My new life in the Caribbean

I just spent an hour on deck staring at the water and the beautiful island of Grand Cayman while drinking an oil can of Fosters. I find myself reflective and ready to write again.

So here's been the seventeen months since my last blog entry: I gave up on Austin after a few weeks because there was just no way for an unknown artist to make any real money. I moved to San Antonio and quickly got plugged into the bar music scene. Almost immediately I met a beautiful bartender that took me in and went to amazing lengths to help me make life for me in San Antonio work. She treated me much better than I deserve and I am still thankful. I also met tons of amazing people and made some friends that I know I will have for the rest of my life but after several months I came to realize that I was in the exact same spot I was in Iowa; constantly calling/texting/emailing managers or bar owners trying to keep enough income rolling in to cover my bills but even with her help my bills and debt grew faster than my income.

For a person in my position, commission only sales, having lots of bills and debt makes the lifestyle very stressful and difficult to enjoy. Until just recently I hadn't written anything for nearly two years. To me that was a sure sign I wasn't in the right spot, for whatever that means.

After about a year things between me and the girl went sour, I'm guessing due to financial stress but who really knows. I moved back into my RV and one drunken lonely night I emailed a booking agent that handles entertainment for cruise ships. Just a couple days later I got an email back that Carnival Cruise Lines wanted to offer me a contract on one of their ships in the Caribbean.

I decided to, in my typical fashion, jump in with both feet. I sold my RV and my XTerra, both for a terrible loss, and got my passport in order. On June 17, 2012 I boarded the Carnival ship Valor based out of Miami and here I sit today.

This is my favorite job that I've ever had. I still play guitar and sing what I want but now I get a regular paycheck every two weeks, free health care, free food, free room all to myself, I walk to my gigs and all I carry is my guitar and a backpack of cables and my looper, I haven't driven or put gas in a car in six weeks, I have a guy that cleans my room for me every day, nearly every morning I wake up at a different tropical paradise, I can enjoy a party atmosphere on the Lido deck full of beautiful women in bikinis or I can go to the crew only deck and enjoy the most amazing quiet time staring at the ocean or the stars, and let me tell you about the prices at the crew bar!

And here's the best part; every week I have three thousand new people become captive on my floating stage. In the past six weeks I've made ten times more fans that are ten times more appreciative than I have in the last five years of performing on land. People applaud after nearly every song, they honestly request to hear the songs that I wrote and when the cruise is over they find me online to follow my crazy life. This is soul food to the starving artist in me.

I own almost nothing now. I have no car, no home and nearly no belongings that do not relate to making music. What I now call 'home' is either a twelve by ten room in the Caribbean on a one thousand foot long floating resort or a five by ten storage unit in San Antonio, TX.

I miss you all but I am happy, my soul is full.

Downtown San Antonio

I went into actual downtown San Antonio last night. Seems like a pretty great city.

I was told that my music would fit well at a place called Casbeers on South Alamo. Unfortunately they were closed when I got there at 10 pm so I slowly made my way north on South Alamo toward downtown. I saw a huge beer garden that looked more like a vacant lot full of tables and chairs with a small shack toward the back with beer signs calling to me. It turned out that I had stumbled into the artsy district of San Antonio. I saw lots of tattoos and piercings, people riding fixies, and lots of black clothing. I felt instantly at home, though I can't afford to get tats or pierced just yet...

The bar was called The Friendly Spot, if you are ever down this way I'd highly recommend a visit. The weather was perfect, right around 70 and humid. I snapped a pic of some space needle thing downtown from my chair. The staff was quite friendly and helpful to this roaming guitarist. They do lots of live music on their outside stage so I dropped a demo and business card with the bartender. It would be super fun to play there.

I made my way up to the River Walk area downtown. I've had several people recommend checking it out. Of course being downtown even at 11 pm on a Monday parking was difficult to find. As I roamed looking for parking I happened to look to my right and there was The Alamo all lit up. I always pictured it out in the middle of nowhere, not downtown SA.

I wandered around for several blocks looking for this River Walk thing that was supposed to be all great and stuff. Eventually I found a sign that pointed to it...two floors down from where I was standing. Really beautiful once you get down there. Three or four floors of bars and restaurants that overlook what I would call a canal but apparently in TX it passes for a river. I heard live music coming from quite a few of the venues.


