Ȟe Sápa Dawn

I’d left our home in Wisconsin and driven for nearly fifteen hours the previous day. Had I taken the main roads I may have saved a few hours but I would have woken less rested. Doing this trip “my way,” rambling down dirt roads when I could. It wasn't just about trying to explore or find a thrill. Ever since my very first jeep gave me the means to escape everything the sound of tires on dirt has soothed my mind. I think it’s a personality trait directly influenced by my mother’s father, “Papa” as I called him.

In fact there’s not a day that passes where he’s NOT in my thoughts at some point. “Crazy Louie” would just roam in his car indulging his obsession with CB radios during his later days. Character voices played out their roles on a stage built of radio frequencies. A staticy echo of when he drove a forward spotting jeep during “The War” for Patton’s artillery. From Tunisia, through Sicily, Italy, France, Germany and into Eastern Europe he rained hell on his enemies. In his later years it was the radio waves that he vented that same hell onto. His broken, angry mind free to reach as far as his voice could be carried on the ether. His sharp, “friendly” banter on air is usually dark and harsh. He laughs only at other’s folly. People often hate him and he thinks it’s all a joke.

And I’d be a kid just riding along in the backseat. Listening.

The sound of the road seemed to soothe his anger. He’d relax. So would I.

The sound of gravel on dirt connects me to who I am, which is not my grandfather. His wounds are his own, and mine are mine and together we share anger. The drone of gravel had sanded away much of my anxiety and chaotic thoughts of the day before. I woke feeling ready. It was going to be an awesome day to get back on the road.

I still had two days to go before I could pick up Peggy, whoever she may be.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Tilting at Windmills

My prolonged isolation in the tiny patches of Driftless prairie remnants has made me somewhat “elusive” with other people. I’ve only been speaking in person to my very immediate family or my Doctor. Even that contact is fleeting at times. I do post online and communicate so I am not a total lunatic. Just a bit of one.

I have been open about my struggle with drinking but not the root causes of my strife. My family knows that when I do drink you can get either of two Rons. Usually it’s the relaxed, happy to tell crazy, funny and perhaps inappropriate stories. Occasionally it’s “Tormented Ron” who nobody should have to endure. Least of all those closest to me.

Thankfully I began getting real medical assistance. It's been helping. Simply being officially diagnosed with PTSD, being able to discuss some of my darker experiences is like dragging these tar-like skinned, tentacled, writhing, shrieking “moments” out into the light. It seems to help dissipate the dread. A dread that isn’t always present, only sometimes; like when I go into the madness of a burning, sick world.

I have been the family peacekeeper for about half of my adult life. There have been many, varied, horrible situations. Mental, emotional and spiritual upheavals are no strangers to me. Nearly always the potential for violence or extreme emotional meltdowns is present. Usually by myself when dealing with these things, there’s no backup. Knocking at doors at dawn. Entering other people’s turmoil. There has been blood. Screams. People who do this 24/7 as First Responders amaze me. For me, it's just dealing with family craziness as we try to “keep things quiet.”

My wife says I'm really good at it. That it's when I'm at my “best.” It takes a crisis I guess.

Smoke shrouded wind turbines spun on smokey winds. They generated electric power not unlike my dark fears of what may lay ahead. If no one has seen this family member in over fifty years, what trauma has driven her away? How broken was this soul going to be? What kind of madness was I driving into now?

I lowered my lance and charged.

I had to get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Much Maligned

I needed to relax, otherwise I’d arrive in Oregon an exhausted mess. I had no intention of adding to the crisis. There’s already enough pain. I needed to get Peggy. So I paced myself and tried to nurture my mind and soul. It’s always me that goes on these “there’s trouble in the family” trips. I’ve learned how to manage my mental resources. Stopping to be creative is one of my most effective tools.



I’d noticed a break in the trees on either side of the road. Two lakes came together, the waters of both mingling together under a small bridge. Slowly I made my way down the dirt roadway seeking signs of wildlife. I’d seen a variety of species earlier so I knew there was a wide variety of waterfowl in this wildlife refuge.

What I didn’t expect were these double-crested cormorants. I do not believe I could have picked a better “avain metaphor” to fold into this tale of “high adventure” to save an unknown soul from out of control wildfires, all during a major pandemic, and just before a potential civil war begins.



Why so? Well, these particular birds are a controversial upper midwest native. They are traditionally seen as “undesirable” and as competition for fishing resources used in human consumption. Their range of nesting colonies have been exterminated across the north. People would kill these ungainly looking, dark feathered large birds that look to be a cross between a goose and crow in a variety of creative manor. One that stands out to me are the small fleets of boats full of folks firing silenced “22s” into the nesting sites.

A number of recent scientific studies has proven that they actually feed on smaller fish that compete with the fry of “desirable”fish and may indeed benefit the fishing industry more than harm it. But emotion still rules over scientific facts. I was very lucky to stumble into one of the few remaining sanctuaries these unfairly maligned birds enjoy.

