of tiny restaurants and eateries. And intertwined with the busy shopping avenues are dozens of quiet, clean residential alleys and walkways. So very quiet.

Tonight’s show was a virtual repeat of last night, except tonight Amenra was on fire in a way they weren’t quite last night. It’s always interesting to consider what makes a band perform one way one night, then on a different plane the next. A million variables, I suppose.

I was able to hop off the front of the stage and right into the front row to shoot video from that angle, and the very polite and quiet Japanese fans that had been standing there all night scooted over and gave me space, which again would have never happened in the states.

After the show, everyone packed up and said their farewells, took some group photos, then headed across town for a celebratory dinner in a swanky restaurant, where I got to spend some time talking to a Japanese national who’d lived in England for a number of years so his English was really good. He gave me all sorts of interesting perspectives on Japanese culture and I got to explain a bit about American culture, such as it is.

Having finally secured a pocket Wifi hotspot earlier in the day, I had the means by which to navigate on my own back to the house.As I snaked my way through the alleys, streets and boulevards after midnight, it again struck me how quiet everything was.Here in the middle of a huge metropolis, the only discernable sounds were that of the sporadic cars and trucks making their way through the night to unknown destinations

Fires, Breakdowns & Crainbows

December 01, 2018

11/30/18

Well, almost a month has passed since my last entry, and frankly, it feels weird. For some reason, I was prolific in my updates when my #vanlife began, but maybe because the novelty of the situation has subsided and perhaps it doesn’t strike me as very adventurous anymore.

That’s not to say I didn’t have any adventures, because I certainly did. I’d made plan to join up with my friends John Craigie and the Rainbow Girls as they made their way playing music from Humboldt to San Diego. I’d planned to join them in the little town of Ferndale on the first night of tour, but just as I got north of Willits I had a worrisome dash light come on warning of a problem with my fuel system. I turned right around and brought the van to my mechanic, who checked it out and found that indeed there was a significant problem that needed to be dealt with immediately. And it wasn’t going to be cheap. In fact, nothing about fixing this vehicle is cheap. I waited the rest of the day for a resolution, only to be told that one thing was fixed but he discovered something else that had broken as a result of the first thing failing. Ugh. And on top of that, the part was in Sacramento and might not show up until Monday. The van needed to stay at the shop and I had to find somewhere to be for the rest of the weekend of forego joining up with the tour.

On top of that, this was the day the Camp Fire started outside Chico, and as I sat at the café working, an ominous cloud of smoke blanketed the entire Ukiah valley, bringing a midday darkness that was beyond eerie.

I rushed to get my car (which I’ve held onto and left languishing outside my friend’s house for the last 9 months), grabbed food/clothes for the weekend out of the van, ran to storage to empty out a bunch of crap and re-install the sleeping platform in the back of the car, then treated myself to a fat dinner at the Brewery to offset the disappointment of having my plans thwarted. Some friends offered me a place on their couch for the night and I took them up on it, opting to enjoy a warm house instead of my cold, cramped car.

The next day I’d prepared myself for a day of killing time, then maybe heading down to the Bay in the car or something. I went back to the shop to collect a few more things from the van I needed for the weekend, and was surprised to find they’d managed to get the part they needed early and thought they’d have the van done by the afternoon. Yay! That turned out to be the case, and I was back in my home before it got dark out.

I joined up with John Craigie and the Rainbow Girls the next night in SF for their sold out show at August Hall, a beautiful venue downtown I’d never been to before. It felt so good to have connected with them after all the hubbub, and we spent some time catching up after their soundcheck. They’d played a show in Chico on Friday, the day after the fires started up. The show had been sold out, but the venue was half empty due to the emergency situation and the mood was understandably somber. The smoke there was almost unbearable. They were glad to have contributed at least a little bit of good energy to to those in attendance, and were also happy to be in SF where the air quality was slightly better. Though even in SF it was strangely apocalyptic feeling.

The show was delightful, with stellar sound and the kind of lighting that makes photographers happy. I found it difficult to get good close-up shots when there’s a seated, quiet and attentive audience, which requires I work extra hard to stay out of people’s way and to remain unobtrusive. Managed to pull it off though.

Luckily, I had an option to join up with the tour again in southern California later that next week, which is exactly what I did. It was a relief to head down the 101 and get out of the omnipresent and oppressive smoke blanketing the entirety of northern California. I met up with everyone in Santa Barbara, enjoyed skulking around shooting photos and soaking up the familial and musically prolific vibe these musicians exude.

After the show, we went to stay at a charming hippie cabin up in the mountains that touched on my nostalgia for the weird, rustic homesteads of the back-to-the-landers I’d become familiar with my first years in Mendocino County.

We next headed north, stopping in Morro Bay so they could shoot a live video for Westysessions then jamming over to the venue. More fun hangs, lots of photos made, and another delightful show. John has a fantastic quasi-standup comedy aspect to his performances where he tells hilarious stories that always lead into songs and back out again into more stories. A wonderful weaving of words and song.

The last night of the tour was in Novato, at the Hopmonk Tavern located in a huge-ass shopping mall. That always weirds me out... clubs in shopping malls. After the show folks lingered and enjoyed some last moments together before heading their separate ways. End of tour is always a bit sad, and we’d enjoyed a fun bonding time that had sadly come to a kind of end.

Back in Ukiah the next day, I hunkered down to catch up on work and begin prepping for my trip to Japan with Amenra, with one delightful break to drive out to the Mendocino Coast to shoot photos for a fantastic little B & B. I was fortunate enough to have been given a room there so I could be around for the sunrise & morning activities, which sure made me feel like a lucky bastard.

Summer in October

November 07, 2018

After a very busy summer and early fall, October all of a sudden turned into almost a solid month of “free time” (meaning, barely earning any money), which would normally be something I could ride out without much hassle. However, this free time happened to coincide with some significant and unforeseeable expenses, thus making it difficult to utilize my free time as I would otherwise have. Not complaining, though. I still got to do some cool shit.

Take the Skunk Train party, for instance. This party was started by a couple friends of mine 11ish years ago, and happens every year in October. People get dressed up in ridiculous costumes and begin consuming mind-altering substances bright and early in the morning, then jump on a train and ride it through the redwoods to a designated stopping point, where the party rages for a number of hours, complete with catered food and live music. This time I was lucky enough to get my buddies Marty O’Reilly & the Old Soul Orchestra to come play, and they fucking killed it. People couldn’t stop telling me how much they loved this band, and it was well deserved.

Last year (for various reasons) I wasn’t able to ride the train, so I had to drive out and meet up with everyone at the halfway point. At first I was disappointed, but once the day was over and the train had pulled away, I was left alone in the redwoods & realized this was exactly the right amount of party for me. So this year, I did it in purpose. Again, just the right amount of party. The weather is usually cold and wet for this event, but this time it was warm and sunny. Thanks global warming!

The following week I headed south, stopping to see my folks and to wish my Dad a happy 88th Birthday. I took a little drive out to Google headquarters (which is pretty close) and took a photo of one of the only remaining buildings from the farmland era of that area, which I remember from when I was a kid. Starting in the mid-80s, the farmland was slowly gobbled up by business parks and giant buildings, but somehow a few folks managed to hold onto their land and not sell out. I admire them for that.

I cruised down to the Santa Cruz mountains for a little party thrown by Chris from Marty O’Reilly’s band and his landmates. The balmy, clear night didn’t really feel like the mountains in late October, but it was pretty enjoyable nonetheless. I enjoyed being there and photographing the goings-on, but again realized that my capacity for partying is fairly limited and I can’t really hang for long. When I awoke in the morning and had breakfast, I took a little walk around and saw a few brave souls who still hadn’t gone to bed yet. I can’t relate.

I got to have breakfast with Aurora in Santa Cruz proper, then had a lazy day of walking around and enjoying the coastal sunshine before heading out to Oakland to join Megan and her mom who were busy unpacking and moving into Megan’s new place.

