EveryBus X

Click Here For EveryBus X Gallery Dinner’s done for everyone except the ants which have laid siege to Ganesh. Despite the best efforts of Raid (aerosol and bait traps), the little buggers continue tirelessly in their search for comestibles. Similarly, the revelers at EveryBus X continue to persevere in spite of the bands of rain which have made a slight dent in the otherwise perfect weather this weekend. For those immune to the insidious virus known as VW Bus Ownership, Everybus is an annual gathering of afflicted individuals in Hagan Stone Park, a 700+ acre county park just south of Greensboro, NC. Taking a stroll around the campground loop is like walking through an automotive museum. VW buses (officially known as Transporters) of every era are in abundance. Fully restored “splitties”, the split window version so commonly associated with the 60s generation, are parked in haphazard fashion beside of their not-so-restored stablemates. More common are the 70s variants, known as “bay windows” for their single-pane large windshield. Ganesh, my 1972 Adventurewagen, is one such beast. More refined are the accommodations afforded by the 80s contingent, represented by Westfalia Vanagons of various colors and conditions. While most of the buses are camper conversions of one sort or another (and there were MANY companies who threw their hats into this collective ring), there are a few standard passenger buses, such as the lime green bay owned by my next door neighbor Berry. She is making her Everybus debut and, indeed, her first outdoor camping experience, with her daughter, Cory and friend Claire, in tow. The two teens have been a constant source of amusement as they cope with an invasion of caterpillars into their tent, the wanderings of Annie – the one-eyed Shih Tzu and the never-ending search for one toiletry/bath item or another. On the other side of the “yard” is Zoo, a gentleman of 50+ years (a guess) who apparently is a regular to this event. He spent a portion of this morning recovering from the previous evening’s libations, which consisted of a fair amount of Tequila. Like just about everyone here, Zoo, who gained his name from his place of employment, is a convivial sort quite happy to strike up a conversation with a newbie. Friendliness seems to abound in this little enclave dedicated to VW buses, the Grateful Dead and Tie Dye everything. I’ve stopped by several camps to ask owners about their particular vehicles, inquiring about such things as solar panels, camper interiors, paint jobs, etc. The only strange vibe I picked up was from a guy a few doors down who owned a later model Adventurewagen. When I appeared at his window to ask about his bus he acted a bit like I had DEA tattooed on my forehead. He was polite enough, but I just had this feeling that he was about to engage in something that his mother would not have approved of… As far as illicit substances go, I have not witnessed anyone partaking, although it would be the height of naiveté to think that such an eclectic crowd was entirely populated with straight edge types. Officially, even alcoholic beverages are verboten at the park, but the “Red Cup” rule is considered sufficient deference to “the man”. Cory and Claire just stopped by to chat. Her phone was charging in Ganesh’s overloaded electrical outlet when it began ringing. Josh, her boyfriend, had apparently bumped the call button on his phone while bussing tables at work. A cacophony of unidentifiable background noise was the only thing which greeted her attempts to get his attention. Now back to our regularly scheduled program… “A beer in the hand is worth two in the fridge”, reads the cap on my bottle Magic Hat Circus Boy Hefeweizen. In this case, the fridge happens to be within arm’s reach of my seating position. While large motorhomes, which until the advent of $4.00 per gallon gas, were all the rage with the retiree set, have several legs up in the creature comfort department, the lowly VW camper features a coziness that cannot be duplicated. Granted, this quality was difficult to appreciate this morning when Wendy and I attempted to extricate ourselves from the sleeping quarters. After some contortions, we managed to tackle the affairs of the morning. Wendy’s arthritic flare up due to the barometric change did her no favors, but in fairly short order we managed to whip up a pot of coffee and some freeze-dried eggs. She enjoyed an even greater protein intake when she chomped down on a Pop-Tart which had recent been claimed by the aforementioned ants. Ah, life in the wild… That was hours ago. Now, darkness has settled upon Hagan Stone. From somewhere the sound of an acoustic guitar drifts in. In other quarters, the general bustle of items being stowed away in preparation for further rain takes center stage. A few tents away, Zoo’s rendition of “Plastic Jesus” is accompanied by the purr of an ancient air cooled powerplant. Life IS good.

Katzenwagen!