A near complete expatriation of an entire species driven by emotions and traditions and not facts.



I chuckled to myself darkly as I got back into my Jeep to go get Peggy and bring her home.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

A Prairie Wetland Refuge

I’d passed through Iowa like a great blue comet. My mostly straight, white tail of limestone dust trailing out behind my jeep as I rode up and down gently sloped gravel roads. I began engaging the various breathing, meditation techniques taught me by some unique practitioners I’ve had the fortune to learn from. My mind calmed as my tires ground out rhythm, a song composed of the crushed dust of long dead oceans fanned out as I passed over the land. I was in the same sort of “zone” I get into when really into a gym routine or trail run. It was to be a state of mind I'd keep for nearly the entire trip once I’d crossed the Mississippi.

Pandemic? Check. Wildfires burning out of control? Check. Going to Portland during major political and civil upheaval? Check A divided Nation that could break into civil war? Check. Unknown family member who could be “ANYTHING?” Check. Getting her home alive when a cough could kill her and I’m already driving in smoke? Check. The responsibility of taking on another elder? Check. Concern over my preteen daughter when so many kids seem to be contemplating suicide and knowing your own issues aren’t helping ANYONE?! CHECK.

Check. Check. Check… the backdrop of this journey to the west couldn’t be more extreme for me spiritually, emotionally, or mentally. Or could it? By this point I fully expected Yellowstone to erupt in volcanic fury as soon as I passed the Rockies. At the time of this writing it hasn’t but it’s early yet and the story’s not over…

I still had to get Peggy. I needed to rest and gather my strength so I randomly turned aside and found myself in a wildlife sanctuary in Minnesota. Of course it was just what I needed.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Limes Springs, Iowa

Having no real knowledge of Peggy’s medical condition, other than “Coughing = Death,” I tried to keep to myself so as not to catch the Covid. For months now I’ve been very removed from mankind. Kicking around tiny patches of natural prairies and savannas as I struggle to keep my sanity in this ever more crazily unfolding world. Islands of native soil either tiny, roughly terrained remnants or restored patches of plowed or grazed land.

My goal was to make it all the way to Peggy with as little risk of Covid exposure as possible. I wasn’t going to kill anyone. Especially the woman I was being asked to go save.

So to that end I found hidden places to stretch my legs. I’d sometimes take photos and do my martial arts warmups. I had a long way to go and gravel roads make for slow progress. I felt like a bootlegger trying as I made my way undetected to go get Peggy and bring her home.

**Note how harsh the lighting is from the very high layer of smoke particles filtering out the sun’s full spectrum of colors. It’s not dissimilar to my own internal, smoke filled skies.**

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Island 172

When I had set out in the morning I’d hoped to see at least one eagle before leaving Wisconsin. I have a certain “quirk” wherein I believe their appearance during certain of my life events gives me “Luck.” For insurance the very moment a small town Mayor declared my wife and I officially married two of them began to circle overhead and cry out. We’d eloped to the Tioga County area and it was just the three of us and the eagles at our ceremony. They later sort of traveled along the same valley with us for a while as we stopped to take our wedding photos.

Back to the point. I hoped to see one.

As traffic at the end of the bridge leaving Wisconsin into Iowa slowed to a stop I spotted one! We were still in WI territory so it counted for “LUCK!” Pivoting in my driver’s seat I had to twist to my 8 o’clock position in order to capture a shot. I only got one in focus before I could see that traffic was going to move once more.

It was then that I resolved to trust in myself and that no matter what lay ahead I was going for it.

I’d finally left Wisconsin to go get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Apalāla

This is not a jeep ad. I just am really into Jeeps. I’m a Butler, PA native. It’s the very birthplace of this vehicle design. It’s what my grandpa drove from Tunisia to Germany during “The War.” He was a driver for the forward artillery observers as they’d rotate out of service. Or die. It’s a “Jeep Thing” as they say.

This is my fourth. Each has been more of an extension of my imagination when it comes to how I enjoy myself. I’ve used them to explore, camp, fly fish, romance, family fun and these days as a photography platform. I have done the majority of the “mods” myself. Each and everyone piece was carefully chosen and researched and bought at discounted prices. This vehicle was literally a gift from Santa. And by that I mean for real as it was an amazing stroke of good fortune that found this in my driveway on Christmas week. Totally by coincidence too, but that’s a different story.

I digress. Just to answer what everyone usually asks. The Sanskrit writing on the hood says, “Apalala.” It’s the name of a legendary river dragon from Buddhist mythology. Why so is also a story for another day, as are the “why so’s?” to the rest. They are boar and ravens and little stuff just for fun.

I once heard someone say Jeeps were for people with no personalities. OK.

All I know is I was going to finally wear out my stock tires! It was time to earn some new shoes going to get Peggy and bring her home. Whoever the heck may be.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest #Apalāla