As October drifts into November, the calls and emails requesting my photographic work have slowly started flowing back in, and the mental stress begins to settle out somewhat. I’ve got a few super awesome things happening in November, which you’ll be seeing and reading about right here, so stay tuned.

Silence and Dusk

October 22, 2018

Alone on a mountain top beside sweet smelling sugar pine, feet planted on slanting and frigid granite. Moonrise over meadows of knee-high auburn grasses, a cathedral of sequoias and aspen and fir on the periphery, dark with ageless secrets. Nose and fingertips growing numb, my breath clouding and dissolving in the icy air. Silence and dusk carve out room in my troubled mind and gift me a little peace.

Troubled mind, troubled mind. Skinny body, quarrelsome guts. Fitful sleep, fitful sleep. I’m a sleepy cowpoke atop an ornery old swayback, trying to keep the horizon level so I don’t get sick.

A child in me wakes up in this place, wanting to hold tightly to something so ephemeral. Strangers in my old bedroom, campgrounds carved out of my backyard forest and memories coming fast that are difficult to place. I fantasize about never leaving.

I found a minute where my old body (the one that used to work really, really well) scratched to the surface and gave me a blissful 36 hours of deep breathing and covering ground and gaining altitude and believing things could all be OK someday.

Now, alone in the van in someone’s driveway, a million miles from where I want to be.

What happens when you don’t believe in yourself?

CrucialFest and the Nevada Desert

October 11, 2018

Feeling the need for a good road trip, I pointed my nose east towards the great Salt Lake City to spend a weekend photographing CrucialFest, an eclectic and diverse two-day music festival boasting a list of well known names in heavy music, plus a bunch of local and regional bands spanning multiple genres. My friends Cult Leader were performing, as well as Neurosis, Chelsea Wolfe, and Russian Circles, all of whom I love and appreciate. I also looked forward to being in a new place checking out new things, if only to feed my desire for novelty.

After a day of barreling through CA into Nevada and a night spent alongside the river, I woke eary and drove the remaining few hours to Salt Lake City. Spent the day at the fairgrounds wandering from stage to stage, photographing bands and mostly just keeping to myself. I managed to find ONE person I knew there, which was a treat. The day consisted of mostly uninteresting (to me) bands, though things only started getting interesting when UK phenoms Slaves played the smallest stage to about 40 or 50 people. In Europe, these guys sell out theater-sized venues and it was great to see them playing with maniacal energy and abandon despite the small crowd. Of course Russian Circles and Chelsea Wolfe were great, as always. I especially enjoyed the gorgeous sunset that accompanied the end of Russian Circles’ set.

Day two of CrucialFest was longer, but more relaxed and enjoyable. Got to hang with my Cult Leader buddies a bit and catch up, and ended up having fewer bands I was actually interested in seeing. Pig Destroyer (more a fan of the name than the music), Mutoid Man (because they’re funny) and Neurosis (because they’re fucking Neurosis) were the standouts amongst a blur of bands who had their own things going but nothing that grabbed me.

Happy to be done with wandering the hot and dusty festival grounds, I loaded up and drove to Temple Square in downtown SLC just to check it out. Any time I think about Mormonism, I remember the fantastic book by John Krakauer called “Under the Banner of Heaven”, which is not only an excellent outline of the history of Mormonism (and fundamentalist Mormonism) but weaves in a story of a faith-based murder of a Mormon woman and her child by her fundamentalist brothers-in-law. Mormonism is crazy, and the area around Temple Square is a gargantuan citadel dedicated to the Empire.

I got the hell outta there and headed out of the city, through the flat Utah desert and back into Nevada, ending up in Winnemucca, a tiny town with a rich history woven into the westerly US expansion in the late 19th century. I found a spot nestled into the foothills on the eastern side of town and thoroughly enjoyed an amazing sunset before making dinner and settling in for the night.

I woke well before the sun came up and decided I wanted to spend the day exploring Nevada a bit. I hadn’t been to the Black Rock Desert area in many years and thought it might be enjoyable to visit there before heading to Pyramid Lake. Google Maps said I could take the boring old Interstate, or I could take a back route that would be 10 minutes faster, which was a no-brainer. I always choose the back roads whenever possible.

Long story short, I found myself going from well-maintained gravel roads to bumpy and rocky roads to deeply rutted and sandy two-lane tracks through a massive expanse of open high-mountain desert. No cell service, no sign of humans anywhere and clearly no one had been on these roads for many days. My poor van had to crawl its way through washes and over rocks, rocking and rattling the whole time. My stress levels went up enough to where I couldn’t maintain the presence of mind to photograph much, even though the Black Rock Desert is an amazingly gorgeous place. I couldn’t help imagining the van dying or getting stuck in a rut and leaving me stranded way out in the middle of nowhere. Ultimately I’d be fine, since I had plenty of water and food and clothes and such. But it sure would fuck up my schedule for the week if I had to hike 30+ miles to find cell service or a helping hand. All for nothing too, since I elected to take this road without any good reason to do so. Luckily I made it through fine, though the last 20 miles was an endurance test over severely washboarded roads that just about shook the fillings from my teeth.

I limped back onto the gloriously paved highway outside Gerlach and headed south towards Pyramid Lake, where I found the parking lots and shoreline packed with people fishing. I’d never seen so many people at the lake at once, and wondered if there was a special event or something going on. Decided the crowds were more than I wanted to bear, so I bailed westward, stopping in Tahoe before heading back to the city by the bay.

Fertile and Fallow

September 26, 2018

Confession time: For the last month or more, my blog posts have become fewer and further between, and if you follow me on social media you might have noticed I’m posting less often. As many creative people know and experience, there can periods of creatively “fertile” and “fallow” times where the connection to our muse might be stronger or weaker. I’ve definitely been experiencing some fallow times, and though I’ve been more or less productive in my vocation as a photographer and keeping myself busy, I’m feeling a bit disconnected from the things that inspire me. Like, I just don’t care about things I used to care about.

As I’ve alluded to in earlier posts, I’ve been battling Lyme disease for a number of years, as well as another digestive ailment that’s had a pretty significant impact on my physical well-being and energy levels. I don’t talk about this stuff much unless someone specifically asks about it, and I’m loathe to discuss it on social media for all sorts of reasons. But in general, the ways in which these ailments impact my day-to-day life are that I’m less social, always tired and barely physically active, emotionally sensitive, self-conscious about my body, self-isolating. These things have an effect on my work as a photographer in a number of ways, many of them subtle and difficult to pin down. But in general, I feel sapped of creativity because I’m just goddamn tired all the time.

And just to add some more fun to the mix, I’ve gone back into therapy to address some long-standing emotional issues and patterns that have become problematic. I’ve got a great therapist who uses some innovative techniques that have allowed us to dig into some deep stuff, but as anyone who’s engaged the therapeutic process knows, when you start digging, the dark shit comes up. Some of it is pretty fucking dark. Some people draw creative inspiration from those dark places, but I tend to be the opposite. Melancholy and depression tend to sap mine.

It’s only fair to point out that I’ve also been working steadily, making photographs and sustaining my business & livelihood. I’ve been taking little trips here and there, trying to keep myself outdoors as much as possible, and generally maintaining my life so that, at least from the outside, things look like they’re swimming along just fine. I feel good that I’m able to sustain the important things in my life and remain functional and engaged enough to keep it all going. There’s lots to be grateful for, and it’s good to remind myself that things could always be worse.

Here’s some samples of the last month’s adventures:

A trip to Sacramento to shoot the band Chrch

A trip to Tahoe to celebrate three years with Megan

Exploring the coast and backroads

Spent some time at the Home Place on the Ranch

Hung with some friends on tour from Europe

And a quick overnight back to Tahoe

Six Months

September 04, 2018

It’s been half a year since I moved out of my house and into my metal box. Cold late-winter rains turn to temperate springtime breezes turn to summertime heat, and all the while I’m able to chase the best weather whenever it suits me (mostly). I’ve taken numerous solo trips to new places near and far, gone on tour with a couple of bands, driven all over the greater bay area countless times, spent nights in the dark pine mountains and days enjoying ocean breezes. I’ve spent time with dear friends and chosen family, many people I might not have otherwise seen. I’ve sharpened some skills, cultivated a few new ones.