I stopped into several of the bars there and dropped off more demos. All of the bartenders and managers I talked with seemed very friendly and even grateful to me for offering my services. The whole attitude I caught from them regarding music was very different than what I got in Austin. Austin bars act like it is a privilege to be allowed to perform in their establishment, to the point that asking to get fair compensation for performing is ridiculous to them. The town is flush with musicians so I suppose I can understand their attitude to a degree.

So do you get mad at the bars for not respecting professional musicians enough to pay them fairly or do you get mad at all the musicians that are willing to play for little to nothing? I'm sure it is just a supply and demand issue to the bars. If they had to pay more they would but the system will work this way, so why not? It's a business, not a charity.

Down here the venues seem much more appreciative of the service professional musicians provide and more than willing to compensate us for our work. These towns are only an hour apart. I really see a lot of parallels between these two towns and Cedar Rapids versus the Ped Mall in Iowa City. 

One of the more popular bars in IC offered me a weekly spot on Fridays. I actually laughed when the guy told me the pay for three hours of work was $50. If you include set up and tear down time it would've been more profitable per hour to bag groceries. 300% markup on drinks plus a cover charge at the door, someone is making money and it's usually not the person making music. Go find some college kid willing to work for beer and beware, you get what you pay for.

On to San Marcos, a smaller town half way between Austin and San Antonio, this afternoon. I've really enjoyed my time in San Antonio and I'm sure I'll be back. Three nights of parking lot surfing so far, 3/4 charge on my batteries and a half tank of fresh water left. Driving up to San Marcos may bring me back up to a full charge, which is good because the weather is supposed to turn colder on Thursday. I have been able to avoid running my furnace so far. Let's see what the attitude toward musicians is in San Marcos.

San Antonio

I said goodbye to my cozy parking spot in Georgetown yesterday and hit the road. It was nice to have a spot to call home but also caused a lot of commuting, not to mention the extra $300/month. I doubt I'll be able to pay for a regular monthly spot anywhere any time soon. It feels right to sacrifice some comfort to still be able to say music is my only job, I guess it's a point of pride for me now. I just have to make my lifestyle match my income.

Speaking of sacrifice, I've decided to not buy any beer until I get more money and gigs rolling in. Not that I was spending much per day but if you look at it by month it could easily add up to what my camper payment is. Most places that I perform at give me free beer, so it's not like totally being on the wagon.  I'm a bit bummed because beer was the only 'treat' I was allowing myself but I know things are already in the process of turning around.

I struggled a bit the last few days because it occurred to me that I was playing bars, coffee houses and such in Iowa and making good money but something drove me to move on. Now I'm in Texas trying to get gigs in the same places, is this just a lateral move? Will I wind up unsatisfied here too?

I was pondering this at a small restaurant in Taylor, TX as I dropped off a demo. A girl with purple hair plopped down next to me to order food. When she saw me drop off the demo we struck up a conversation. Turns out she makes a good chunk of her income as an on-call background vocalist for several studios in Austin. It occurred to me that this kind of thing has happened a lot since I got down here and that this is a huge difference between TX and IA, contacts. You can't swing a dead cat around here without hitting someone in the music industry. That is what will make my career move up a notch, I hope.

I played in a small coffee shop in San Antonio last night. Pretty poor turnout and only $26 pay but I had two different people approach me because they have friends that own venues that are looking for music. We'll see where that goes.

I slept in the parking lot last night and have spent the morning, as is my usual routine, on the web emailing music venues from the coffee shop. In Georgetown I did all this from my camper, much more lonely than the coffee house atmosphere. It's nice to do some people watching.

I've done my three hours of nerdy office work for the day, time to explore San Antonio after dropping the condo in a nearby Walmart parking lot. I've heard there is a beautiful river walk area downtown and that the music scene down here pays better.

I have 35 gallons in my fresh water tank, a full charge on my batteries and near absolute freedom. What more could a guy ask for?

I hate big dogs.

Sorry but it's true. I was a cable guy for a few too many years, had a few too many instances in the bad part of town where the Rottweiler not only outweighed but was clearly more intelligent than it's wife beater wearing, Mountain Dew guzzling and overly fertile caretaker. These comments are not borne of tv watching or movie intake, I was there. Luckily I lived through the experience without any puncture wounds to speak of.