Sometimes, despite your best intentions, things don't quite work out like you expect... For once I was going to be on time for something. No, I was going to be EARLY. Although I wasn't looking forward to three hours of education on the proper ways of eating (thanks to my physician), I had successfully navigated Ganesh through rush hour traffic and a stiff crosswind; making good time in the process. With only a couple of miles to go, there was nothing to do, but sit through umpteen PowerPoint slides extolling the virtues of portion control. The Lizard King was wrapping up "Roadhouse Blues" on the iPod when I felt something brush by my leg. A stray piece of trash picked up by the drafts which are part and parcel of a 36-year-old bus, nothing more. Keeping my eyes on the approaching offramp, I reached down to scoop up the offender. I expected paper...I got fur. My focus quickly turned to the floorboard and the large orange cat looking up at me with a rather bewildered air. Not panicked, as most felines are in moving vehicles. Disdainfully curious, I guess you'd call it. Deep within his cerebellum, somewhere between the impulse to eat and the need to stick his nose into anything that his butt would fit into, Morris sensed something was wrong...VERY wrong. The normally quiet confines of his occasional sleeping quarters had been turned into a roaring, vibrating (and drafty) place indeed. Some days it just doesn't pay to be a cat. Recovering from my initial shock, I burst into a fit of laughter. Who cares if I'm late for class? That would be nothing new. Besides, how often to you get to ride around town with a big orange cat in a 1972 VW bus? Thoroughly flummoxed by the turn of events and my reaction, Morris curled up in the aisle between the front seats and waited for the show to be over. As I turned the bus around and headed for home, the haunting sound of Poe filled the cabin... "Hey pretty, do you want to take a ride with me..." No. Definitely not. Just fill the water bowl, feed me and empty the litter box.

Reflections On The Shakedown Hike

It's been a week since we returned from our 44 mile loop hike in the Smoky Mountains National Park. In that time, I've had a good, long time to analyze the reaction when the dreams of adventure meet the terra firma of reality; specifically where the adventure is the Appalachian Trail. I guess you could say I've experienced a failed thru-hike without having cast a shadow atop Springer Mountain. It wasn't the physical stress of hiking 7 to 13 mile days. It was difficult, yes, but I'm not kidding myself that the Bear Creek or Lakeshore Trais have anything on the ups and downs of the AT in Georgia (our largest elevation gain was 2000 feet on the Shakedown). It wasn't the blisters which, in spite of teflon liner socks, sprouted in wild abandon after Day 3. They were a surprise, however, since up to this point my trusty Merrill boots had delivered 15 mile days before this hike with nary a hotspot. It wasn't the lack of creature comforts, such as a comfortable bed, a daily shower and an plate of Szechuan waiting at camp. My hunger diminished drastically during the hike and I lost 15 pounds as a result. Eating became a ritual, a chore almost. And as for the lack of showers, well, I've heard it said that you don't notice others after being on the trail a few days. I certainly hope that is the case as my scent could have send grizzlies into premature hibernation. Still, I was not bothered by this. Hey, it's backpacking. It wasn't the isolation. Buddy typically hiked anywhere from 30 mins to and hour ahead of me. I enjoyed the solitude, though I can imagine those of a more social bent going nuckin futz. I returned to the office with a clearer mind than I have from much longer "vacations". The thing that put the nail in the hiking boot? Monotony - the one thing I wasn't expecting to be a problem. It's hard to imagine such a thing being an issue when surrounded by mountains exploding in the colorful riot of Fall. 15 years of anticipation laid waste by five days of slogging up one switchback, only to find yet another ridge to climb. The seemingly unending repetition of climb, descend, climb, descend. This was hardly my first backpacking trip, but certainly the longest. Many have suggested that the mental aspect of a thru-hike is the toughest obstacle to overcome. I agree wholeheartedly. Guess it was good to learn that lesson now, rather than on some ridgeline in the middle of February. I've beat myself up over it enough, though. Time to brush off my pride and work on Plan B. Plan B as in bus. I had planned to take my '66 VW camper on a cross-country road trip after the AT hike, something akin to William Least-Heat Moon's "Blue Highways" crossed with my Route 66/Pacific Coast trip back in 2000. No set destination. No set timeline. Just take in whatever unique opportunities I can find in towns large and small. I'm open to suggestions, so please drop me a line. In the meantime, I need to get Wendy (the bus) in some sort of reliable running condition. That could turn out to be a bigger challenge than any rock-strewn ascent!