When I look back at these past six months, I feel pretty satisfied by how I’ve adjusted to the sometimes-dramatic changes and feel like I’ve taken advantage of the opportunities presented. I’ve also met most of the challenges and roadblocks I’ve encountered with relative equanimity. Maybe I’m actually growing up.

So how am I feeling about living in my van right now? Six months in, am I questioning my choices? Maybe refining my vision for how I’d like to spend the next six months (or more)?

I’m definitely NOT questioning my choice to move into a van. Any time I get whiny about whatever part of van living is bugging me, I think about what it would be like to be living in a house right now and immediately realize this is where I want to be. I usually find that the things I struggle with the most are a result of my inner workings and not really about where I’m living or what’s happening in my surrounding environment. Is it always easy to live in a van? Nope. But it’s easy a vast majority of the time and it’s always interesting.

As far as refining my vision for the next six months, I don’t think I have any sort of comprehensive view or plan… I’m still just taking things as they come. I’d like to explore some parts of the western US this fall so I can experience them during that seasonal shift. I’d like to manifest a place to park in Ukiah that’s more definitively mine, though I have no idea what that’ll look like. And I want to tour with more bands. I really enjoy doing that.

What I’ve Learned in the Last Six Months

Wherever I happen to be, I’m home. Sucky weather? I can leave. Too many people around? I can leave. I spend way more time outside. My desire to simplify and streamline is satisfied daily. I can point myself in any direction and know I’ll find a place to park for the night without being disturbed. Many people feel inspired by what I’m doing, and I enjoy sharing my story with them. Working on the build has provided me with new skills as well as an opportunity to spend time with my Mom & Dad in ways I might not have otherwise. My general consumption of resources and production of trash has diminished significantly. I make due with less. I spend more time out in public than I used to, which provides opportunities to run into friends and meet new people. My schedule has a new kind of flexibility, which is pretty great on a number of levels. I travel more, obviously.

Also…

Van living has had a subtle but noticeable effect on my romantic relationship and my relationship with my kids. I won’t go into detail because it feels a bit too personal to share, but there are ways in which no longer having a house can be a limiting factor on a few levels. Nothing really dramatic or detrimental, but a true and present factor nonetheless. I also find myself craving a chunk of space that’s mine… a place where I can be safe and undisturbed and unimposing. Where I can get some quiet and some solitude without worrying that my presence is impacting someone else. I think most of all I crave a respite from the continual process of having to figure out where to be at the end of the day. Sometimes I feel uncomfortable relying on others for showers and occasional kitchen use, get irritated by having to find places to dump my trash and recycling and grey water, and sometimes tire of my limited fridge and kitchen space. Usually those feelings are merely periodic annoyances and come and go depending on where I am. And in the big scheme of things, they’re pretty minor.

All in all, my life is pretty great. No regrets, no remorse. I’ve definitely been able to do a lot of really enjoyable stuff, see a lot of places, and experience freedom and autonomy in ways I would never have otherwise. Thanks for joining me on this ride and for supporting me with your presence, whether it’s via cyberspace or chance meetings on the street or at shows. I appreciate you.

A Never Ending Succession

August 24, 2018

October 1995. My first time driving from the Bay up the 128 through Anderson Valley to the little misty enclave of Mendocino. It was Samhain, a night of anarchistic pagan celebration planned with an assortment of witches/ musicians/rule-breakers, some of them old friends, many new. My life was in disarray, my heart full of loss and confusion. In a one room cabin on Little Lake Street, I let the medicine move through me. The sorrow of the season and comfort of those present inviting the tears to come. I forged deep new ties that night and initiated the process of severing old ones. A nascent moment in an unfolding of events that would change my life.

Awake at 4:30 AM and on the road by 5, giddy with anticipation as I sped down the dark deserted roads running from Potter Valley to the mouth of Big River. A place where the river and the sea meet, the saltiness mixing with the fresh, now completing its journey from far inland. Always bone-chilling, but with 4mm of neoprene covering 90% of my body, it was almost refreshing. Water so clear, you’d think you were a million miles from civilization. Often I’m the only one out. Swells rolling in from the north pacific, concluding their unimpeded migration from distant storms, offering themselves in a never ending succession.

Countless nights spent visiting the cluttered and moldy house in Albion. Remembering the inaugural night of my escaping the Bay Area and the furious ex-girlfriend I left behind. Walks through the fog and amongst redwoods, thick with a dampness that never really lifts irrespective of the season. The guest bed in the attic room where posters from someone else’s childhood still hung. Morning coffee tête-à-têtes often spinning deep and metaphysical.

Bonfires on Big River beach. Christmases and birthdays and Thanksgivings in family homes warmed by wood stoves and steamy, cluttered kitchens bustling with food preparations. The kiss of a beautiful young woman in the parking lot of the Caspar Inn, bringing to an end my year of recovering from deep heartbreak. Being the only visible person on the entire length of 10 Mile Beach on a cold January morning. Reigniting a romance in the attic of a converted barn outside of Little River. Copious hazy mornings and blustery afternoons feeling at home in that ocean, in that place, surrounded by the black cliffs and historic houses perched on hills high above.

Now it’s the place I escape to when the heat and smoke of the inland valleys are too much and the desire for salty air and familiar haunts entice me to drive that potholed, snaking road west. Most of the family is gone now, living other places. Sometimes I sequester myself to work in my little metal box on the street across from Dick’s Place, taking walks around town or down to the ocean to give my body and brain a break. Sometimes I drive up to Westport and squint my eyes, imagining myself living in a time long ago. And sometimes I take a slow drive up and down Highway 1 and let the memories trickle back in a never ending succession.

A Song For Home

August 18, 2018

Pungent scents of bay laurels and the rustling of rattlesnake grass, parched dirt and pine sap. The distant screech of a red tail hawk and primal caw of the raven, nighttime chirps of the cicada and distant yips of coyotes arguing with sleepless dogs on distant ridges.

Memories of my first days and months on the land, crazy with the quiet and a stranger to the stillness, hungry for some sort of new me to emerge from the wreckage of a life spent in places I didn’t belong, with people who didn’t understand me or have any interest in understanding themselves. A woman from the land brought me here. Opened the door to a whole new way of knowing people, knowing place, knowing the time-out-of-time that exists in every moment if you shut up and sit still.

My first child born under an oak tree in the middle of a temperate February night. The candlelight visits of neighbors who sat comfortably in the silence with me. Sitting at the old wooden table centered by the glow of a kerosene lamp and marveling at the sheer amount of space between us and the nearest human being. November morning runs following game trails, crisscrossing steep ravines and clambering up moss covered rocks, jumping seasonal streams that lead to secret waterfalls, my mother-in-law’s wolf-dog and I taking turns leading the way through oak forests and dead grass meadows until we ran out of steam. A primeval tandem of beast and human.

Making cowboy coffee on the Wedgewood stove. Chasing the bear out of the front seat of the car. Travis cutting the throat of the deer that had been mauled by a mountain lion our dog had scared off before it could be claimed and consumed. Sunsets perched on top of the Rise (as it was called), drinking in the panorama of deep redwood canyons to the north and rolling hills dotted with homesteads to the south. Countless blessed moments walking up and down that road that lead to and from the home place, whose windows glowed a candlelight orange in the shadowy evening and whose sagging roof and weather-worn timbers kept us cool on hot summer days.

A prayer of thanks for the people I love. The people who also call this place home, even though they may not live here anymore. The people who’ve woven themselves irreversibly into the story of my own life, and without whose presence things wouldn’t be remotely the same. Children I met upon my arrival now adults with families, elders now becoming elderly. Death visits from time to time, as do births and marriages and divorces and all the other things we see fit to put ourselves through.