Being scared by an aggressive dog while walking past a fenced in yard can give you a fright but just imagine coming up from the basement to the kitchen and staring eye to eye with the 180 lb Rot that was supposedly 'secured' in a bedroom before you entered the house. I don't blame the dog at all, it's job is to defend the house and family from intruders or people that don't belong there - like a cable guy. The dog will sacrifice it's life without a thought to protect the family, I blame owners for not fully appreciating the loaded gun they are haplessly spinning over the general population's head.

This comes up because I was just out for a midnight walk to clear my head. I had a good walk, clear and cold night tonight, great for quiet solitude and  introspection. I was nearly back to my camper when I heard a big dog bark in the distance, no big deal, except that it was a call to his partner to join in some sort of conflict. The partner happened to be just around a blind corner from me in my RV park. I had seen these two dogs before as I sat on my stairs late at night. Two chocolate labs, pretty good size and likely well behaved...likely but it's not like you can reason with an animal. They will act on instinct passed down through generations of survival of the fittest. There is no credit or background check involved, just fight or flight. Hopefully the latter.

I'm happy to report the dog just ran past me barking toward it's partner. This is why I carry pepper spray when I'm out alone. I know I could best a dog in hand to paw combat, I'd  just rather not deal with stitches or antibiotic shots or possible law suits. I leave nature and people alone and I'd appreciate complete reciprocation.

Ok, dog topic over...except please don't leave your dog's crap in public areas. I swear I'm just so close to following offenders home so I can crap in their yards. It is poop people. You put food in the thing, take care of the output too, it's only fair.

Three gigs booked today, quite exciting! Progress. I haven't written lately because there has been nothing you'd want to read about. Smelly guitarist wakes up; smelly guitarist makes and drinks a pot of coffee; smelly guitarist sends out 50 emails to music venues; smelly guitarist updates umpteen websites; smelly guitarist scratches; smelly guitarist eats a cheap can of soup because he is pinching pennies; smelly guitarist gets less smelly with a shower; not-as-smelly guitarist sends another 50 emails to music venues...and so on. My hands hurt like never before, not because of guitar playing but because of countless frickin hours of computer time. Rock and roll, in the digital age.

This part of our world is beautiful. The picture is from Lake Georgetown, that's about 3 feet deep at the bottom of the picture. The streams and rivers are generally spring fed and crystal clear. The scenery is rolling hills with scrub brush and cacti covering them, a very desolate beauty. I need to get out more and enjoy my time here because I know this will not last forever. I've been trying to stay in and work on my business while also doing my best to not spend any unnecessary money until I get more rolling in. I learned the lesson long ago that if you wait to enjoy life until circumstances are ideal, you'll never enjoy life. You could amass a million dollars for retirement through sacrifice and toil only to wind up dead at 35. Live now and live well, please.

Cheatham Street Warehouse

Missoula Slim, host of the open mic on Sunday, recommended I hit a place called Cheatham Street Warehouse for their Wednesday night songwriter circle. I'm a bit ashamed to say I've never heard of the place. I started the day with some disc golf and High Life at Zilker Park downtown Austin.

Even as I drove by the front of the building I really considered just continuing down the street and heading home. It couldn't be that place. It is literally an old warehouse not six feet from busy freight train lines.

This was my introduction to a true Texas honkey tonk, felt instantly like home. Nice and dark, cheap beer and all kinds of paraphernalia on the wall from the famous musicians who had played there in the past. My hero Stevie Ray Vaughan, then just Stevie Vaughan, got a weekly gig there in 1980. There's even an old beat up van outside that the owner, Kent Finlay, used to drive an unknown country songwriter named George Strait from Texas to Nashville just before his career exploded.

Generally lots of songwriters get turned away because there aren't enough slots available during the night. I was lucky this night and got a slot even though I didn't arrive until about thirty minutes before it began. Somehow I got passed over, everything was pretty loose there. I hadn't driven a thousand miles to be passed over, I came to play. Kent was nice enough to let me go up right away. I played one of my new songs, Stripping It Down, and one from earlier this year, Lost Or Found. I heard through the grapevine that Kent liked my songs, quite an endorsement.