A prayer for the land I love. It browns and bakes in the summer heat while distant ridges burn and nearby valleys fill with smoke. 30 miles away as the crow flies, the forests I run to for sanctuary and comfort are now roaring with flames. No time for one last visit. Redwood cathedrals stand sentry as they always do and hopefully always will, and I nestle myself amongst their immense shaggy trunks, listening to the burble of the creek and giving thanks that I am here.

Distance comes. Community disperses. Age or work or family or sickness or fortune take us away from each other. And I occupy a liminal space, alone in my metal box, hopscotching from place to place, not quite belonging in any of them but feeling at home when I slide the door closed and climb onto my bed.

Music, Mountains & Oceans

August 06, 2018

Time passes, things seem to move quickly, passing in a blur. The last month has been so full, and I’m having a tough time keeping up. Here’s a recap of some of my time since returning from tour.

7/13/18 through 7/23/18

For a number of years, I played drums in my friend Arann Harris’ band on a pretty regular basis. A little over two years ago, he semi-retired from playing shows with the full band, and I kinda retired with him. He calls me once or twice a year to play the select show, and this weekend I’d signed up to play with him at the Rivertown Revival in Petaluma.

Rivertown Revival is held right on the waterfront near downtown Petaluma and is a kinda quasi-Steampunk thing with vendors and food and live music and people in weird costumes. I hadn’t been in a while, and it was actually enjoyable to be at a music festival as a performer and not as a photographer this time. For a few reasons, I consciously decided to not bring my camera at all. It was pretty nice to just wander and enjoy my surroundings in real time. I ran into a number of people I love and got to have some quality – if sometimes brief – check-ins. I even had a total stranger come up and tell me how much she appreciates my photography work and feels inspired by what I do. I’m always amazed when stuff like that happens, and it’s heart-warming and fortifying.

We performed as scheduled, and it’s always a treat to play music with these dudes. Mike James, Jason Carr and Arann are some of my favorite people to play music with, and playing with them is like slipping on a comfortable pair of fur-lined slippers.

A couple days later I found myself driving to Reno to film my friend Tyler’s band, who were performing in an outdoor amphitheater outside of town. I left early in the day so I could stop in Tahoe and soak it up for a minute. I’d been pining a Tahoe visit for a while but hadn’t been able to carve out the time just yet. I stopped at my favorite swimming hole in the South Fork of the American River that runs along Hwy 50 and had a wonderfully refreshing dip. Made some lunch and talked to my daughter Aurora, who’s been living in NYC for the last number of weeks. She’s thinking of moving there when she graduates from UC Santa Cruz next year, and the idea of her doing that is exciting. It means I’ll see her less often (probably), but I think New York has so much to offer her, and I love seeing her get excited about something big and potentially challenging.

Filmed the gig that night, crashed in Reno, and the next day I woke early and headed back through Tahoe again, stopping for a walk at the top of the pass then taking a long and leisurely drive around the lake through Tahoe City and around the west side. This is the area where my parents used to own a cabin, and I always enjoy taking the opportunity to say hello. I’d spent many a summer and winter there all throughout my childhood and feel a super strong connection to it.

I headed back to the heat miser that is Mendocino County to do a little bit of work, then went to Willits to pick Mickey up and take him out to the coast to escape the heat. We had a lot of great conversation on the way (as we always do when we take road trips together), and arrived in Mendocino in the late afternoon as the temperature hit the perfect point. We walked along the beach, enjoying the cold dousing our feet got when the water from the incoming tide gently slid over them. We walked around town, got some books from the bookstore, then headed to Fort Bragg for some dinner. Got back to Willits well after the heat of the day had transmuted into the cool of the evening.

But things didn’t stop there. I headed down to Bodega the next day to film a music video for my friends the Rainbow Girls. They’d arranged to throw a small party for about 50 close friends, with the event resembling their Bodega Day party that happened back in April. They wanted to have the video feature their community of musicians/artists/weirdos doing what they love to do; perform and create and celebrate. I had lots of time in the afternoon to try and figure out what I was going to do (because I’m a noob filmmaker and had no real shot list or game plan or anything that would be something professional), and began capturing footage as soon as people began trickling in. Around 6:00 or so, the musical performances started in their little barn, and I began the frantic running back and forth trying to capture that, as well as getting footage of people just hanging out and enjoying the party.

We filmed the girls playing along with the song for the actual music video part of the thing. Despite the awkwardness of lip-synching their song, they were troopers and ran through the song a few times and quickly resumed the partying. There was another run-through or five of the song later in the night when we had a substantial crowd to act as audience for the band and the little courtyard outside the barn was beautifully lit and dreamy. I was glad to get a little assistance from Bradley Cox, an amazing and talented photographer who lives on the property with the girls and offered to film some footage as well. We wrapped that part of the evening up and the performances in the barn resumed until the wee hours of the morning

I spent all of the next day parked by the ocean just north of Bodega Bay where I sat in the van and worked on photos from the end of tour and started trying to edit video from the tour as well. It was a pretty enjoyable way to spend the day, listening to the surf pound on the beach below and having some quiet time to focus and work without distraction.

A few days later I headed back to Ukiah to do some work, not being stoked at all to be back in the stifling heat. Luckily I’d arranged to connect with my friend Aviva, a talented musician and fellow Capoerista who’d booked time in a gorgeous house on the top of McNab Ranch to record her first record. She’d hired me to come up and make some photos of the process and just hang out, which I was glad to do. The road was rough and steep and I surprised myself by getting my van all the way to the top, but not without sustaining a little bit of discombobulation and disarray inside the van from all the jostling.

The time spent with Aviva and her band was magical. They were recording in a small wooden outbuilding with full-size sliding doors open on two sides, giving the room a partial outdoor feel and letting in lots of natural light. The property sits on top of the mountain adorned by huge oak and madrone trees and silent in the way that only places far removed from populated areas can be. Spending time in places like this are what keeps me coming back to Mendocino County over and over again. There are things about living out in the country that can get old and cumbersome, but relaxing in a hammock suspended between two huge oak trees, surrounded by acres of pristine woods and open meadows with only the sounds of insects and chirping birds never does.

They did some recording, then took a long break for dinner, then resumed recording back in the barn until almost midnight. The music is sweet and somewhat whimsical, folky and intimate, unique and familiar. Watching talented musicians work together to create and record a musical moment is something I always appreciate, and making photos of it is something special.

Tour Days - Pt 2

July 27, 2018

7/9/18 Monday

The first part of my drive today was pretty enjoyable, though after about 10 AM things started getting pretty hot out. Also, a chunk of land on the California/Oregon border has been on fire for the last week or so and the smoke was thick. Luckily the freeway was open and that part of the fire had been contained, but it was still pretty crazy to see the acres upon acres of blackened earth and charcoal skeletal trees. Made a bee-line down that doozy of a boring interstate 5, stopping only to gas up and make myself a sandwich. Arrived in the baking oven that is Sacramento by 4:00 and found the dudes returning after a sweltering walk around the neighborhood. I took advantage of the Wifi and air conditioning in the bar and worked on editing photos from yesterday, then walked down to a local taqueria for some chow.

Tonight’s show was just Converge and Amenra, as Neurosis had scheduled this as a day off and the two other bands were in no mood to rest. The club was pretty small and of course the show was sold out. It also seemed like the upstairs dressing rooms were the only rooms in the whole building that had no A/C, which was a bummer. The light in those rooms was gorgeous though, and I took some portraits of the dudes as well taking candid photos as the as the opportunities presented themselves.

Since the stage was so small, there was barely any room for Amenra’s projected images on the wall behind them. They opted to have no stage lights and just rely on the projector, which looks pretty great but made it nearly impossible to get any good photos. I did my best, and enjoyed watching them play again regardless.

The temperature in the venue got swelter-y and gross, and I decided I just didn’t have it in me to get into the mass of sweaty dude bodies to make photos of Converge, even though they thrive in small, packed environments like this and crushed the shit out of it. I just tried to find cool pockets of air wherever I could, and hung out till the end of the night. Everyone crashed in the buses outside the venue after the show, so I followed suit.

7/10/18 Tuesday

I attempted to get up early enough to beat traffic into SF but failed. No matter. I wasn’t in a hurry anyway. Joined up with everyone at the UC Theatre in Berkeley late in the morning, just in time to join a few of the Amenra guys to watch the Belgium/France World Cup game in a pizzeria a couple blocks from the venue. We got there pretty early, which was great considering the place was filled to overflowing capacity within 30 minutes. The entire place was filled with France fans, including two tables of preppy-looking college age kids right in front of us, all speaking French. Seemed as though our table of nine or so were the only Belgium fans in the place. It was OK though, because at our table were the biggest and meanest looking group of dudes, and when the French kids in front of us started yelling insults at the Belgian players on the TV they were quickly silenced by the snarling, mocking response of our Belgians. The kids looked genuinely scared, which I found entertaining. The game ended with a French victory and we all rose and left immediately, as to prevent any resentful Belgians from starting fights with snotty French kids.

Hurry-up-and-wait commenced back at the venue, and I took the opportunity to do some video interviews of a few band members in addition to editing photos and taking care of other business.

Another thunderous, epic show on the part of Amenra tonight, and again I got to shoot/film from the stage and the photo pit both. They sounded unbelievably good tonight. I have to admit, when I first came across videos of Amenra playing live, I was a little put off by the fact that Colin doesn’t face the audience while he performs. I later learned it’s his way of communicating that his truth doesn’t have to be your truth, and his performance isn’t as much a performance as it is his own process of experiencing the music. Getting a vantage point that the rest of the audience doesn’t allowed me to see how much this is true, that he’s not interacting with the audience at all but submerging himself in the expression of the music and becoming one with it.

Converge and Neurosis both crushed tonight too, but I absconded before the show was over to head into SF and spend the night with Megan, who I hadn’t seen in a couple weeks. It was nice to have such a short drive for a change.

7/11/18 Wednesday

I met up with everyone at a coffee shop in the upper Haight district of San Francisco late this morning, and we spent a couple hours wandering the area, doing some shopping and enjoying the unbelievably gorgeous weather. At one point as we stood outside a shop waiting for Amenra guitarist Mathieu Vandekerckhove to finish buying an amazing Hawaiian shirt, Colin commented that it “doesn’t get much better than this… spending time with friends, enjoying beautiful weather in a beautiful city in a foreign country, without a care in the world”. I appreciate a person who can appreciate a moment like that.

Back at the venue I managed to find a place to park nearby that didn’t cost an arm and a leg. Went to the dressing room to spend some time editing photos and found Amenra’s bass player Levy looking a bit rough around the edges after staying up having drinks with the venue's owner last night. This legendary and (reportedly) haunted music venue in San Francisco’s Tenderloin district has a vibe to it that is really one-of-a-kind and it's one of my favorite spots to shoot bands.

Megan decided to come to the show tonight, and it was delightful to introduce her to everyone. As with me, they were very kind to her and even gave her some free merch. Sadly there was no photo pit for tonight’s show, and now that I’m apparently spoiled enough to not want to stand amongst the riff-raff, I opted to shoot primarily video from the side of the stage tonight as well as getting some shots from the back of the ornate and picturesque venue.

It was another epic set by a magnificent group of performers, and I was, again, moved to watch them play. It was Megan’s first time seeing them, and she was quite impressed as well. It was a little bittersweet to know this was my last night to enjoy this show from this particular vantage point, but that’s how it goes.

Since today was my last show with the tour, it gave me an opportunity to reflect and appreciate the experience I’d had. I’d been anticipating this day for the last week, anticipating some sadness and FOMO knowing I was going to head back to Ukiah and resume “normal” life again. by the end of the night I found I was ready to do just that. It had been a busy, enriching and fulfilling experience, and sometimes those experiences just aren’t meant to last. Also, I was kinda worn out, and needed to rest and regroup after two weeks on the road.

I made my rounds giving hugs and saying goodbye to all the wonderful people who’d brought me into their world and made me feel so welcome, then hoisted my bags onto my shoulder and walked alone out into the cold San Francisco night.

Tour Days - Pt 1

July 24, 2018

It’s been almost two weeks since my last blog post, and the last post only covered up to the beginning of July. I’ve become accustomed to chunks of inactivity and quiet between work excursions which is when I usually take the time to write. The last two-plus weeks have been so full I haven’t had the brain space or time to write and reflect. Things are finally slowing down, so I’m going to do my best to pull from my often faulty memory and recount my time spent on the road with some of the most respected names in heavy music; Neurosis, Converge and Amenra.

7/6/18

After spending the better part of a week ambling through the beautiful mountains of Wyoming and Montana I made my way west through the baking plains of Idaho and Eastern Washington to Seattle, where I’d arranged to join up with the tour as a guest of Amenra. Seattle was experiencing its own heat wave, but nothing like what I’d just driven through in Idaho and eastern Washington so I was happy to get a little relief.

I’d been messaging with Colin, Amenra’s singer and primary creative architect for the last week or two, discussing logistics and some creative collaboration as well. He was warm, gracious and engaging in a way I hadn’t expected, and it was gratifying to know that he/they appreciated my photography work as well as my willingness to spend time with them making art.

I picked Colin up outside the venue as previously arranged so we could grab some boxes of merch that had been mailed to a nearby UPS store. After warm hellos and handshakes, we set off across downtown talking about our families and history, diving into real talk right away. I deeply appreciate a person who tends towards talking about real shit rather than merely engaging in small talk.

Back at the venue Colin worked on setting up the band’s merch table and we talked about art, photography, and many of the things involved in making Amenra’s visual component work for them. He presented a number of ideas and perspectives that totally shook my creative world and immediately pulled me into new ways of looking at what I do as a photographer. Knowing they work with a number of amazing and talented photographers on a regular basis made me feel some pressure (the good kind) to step up my game while I have the opportunity to do so.

Colin is a deep thinker, connected to his emotional reality and how it relates to his creative process, and very open about what makes him tick, creatively speaking. His authenticity is refreshing and unique among artists and people in general. Also, being invited into Amenra’s little world for a while feels like a unique privilege and some kind of validation of my own work.

Amenra only have 35 minutes to play, which is challenging logistically (they tend to have fairly long songs) and frustrating for those of us who want to hear them play for much longer. I was fortunate to be the only photographer in the little photo pit for the first night (still not sure why), so I was able to film and photograph them for their whole set. Their sheer intensity and raw power are almost distracting in a way… I had to remember to keep shooting and not just stand and stare.

Converge are a different kind of animal… born from the Boston hardcore scene in the early/mid-90’s, they’re one of the seminal heavy music bands that straddle the lines of metal and punk, though they do it in a way that’s uniquely their own and free from the ugly musical pitfalls many of their successors fall into. They seem to be getting heavier and more compelling with each album as well, and their reputation as a live juggernaut is still well deserved.

Whereas Amenra’s delivery and performance is solemn, sonically monolithic and visually ritualistic, Converge are the raging animal brain, prowling the stage and provoking the writhing, shoving mass of rabid minions below. These guys know what they’re doing, and they do it well.

Neurosis are the granddaddies of them all, having established themselves back in the late 80’s and pretty much inventing a genre of metal that countless bands have emulated (and sometimes straight-up imitated). Their live shows are more subdued now than they were 20 years ago, but the energy that was previously devoted to overwhelming people with volume and visuals and hurling bodies is now concentrated on performing intricate and extensive pieces of music with precision and perfection. They’re still just as fucking heavy too.

7/7/18 Saturday

Today was a “day off” for me in Seattle while the band went to Vancouver BC, so I spent the better part of the day parked in a café editing photos and catching up on some other work. I ended up over-caffeinating myself and thus feeling super shitty all afternoon, which sucked. It was a bummer to feel like I’d spent most of a gorgeous afternoon in Seattle just sitting in the van, but that’s how it goes sometimes. I spent the evening hanging out with a friend, enjoying tacos and deep conversations. Since the bands were going to be in Portland by early morning tomorrow, I decided to split my drive and head south tonight, stopping about an hour north of Portland and parking in an empty lot to crash.