It was just great to hear all the other songwriters, amazingly talented songwriters, in a room where people get shushed for talking and if your cell phone goes off you get scowled at. Total respect for the songwriter and the song. It was a beautiful night. Three hours of original material played in the naked format of just a solo performer, no big bands or accompaniment beyond an acoustic guitar. Nothing to hide behind.

This did nothing to help me feel better about my chances of making it down here, so many amazing songwriters and performers. I feel at least on par with the general degree of talent. Maybe my business sense or tenacity will give me a leg-up on the competition.  I'm that rare musician that shows up on time, generally sober. Time will tell. Whether I make it down here or go back home, this experience has already inspired me and given me a more healthy respect for the craft and calling of songwriting.

I am now a Texan, hmm

All settled in here in Georgetown, TX. I paid for a month at a no frills RV park so I could completely focus on getting music going. It feels a bit weird not having to worry about moving the camper or finding places to recharge the batteries. I didn't realize how much time I was actually spending with the particulars of rolling life. BTW, I was here for a total of 20 minutes before my first encounter with fire ants. Stung a little, itched a little, not so bad. Here's my new view...

Staying in parking lots and on residential streets was definitely roughing it and I enjoyed it. When I first got to Golden I camped in a grocery store parking lot for four days without moving the camper. Even then, I just needed to charge the batteries. I still had plenty of fresh water and space in my waste tanks. I lived with one LED overhead light and a flashlight for illumination, kept the furnace at 60 if I turned it on at all, only took marine showers (quickly spray yourself down, turn off the water, lather up, turn the water back on to quickly rinse, turn off the water), and I even timed when I would cook to help with heating/cooling the camper.

I was in Colorado for about four weeks and only paid camping fees three nights. Now with a reserved spot, water, sewer, electricity and even wifi it really feels like I have a regular home. It's only 160 square feet, but a home nonetheless. It was difficult to cough up the $285 for lot rent but I think it all evens out in the end when you figure gas, wear on the equipment and time saved.

Now to the business of making a living again. I haven't had a real paying gig in a couple months now and the money is going fast. I'm relatively certain that barring calamity I have enough to last me until the end of November. I've been able to book a couple paying gigs down here so far, not nearly enough but I just keep reminding myself I've only been here a week. I knew this would be a challenge.

I must have sent out three hundred emails so far, admittedly this is the lazy way to do sales but I'm just getting started. I played at an open mic in Austin last night and met a few local musicians. I picked their brains as thoroughly as I could while being respectful of the person playing. All had jobs and all thought it was silly to even think of making money for performing down here. Even the guy that hosted the open mic, who drove thirty minutes to get there and did the work of hosting and setting up the equipment, was only paid beer and a plate of food.

It really irks me that any of the places I've played that are known for a 'good' music scene (Chicago, Denver, Boulder, KC and even Iowa City - twenty minutes away from the bars that were paying me nearly $100/hr) starve their musicians, somebody is making money but it usually isn't the person up on stage. The attitude at these music venues is almost that the musician should thank them for the privilege of performing (in some cases the musician actually pays the venue?!?!), not that the venue should thank the musician for bringing their art to the room. Why is that? Can a city really brag about how much they support the arts when artists themselves are truly starving? Maybe it's the artist's fault, maybe people are too willing to give away their art and don't have the balls to demand compensation? I will find out.

This is a pretty picture.

My journey with Pike's Peak

(This post is a few days old. I finally have the luxury of electricity and wifi in my home.)

Yesterday I climbed Pike's Peak. Hold on a minute while I read that sentence to myself a few times.

I not only climbed it, I climbed back down. By myself. A thirteen mile trail that takes you from 6,500 feet (well over a mile) to 14,000 feet (nearly three miles up) only to turn around and head back the thirteen miles, alone, to my truck. I'd guess that my pack weighed between twenty and twenty-five pounds. I carried a gallon jug of water, some breakfast bars, a 6 pack of Snickers, my sleeping bag, 3 light coats, my flashlight (THANK GOODNESS!), my camera, some gloves and a hat. I'm sure I over-packed but I didn't know if I would make it, or if not, whether I'd wind up having to sleep on the side of the mountain. As it was I wound up not getting back to my truck until 8:30 pm.

I began at about 7 am, just before sunrise. The first three miles of trail were fairly packed with people. The frickin nuts out here like to jog up and down the first section of trail...for fun?!?!? In my defense, they carry only a small water bottle and no extra pack or clothes. Indeed some of them wear very few clothes. :) I must be honest, even just walking from my truck to the trail head made me breathe heavily. Walking across parking lots out here still makes me breathe deliberately. If you are aware of it and consciously breathe heavier than normal, everything is fine. It is when you're distracted or walking a bit too fast that you find yourself out of breath. It was so warm that I actually hiked shirtless but still sweat pretty bad. 

This is sunrise over Colorado Springs and the warning sign that resonated in my head my whole trip. I had no support or buddy to help me out if I ran out of water or got hurt. The trail is pretty heavily traveled at certain times of day and I had pretty good cell reception most of the way, still...

I made it to Barr Camp bout three hours in, the only man made oasis between the trail head and the tourist trap at the top of the peak. Even then, it's just a primitive campground. Very primitive. Everything the have has to be hauled up by ATV from town. I was very encouraged to have made it 6.5 miles in three hours, made it seem as though I'd reach the peak in 6. Ha! This picture is what the summit looked like from Barr Camp. My knees were hurting a little by this point in my day, 3 hours into a thirteen hour day.

I wanted to reach the peak but would've enjoyed my experience either way. My goal was ultimately to enjoy the mountain and the solitude. I knew it was supposed to be four hours down so I set a time limit. At two in the afternoon, no matter where I was, I'd turn back so I wouldn't be stuck in the dark on the mountain. Setting an arbitrary time limit helped me to just enjoy the trip. 

Sound travels well on the mountain. The switchbacks make it pretty easy to hear some one behind you on the climb, the gravel on the trail is very crunchy and loud. Generally I was completely alone, occasionally I'd hear people behind me. At that point I'd take a Snickers break and let them pass. It seemed everyone else was only carrying a backpack while I was carrying a real hiking pack with hip straps and all. Oh well, I knew I packed heavy because I was alone and had no idea what to expect. 

Most of the walk was exactly what you would expect. Head to the ground and just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. And breathing, always breathing. I had to walk at a fairly slow pace so I wouldn't wind up dizzy or have to stop completely. Very deliberate pace. I did stop often to just absorb the views and the smell of pine in the air and to enjoy the fact that I was there. Like I said, my only goal was to climb until two. No need to push too hard and forget to enjoy the journey. I was even passed by a man that had to be pushing seventy years old. I fought my competitive urge and told myself that this journey was mine and should be taken at my pace. Here is a quote from Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance that was in my head the whole day: 

"Mountains should be climbed with as little effort as possible and without desire. The reality of your own nature should determine the speed. If you become restless, speed up. If you become winded, slow down. You climb the mountain in an equilibrium between restlessness and exhaustion. Then, when you're no longer thinking ahead, each footstep isn't just a means to an end but a unique event in itself. This leaf has jagged edges. This rock looks loose. From this place the snow is less visible, even though closer. These are things you should notice anyway. To live only for some future goal is shallow. It's the sides of the mountains which sustain life, not the top. Here's where things grow."

By about noon I reached the tree line, about 11,000 feet. A scant half mile vertical to the peak. This is what the peak looked like from about the tree line. At about this point I ran into a group of three couples in their twenties. They passed me but we repeatedly ran into each other at our various water breaks. Eventually they beat me to the peak by at least a half hour, only carrying light packs... Irked me a little but like I said, this is my journey at my pace for my soul. 

There was only about three miles of trail left, ten done. Things really changed at the tree line. I went from just hiking slowly to a regimen of ten small steps then a pause to catch your breath. Ten steps, breathe, ten steps, and breathe. Just like my last summit with Luke, I lost the trail but so did the group I was behind that seemed like they knew what they were doing. After a horrible and nearly vertical climb up a huge pile of loose gravel I found the trail again. Being on the trail was still hard but not nearly as hard as just walking up the side of the mountain. On the way up this section I came across a few other groups that were just picking their way up because they lost the trail. The peak still seemed impossibly far away. This is me with about two miles to go.