7/8/18 Sunday

Woke as planned and got myself down to Portland by 10 AM. After spending the morning with my bestie Jeanette, I joined the dudes in taking a walk around the neighborhood of the venue. We managed to find a Hawaiian-style shave ice shop, where Colin waited in line for almost 30 min to get himself a towering hulk of fruity goodness. Back at the venue, soundchecks were done, merch was hung, phones were stared at, and the familiar hurry-up-and-wait scenario unfolded. I managed to spend some time talking with a few folks from the crew and other bands, edited some photos from the last few days, and appreciated the fact there was next to the tour buses for me to pull my van in and park for the evening.

Tonight’s show was another one for the books. I was able to shoot Amenra from onstage as well as the photo pit in front of the stage, which is my favorite place to shoot from. I love getting shots of the audience watching the show, and I also love getting shots of Colin performing with his back to the audience (which he does for 85% of their shows) but facing me. The entire band is magnetic and a joy to photograph, and I love trying to figure out new ways to shoot them every night.

The next show is Sacramento and those bus-riding boys were gonna be driven down there after the show. It’s a nine-hour drive, so I opted to split it up and leave the show a bit early to drive part way again. Driving that long, straight stretch of the 5 through southern Oregon isn’t quite as bad at night as it is during the day. With some good music and snacks, I drove till 1 AM and parked myself near a gas station in some anonymous little town.

Fire In The Mountains

July 07, 2018

6/29/18

Slept in sweet silence that only the wilderness can provide and woke feeling refreshed. Awoke to find I’d camped in a spot with a sweeping view of the Tetons on one side and forested mountains on the other. It was windy and much colder out than I’ve experienced in weeks (months?), so I put on my warm weather clothes and ran up a nearby hill to make some photos of the stunning scenery. After breakfast and coffee, I decided I needed to drive to the top of the hill to see what Jeremy was talking about. The van demanded I drive at a snail-like pace due to the ruts and boulders and potholes that crowded the road, but I was rewarded with a most spectacular view. Spent a good, long time soaking it in, making some photos, and just enjoying the silence.

I slowly ambled back down the mountain and into town in search of a place to get online and some chow. Midday Friday in Jackson is a clusterfuck of tourists, filling sidewalks and jamming roads with massive RVs and utility vehicles. Downtown is a mass of tourist shops hocking old west curios and souvenirs, expensive jewelry and jewel encrusted clothing with a smattering of shops catering to the many outdoor activities this area has to offer. The cafes in town were jam-packed so I let go of the idea of getting online and went in search of a good burger

I went back to the van to edit some photos and take a nap, then drove the 45 minutes to Heart Six Ranch where the Fire In The Mountains festival was to be held. Massive rainstorms dumped on the surrounding mountains and scattered showers across the valley and I couldn’t help but wonder how this rain was going to affect things on the ranch.

The rain cleared as the afternoon turned to evening, and the sunset was spectacular. The weekend kickoff was an acoustic performance by Austin Lunn, the founder of the black metal band Panopticon. He’s a humble and amicable guy, and he laughed and joked with attendees as they circled up around a campfire to listen to him play some country classics and original folk songs. It warmed my heart to see all the metalheads sitting quietly and thoroughly enjoying the intimate performance

As the sun went down, I retreated to the van for some dinner and more photo editing, enjoying the comfy warmth as the air cooled rapidly outside. I even had to break out my propane heater for a bit, which I haven’t had to do since early April. I hoped to be able to take some long-exposure nighttime shots, but the moon is almost full and rose so bright it almost looked like daytime. Fun to do anyway.

6/30/18 Saturday

Woke to find it rained heavily last night, and the steep driveway leading into the festival grounds was a slick of mud, not allowing anyone to get up or down without a heavy duty 4wd vehicle. Made me worry about more rain and potentially getting stuck here. Eventually I clomped my way over to the campgrounds to take some photos and saw some sadly soggy people and tents. But at least the morning was magnificent and sunny, even though it was still pretty cold out.

Things started a little late, and the show opener was my old friend and former Epidemic bandmate, Erik Moggridge, who performs as Aerial Ruin. It’s mournful acoustic music, with layered vocals that bring to mind monastic chanting and mideval hymns. With the Tetons in the background and a cool breeze blowing over the assembled audience, it was quite a beautiful moment. I wandered back and forth from the van to the stage throughout the day, feeling grateful I had homebase so close by. I wish I’d had a pedometer running today, because I probably walked a dozen miles between the ranch (where I had a little cell reception), the stage and the van.

The evening culminated with my longtime favorites Wovenhand, playing just as the sun dipped behind the western hills David Eugene Edwards is mesmerizing to watch, and his performances are never, ever faked. As it got dark, the cold settled in and I retreated to the van, the heater, and a good book.

7/1/18 Sunday

Woke to a grey, quiet morning feeling pretty burnt out and not that excited about spending another day watching bands I’m not terribly excited about. After breakfast I took a walk up to the lodge to get some cell service and check texts/emails, then back to the van to edit photos from yesterday.

Got to spend some time hanging out with Erik and catching up some, then the Black Metal resumed. There was actually a country-metal band who were interesting, but that was about it. I feel kinda bad I’m not a bigger fan of this particular brand of metal, but oh well.

Just before the last band started I had a guy come up to me and ask me if I was Bobby. When I responded I was indeed Bobby, he replied that he’s inspired by the photography work I do and he has to try hard to not copy my style. It was an incredibly wonderful thing to hear, to know that other photographers appreciate what I do and find inspiration in it. Panopticon was the last band, and the audience was pumped to see them. The sun finally went down behind the mountain and the mosquitoes came out in full force, but didn’t last for long because it soon got pretty damn cold. Just as the band started their last song, a bonfire was lit in the middle of the field and people swarmed around quickly, warming themselves and soaking up the undeniable pagan vibe. Pretty spectacular. I decided it was a good time to wrap up the evening and headed back to the van for some food before snuggling up into bed.

Heading East

July 03, 2018

Shoved off from Ukiah early, driving through a part of Lake County that’s on fire, and thinking this is how it’s gonna be from now on. Fires all summer long.

As I got deeper into Shasta County, then Modoc County, I drove through tiny hamlets that for all intents and purposes, look like ghost towns. There are the little farm towns, and the little towns that must be there for a reason but that reason was probably forgotten long ago, and the sporadic homesteads.

I passed from California into Oregon, winding down a long stretch of highway that looked eerily like Nevada… places where the highway pointed arrow-straight across long valleys, nothing but scrub brush, dust and hills off in the hazy distance, hot.

I pulled off the highway on a little dirt road that wound alongside a river (the Ogden?), took a walk around trying to find a place where the river was accessible through the weeds and rocks that lined the bank. Finally did and gave myself a good splash-off to get rid of the sweat and grime from the day. Did I mention it’s hot here? It’s probably in the mid 80’s at 9 PM. Luckily Wyoming will be cooler.

I realized there are some hot springs nearby. Do I want to sit in hot springs? Nope. There are some people there too, and I’m not in the mood. I’ve had a couple cars drive by and stare into my open door which makes me feel oddly exposed. But I imagine there won’t be many more, so I’m probably OK.

I fell asleep with no covers and the fan blasting me and woke in fetal position with the covers pulled tight due to the temp dropping by 20˚ overnight. Got up and took a few photos of the dramatic sunrise, then ate and collected my stuff and got on the road. Had an issue with the van that required attending to, which meant spending the day in Boise waiting. It all checked out, so I ran a couple errands then got myself on the freeway towards Wyoming.

I took the main highway for a bit, then jumped on the 20 in order to drive through the Craters of the Moon National Monument as well as to avoid driving on the interstate. The northeast section of Idaho was gorgeous… long, broad valleys surrounded by buttes and rolling hills with periodic pine forests and sprawling farmland.

The land here is beautiful. It’s also been irrevocably violated and partially destroyed by 200+ years of white European civilization. I can’t help but feel contempt for the sons of the pioneers who think their claim to this land is the only valid claim, or that their way of life is some kind of God-given right that should never be questioned. Their tradition is white supremacy, resource extraction, and religious intolerance. Some of them might be nice people and good stewards of the land, but their tradition has blood on its hands.

Anyway… As I drove through the giant basins of irrigated land and expanse of wild prairie, the air was the perfect temperature, the breeze was refreshing and sweet, and there were barely any cars on the road. A deep sense of satisfaction came over me, contentment at driving down this road at this time, seeing the stunning landscapes and spending time alone with my thoughts.

As I moved north and east towards Jackson, a curtain of darkness obfuscated the distant mountains and giant sheets of rain swept over the lower hills and valleys. As I got closer and closer, the setting sun and wild storm clouds coalesced into some of the most gorgeous textures and colors I’d seen in a long while. I love driving into storms sometimes.

The rain poured down and darkness fell just as I began ascending a mountain range. I had a harrowing journey on rain-slicked roads that wound steeply up and up into the darkness, then dropped down into more steep hairpin turns. I’d almost stopped to find a spot to camp an hour or so before, because I wanted to see the mountains and surrounding areas instead of passing them in the night, but decided getting to Jackson was the goal and I was gonna stick to it.

I finally made it to town and connected with the two organizers of Fire In The Mountains at a local bar. We chatted for a little while and they recommended a place I could drive and camp not too far from there. Justin encouraged me to drive all the way to the top of this mountain road, where I’d wake to a majestic view of the Tetons on one side and a different mountain range on the other. I said my goodbyes and jumped back in the van, following directions to the road. It was rough and steep and lumpy, and many of the lower camping spots were already occupied by scores of other campers. I charged on higher and higher, watching it get later and later. Finally, after 30 minutes crawling up this dirt road, I decided to abandon the top of the mountain & found my spot. Leveled out the van and put myself to bed.

Finding Myself

June 19, 2018

6/18/18

It’s interesting where I find myself sometimes. I mean, I’m consciously involved in deciding where I go and when, but there are so many moments when I look around and think how awesome/weird/random it is that I end up where I do. Take, for instance, the weekend before last. I attended a wedding ceremony of a queer couple whom I’d photographed back in April when they did their legal ceremony in SF. Megan was there too, as were a number of people I hadn’t seen in many years and many more I’d never met before. The cross-section of humans in their endlessly varying gender and fashion expressions was a delight and a marvel to behold. The ceremony itself was moving, heartfelt and sincere. The celebration afterwards was joyous. I’d ended up spending the whole weekend on the farm where the ceremony was held and got to give a tour of my van to a few curious guests. Beautiful sunsets were enjoyed, much food & drink consumed, and love was in the air.

Then, I find myself packed inside the Great American Music Hall in SF, strobe lights flashing and fog machines billowing and amplifiers crushing eardrums as I photograph New York noise merchants A Place To Bury Strangers.

A day or two later I find myself on top of a hill overlooking the Ukiah Valley, walking through a picturesque vineyard taking photographs as the sun slowly sinks below the opposing hills. Silent but for the birdsong and the leaves of nearby oak trees rustling in the breeze. I wanted to stay there all night, but it wasn’t my vineyard and I didn’t have permission to stay.

Then a day or two after that, I’m in the van with Megan as we drive down the empty, curving roads of Siskyou County watching the Trinity River appear and disappear over and over again through the trees. This was her first overnight van trip with me and I wanted to show her all the beautiful places I’d driven through on my visit there last month. We did a little hiking, a little river swimming (yep, it was cold), and a lot of driving. Quite a delightful little trip.

And a day or so after that, I’m in Santa Cruz loading my van full of Aurora’s belongings, since her school year just ended and she’s got to move out of her on-campus housing. We take them all to my parents’ house to be stored for the summer while she travels to New York, then Cuba, then Mexico. My sister and her husband are visiting my parents, so the whole gang is there. Her husband insists on washing my van for me (which is nice of him but a little strange), and I’m happy to let him do it. I spend a little time doing some projects in the van myself, but don’t end up staying down there for long.

The next place I find myself is on a beach on the Sonoma Coast with Megan and two dear friends, Dan and Sherry. My birthday is the next day and we’re doing a pre-game hike & impromptu photo session with the ocean and the ladies as subjects. It’s a gorgeous day and we spend time walking together or wandering off on our own to think or look for stones or watch the waves roll in. We meet up with Travis and Lauren later in downtown Guerneville and have a birthday dinner at the taco truck in the Safeway parking lot. The food is amazing and we’re starving.

We make our way back to Dan & Sherry’s house for cocktails and a little fire in the back yard where we tell stories of the past and make each other laugh as we always seem to do. The night closes with a smoke on the porch above the redwood-lined canyon and soft conversation.

My 46th birthday arrives slowly and softly, me raising my head to peer out the window at the morning fog, then rising to make breakfast and join Dan on the porch for coffee and more conversation. Eventually Megan and I leave to take a walk near the Pomo Trail, just a mile or two from the coast. We find a snake sunning itself on the road, find the large campground all closed up and abandoned, and walk through the trees and meadows in near solitude. It feels good to breathe the coastal air and walk with each other.

We check into a sweet little Inn at the edge of Guerneville and spend some time lounging by the pool, lounging in our room, then spending a little more time with Dan & Sherry. Birthday dinner at the taco truck again (because it’s THAT good), and an early bedtime. Glad to be alive another year.

The Enigmatic Coast (and Terror Pt. 2)

June 13, 2018

Third day of NWTF, fifth day on the road. I managed to wake up feeling pretty good, so I drove to nearby Friendship Park to sit and work on photos from last night in the van. The weather was pretty ideal, and working at my little table with my door cracked open and the vents open allowed a breeze to ease through in the most pleasant way. Lunchtime soon arrived so I messaged Josh Ford to see if I could sneak into his Air B&B for a quick shower before going out to find some food with him. He was gracious enough to allow me to get myself cleaned up, and I also overheard a conversation he had with a prospective new assistant. If I lived in Iowa (where he lives), I’d want that frickin’ job. We jammed out for burgers and sunk into a deep conversation about diverse aspects of our lives and the world we live in. It was great to connect with him and talk through some of my process around living in the van full time, as he was pretty curious to know what my experience has been thus far. We talked about possibly collaborating on a project or two as well, which would be rad.

I took off to meet up with a friend who lives in Seattle, and we spent some time on the roof of her apartment building taking in the sun and the view of the city. It was actually hot up on the roof, and again I wondered if this is normal for Seattle this time of year, cuz it certainly doesn’t seem like it.

I headed back to the club, where I caught the first band downstairs then went to look for my friends in He Whose Ox Is Gored, who were playing first on the big stage. It’s always great to run into those guys, and after they finished playing we did a quick interview and photo sesh.

There weren’t a whole lot of bands on tonight’s bill that I was really looking forward to, but the ones I was looking forward to did not disappoint. Emma Ruth Rundle, who’s a longtime favorite of mine, played by herself, just a woman and her guitar, and brought the room to rapt silence. She’s so good. She was followed by Thou, a six-piece from New Orleans who play sludgy, dirty, intensely slow and heavy music. This was my first time seeing them, but hopefully not my last. The night closed out with grindcore granddaddies Agoraphobic Nosebleed, who played some of the fastest and most aggressive music of the weekend, and without a drummer to boot (they use a drum machine). The show ended early and I went back to the van, finding my parking place and crashing for the night.

Sunday started by me waking up in a funk. I think I know why, but my inner psychological workings will have to stay inner for now, so let’s just say I was in a funk. The weather got cold and grey again (like it’s SUPPOSED to be), and I walked down to the café to work on photos for the morning. Decided to head out of town around noon, and felt considerably averse to driving down the 5 again so I plotted a course down to Olympia then out to the 101, which I’d follow all the way down through Washington and Oregon back to California.