I had averaged two miles per hour for the first five hours, that was cut in half for the last three miles. The pace was awful, all the while I was checking my watch. Just gotta make it until two, then have a candy bar and turn around. But I also knew I was nearly out of water, four hours of hiking down with only a half liter of water was foolish and dangerous. Also by then the thought had crept into my head that maybe if I reached the summit,  the nearest human outpost, I could ride the cog railway down or maybe hitch a ride with some tourists that had driven up. I was hurting pretty bad by this point and the slow progress only made it feel that much more pointless to put myself through the pain.

By two o'clock I was about a half mile from the peak and seven hours into my journey, knowing that I'd either have to make the top and get a ride back or commit to another four hours of walking to get to my truck. Very tough choice, I at least needed water. I reached a point called '16 Golden Steps', I'm convinced that was the name of some sort of ancient torture device. Just walking up a slight incline was hard but now, after over twelve miles of hiking in very thin air the trail designers thought it would be neat to make you traverse up two foot boulders like steps through very tight switchbacks.

I was literally grunting with frustration at every turn and yelling out 'Really?? Another f-ing step up???.' I was ready to give up and turn back. Then I saw a fat tourist eating a cheese burger at the peak, just a hundred yards above me. He was looking down and gawking at me as I heaved air and steadied myself against a boulder. Then I saw another tourist looking at me through the overlook binoculars. If I had the strength I would've surely thrown a rock at them and told them to f*** off. I had labored for seven hours to get to this point while they had driven in their nice warm cars to the top of the peak, purchased souvenirs and overpriced cheese burgers and doughnuts, then got a thrill from watching my pain. I could not give up now, no way should they get to be on the peak and not me. I had earned it by this point. I was going to reach the summit. I was going to buy a cheese burger and doughnuts. I was going to get my picture taken by the big sign. I was really hoping to get a ride back down...

That last hundred yards took me a half hour. I reached the peak and crossed the cog railway tracks and immediately asked a fat tourist to take this picture for me. Then I tried to enter the souvenir shop/restaurant but had to wait for several families of tourists to push through the door ahead of me. Again, if I had the strength I would have flattened several of them but as it was I could barely stand. I got in eventually and purchased five dollars worth of crappy food for twenty-two dollars and said a very very sincere 'Thank you.' I wanted to slam the whole meal but was feeling a bit queezy. I had to eat slowly and breathe with concerted effort. I was nearly brought to tears several times while I ate in my quiet little corner of the shop. I had done it, alone. Still I'm quite moved. The journey was beautiful but the fact that I had made the summit was just too much for my heart to handle.

Then the cog rail trains arrived and unloaded at least a hundred fifty fresh tourists on the summit for their thirty minute stay. The shop became instantly packed from front to back, you could hardly walk through the place. I was quite upset that these people got to experience the summit with so little effort but also I was VERY thankful for a hot meal and a chance to refill my water. An abandoned peak may have been more beautiful but I would've had to carry twice the water and supplies. Keep in mind every gallon of water weighs nearly ten pounds. You carry ten pounds up a mile and a half ladder sometime.

I saw about ten hikers file onto the train after the tourists got that were off looking for a ride down. I've done the cog railway before and found it to be an amazing and beautiful ride. I finished the portion of my meal that I could stomach, packed the rest and made my way to the car to inquire about a ride back down. The hikers there said they had friends who had already purchased tickets but would not be allowed on the train because it was too full. That was it, I was walking back down. I got myself into this and I was going to get myself out, self reliance all the way.

I went back into the very crowded shop and refilled my gallon jug half way. It took me a gallon and eight hours to reach the top, should take me four hours and half the water to make it back down...hopefully. I also put on my extra set of wool socks because I was getting some hot spots on my feet and figured the extra padding would help. Quite fun to take off your shoes and put on socks in a small diner full of rich tourists. I'm pretty sure I smelled worse than I felt, I found great joy in this. Also I found joy in the fact that the young hikers that had outpaced me were filing into a car for the ride back down while I was about to leave civilization again and commit to at least four more hours of solo hiking to get home, which fyi was a travel trailer in a grocery store parking lot.

I was nicer than I wanted to be and waved to several people on the train as they passed. It was 3:30 and I was beginning what the signs predicted would be a four hour journey back down. The progress was invigorating. It occurred to me that the journey back down the mountain is your prize for making it up the mountain. In the first hour I think I made it three miles and breathing was much easier. I was completely invigorated and full of joy that I was going to get myself off the mountain on my own. Lots of people walk up the mountain but few walk back down, very few. My whole trip down I didn't run into a single soul headed down and only a total of maybe ten going up and most of them were very close to the summit and predictably their rides back down. 

It was a bit unnerving to be walking down with no one else headed down. Was I choosing something really stupid or dangerous? The sun was already close to setting over the mountain. Most of my decent over the tree line was in the growing shadow of the mountain. It was cold up there. I was wearing a t-shirt, long sleeve t-shirt, fleece, gloves and a stocking hat. Pants too, der. There was no way after even just a few yards down that I would try to make it back to the summit. I was committed.

I made it back down to Barr Camp by about 6 pm. According to the signs I was expecting to get there by 5:30 because it was roughly half way down but the section above it was pretty difficult for decent. Lots of stepping down over one foot rocks. Doesn't' sound that bad until you've done it a few hundred times, thousand times. That tiny jolt to my knees repeated again and again became very painful over the course of thirteen miles. 

Not long after Barr Camp it became too dark to see. There was about a half moon in the sky which helped quite a bit but not enough to avoid tripping over rocks in the trail. I grabbed my flashlight, which I am immeasurably glad that I carried up the mountain, at about 7 pm. I thought for sure by 7:30 I'd be at my truck, surely. Nope. At about 7:30 I stopped for a snack and a pee at a spot overlooking the lights of Colorado Springs. It was amazingly beautiful and made even more beautiful by the pain that I had endured to get to see it. I would've taken a picture but I didn't have my tripod and predicted that I couldn't be steady enough to get a good shot. So I sat and enjoyed. I had earned this. I had really earned this.

I sat on the bare trail for maybe five minutes. When I tried to rise again my entire body cried out in pain. Silly body thought the trip was done. I was about 2.5 miles from the end and I thought that judging by my pace I should be done in maybe twenty minutes, turned out to be another very painful hour. That hour was made worse by the fact I could see the street lights at the end of the trail, I knew I was very close. Just like my journey to the top, that last little bit of the trip was the hardest mentally to endure. What was my option though? Pull out my sleeping bag two miles from the end of a twenty-six mile journey and sleep on the side of the trail? I just had to finish it. If you research you'll find that the trip back down the mountain is much harder on your knees than the walk up, I agree.

At 8:30 I emerged from the Barr Trail and walked very slowly and intentionally to my Ex-Terra. I believe I said I love you to my truck because now I could travel almost effortlessly while sitting in a nice comfortable seat. I stopped at Taco Bell for my three dollar congratulatory meal, in pain even while sitting still. Then I stopped at a liquor store in my parking lot to grab a 6 pack of beer. The walk to the store was more painful than I can describe, then I realized I left my wallet in my truck. Ouch.

When I reached my camper the batteries were dead so I had to keep my truck running and plug it into the camper. I let it run while I enjoyed an amazing beer and tacos. I took a wonderfully hot shower and cranked the furnace up to a whopping 70 degrees. I was getting chills from time to time, likely because my body was completely exhausted. After two hours of letting my truck charge the camper I disconnected it and went to bed. I had turned the furnace off to save power, it got down to 40 that night. Here's a picture of the parking lot I called home.

I awoke at 8:30 to a 50 degree camper and a very upset lower half. Knees, thighs and muscles I cannot even name were yelling at me. I grunted my pains out loud as I stepped out of my bed. I actually yelled out in pain when I went down my stairs this morning because my knees hurt so bad. I hooked up the camper and drove it to a nearby rv park where I could charge my batteries and discharge my tanks. Laundry was a bonus too, had about three loads today.

I'm happy to report that my knees don't hurt at all anymore. I only have some sore and tight muscles to deal with. Not bad for a thirty-five year old known more for drinking ability than physical prowess. Twenty-six total miles including one and a half strait up and one and a half strait down. Thirteen hours total hiking time almost completely alone. I did it. I did it. My soul is happy.

Now onward to Austin, TX. I will either 'make it' or come back to Iowa, either way I will enjoy the journey and take it at MY pace. Life is mine.

From my newest song:

I have walked among the mountains

Felt the tall grass of the plains

Bathed in the warm ocean

But always fly away again

Where do I belong?