The first stop (or perhaps just a slowdown) was Aberdeen, the birthplace of Kurt Cobain. I figured it was about time I see the famous shitty town that birthed that particular musical genius to see if I could glean any vibe from it. It was pretty dumpy (that it was pouring rain probably didn’t help make it any prettier), and seems like fortune has come and gone for that little town. There’s a nuclear power plant not far from there, its two cooling towers looming over the clearcut hills a few miles from the highway.

I continued further south, and found myself completely astonished by how much of the forests I drove through have been completely decimated by logging. Like, all of them. Do the people who live there notice? Do they care? Are they helpless to do anything about it? I just can’t imagine living somewhere that has been so completely destroyed like that. I mean, I’m complicit in the purchasing of timber products so it’s not like I’m trying to be high and mighty here. I’m just surprised that people don’t rise up in revolt when their forests are being turned into bare ground acre after acre.

I made a stop in Astoria OR, a town that was first established in the 1820s as the first fur-trading outpost on the west coast of the United States. There’s an amazing book called “Astoria”, which details the gut-wrenching, almost unbelievable tale of the two parties who made the trek to the mouth of the Colombia River, one overland from Missouri and the other via ocean vessel. Do yourself a favor and read that book. The story is astonishing. The town is fairly large now, a tourist destination and still a working port for fishing boats. It still retains a lot of its 19th century charms, and is quite picturesque. I did see a lot of cars driving around town with surfboards on their roofs, so I’m imagining there’s good surf somewhere around there too. I didn’t have a chance to hunt it down this time, though.

I cruised down along the coast until dark, and camped out in my first WalMart parking lot since beginning my vagabond existence. Not a bad place to be, actually.

The next day I rose early and continued on, and was disappointed to find that if I’d only gone down the highway another 20 minutes, I could have camped right on the ocean. Next time. As I drove the long stretch of Oregon coast, the weather was absolutely spectacular. Sunny and in the low 70’s most of the day. After crossing the California border and cruising through redwood forests and more stunning coastline, I stopped just south of Orick and spent a couple of hours lounging next to the ocean with my door open, letting the salt air and warm breeze waft through. Pretty soon I found myself going through Crescent City and on to the section of the 101 I’m intimately familiar with, signaling the end of my trip. But not the end of my adventure.

Terror in the Northwest - Pt. 1

June 07, 2018

6/6/18 Wednesday

One of the highlights of my year last year was attending the Northwest Terror Fest, a three-day gathering of underground metal bands, performing back to back sets at two adjacent clubs in the Capitol Hill District of Seattle. Not only did I get to photograph a ton of great bands, but I also met some only-on-the-internet friends in person and make some new ones, establishing a connection with the scene up there that continues on. So now that I’m mobile-living, of course I wasn’t gonna pass up an opportunity to head back to Seattle for another NWTF and make larger trip of it as well.

I spent the beginning of the week cramming in as much work as I could in order to leave town free and clear of responsibilities, which wasn’t easy but doable. I was able to break away midday Wednesday and point my nose north, following the route I’d taken a couple months back when I went out with Marty O’Reilly and his band. I grit my teeth and slogged over Hwy 20 to the I5, barreling (if I could use such a term) towards Shasta, then cutting off northeast at Weed and heading up the 97. I was met by a major downpour on that first stretch of highway, forcing me to reduce my speed and keep both hands on the wheel at all times. I loved it. The weather eventually cleared allowing me to enjoy the high desert forests and wide open plains, which, in those moments when the clouds parted to allow scant rays of the sun through, turned gorgeous hues of orange and red and blue.

I stopped outside Chiloquin to make myself some dinner and was treated to an amazing view from my perch on the side of the mountain. It’s a simple thing, but when I find a gorgeous spot to park and eat, it gives me great satisfaction. Now properly nourished, I continued down the 97 for another couple hours til it started getting dark and I needed to find a place to stop for the night. There were dirt roads leading off the highway every quarter mile or so, and it was time to play the game of slow down/crane your neck/peep the dirt road for camp-ability without causing an accident. I rolled the dice and headed off one of these random dirt roads leading out into the state forest, which did end up providing me with a spot. The air was clear and crisp, the traffic lowly rumbling a short distance away and I decided to treat myself to a little stroll down the abandoned road to soak up the smells and stretch my legs after a long day in the van.

Morning greeted me with overcast skies and temps in the upper 30’s. Not what I was expecting, but the van was still cozy enough to where I didn’t need to fire up my heater. I made breakfast and coffee and got my ass on the road, continuing up the 97 through Bend and into the Mount Hood National Forest again, which was much greener and lush than the last time I came through in April. Took the winding roads down past the ski resort, then into the outer Portland bergs and past Portland proper, then back on the I5 the few more hours to Seattle. I got into town a few hours before the show was supposed to start, so I searched out a pay lot near the venue and walked the neighborhood looking for a place to eat. Went back to the spot that saved my ass many times during last year’s Fest, a little cantina called Bimbo’s where I was welcomed by awesome 80’s goth and industrial music on the PA and a couple delicious tacos on a plate.

Eventually it was showtime, and arriving at the venue I realized the first band had already played and I missed them. Felt kinda stupid. Ran into my photobro Teddie Taylor, who’d undertaken her own substantial road trip out here from New Orleans, passing through a number of picturesque places and making some great photographs of her trip along the way. I also ran into Josh Ford, an amazing veteran photographer I’d met in Las Vegas last year. I’ve long admired his photography work, and he’s a delightful human being to boot. Our little photographer gang ranged back and forth between the larger upstairs venue (Neumo’s) and the smaller basement venue (Barboza), shooting the first few songs of one band before heading to the other club to save a spot near the front of the stage and wait for the next band to start. This went on for five or more hours, for three days straight.

Fortunately, though, the shows were over by 10:30 (though a couple bands played “afterparties” at another club a few blocks away), which allowed me to get to bed at a somewhat reasonable hour. Last year I’d scoped out some spots to park and sleep in a pretty upscale neighborhood only 6 or 8 blocks from the club, so that’s where I headed again. I quickly found the perfect spot on a tree-lined, dark and quiet street and settled in for the night.

I spent more than half the next day in a nearby café, working on photos from last night and catching up on a bit more work. As I sat at my little table, I watched people walk by and come in and out of the café, and realized how much I appreciate being in a city that still has a great collection of freaks and weirdos, (unlike San Francisco, sadly). Elderly people with tattoos, punks and metalheads and artsy queerdos, people who are definitely living life on their own terms. Refreshing. I bailed from the café in the early afternoon back to my van still parked on the quiet and tree-lined street and relaxed for the afternoon. I was feeling pretty spent and needed to nap and recharge the batteries for a bit. Eventually I went back to town to get myself a substantial dinner that would keep me powered through the night.

Back at the club I did a couple video band interviews, ran into a few other people I knew, then dove back into the subterranean caverns for another five-hour metal marathon. There were a couple of highlights for me tonight, band-wise, including seeing Full Of Hell (YouTube them if you haven’t heard of them) and Primitive Man, who are the absolutely heaviest, loudest, darkest band you’ve ever heard. They were loud even with my earplugs in. There were a couple times I chuckled to myself that this band was almost too much. Almost. Unlike last night there were a few mosh pits upstairs, especially for Gatecreeper and Full of Hell, and of course for the night’s headliner Integrity. Those guys are an old-school hardcore band, and though I’m not familiar with their music or background, it was clear that most everyone else in that room was. At one point during their set, I turned to look at the seething mass of sweaty bodies and saw nothing but smiles on nearly every single person’s face. Watching people get their release by throwing themselves violently against/over/on top of each other is pretty awesome.

And yes, once again I ended up in my van, parked on a quiet, tree-lined street, getting ready for bed at the wonderfully middle-aged hour of 11:30 (which is an hour past my bedtime, btw).