East, Towards the Desert

The waves were dying down and after three weeks of cruising the California coast, the Syncro had developed a coating of sand and a special odor.   In addition, parts of Southern California were starting to feel familiar. Weighing my options, I stopped by Trader Joe's in Silverlake to restock on provisions and headed east towards the desert.

The suburbs faded into obscurity as the 10 ran east towards Palm Springs.  Desert started winning the war over farms and cul-de-sacs.  Following signs towards Joshua Tree National Park,  I turned off on 62.  Morongo Valley, Yucca Valley,  Whats the big deal about this place? I asked myself.  The loud shriek of a nearby military jet confirmed my suspicions that the area was fit for weapons testing.  Pulling into the park, I started seeing what the hype was all about.  For the first time in recent memory,  I couldn't see a house or other sign of civilization, just trees from a Dr. Seuss book.  Sporadic rock formations decorated the horizon and hills, inviting exploration.

After a day a day of solo hikes, crawling around rocks and camping in a busy campsite,  I started growing uneasy.  Nature should be raw and open ended, not packaged and consumed. Driving off in search of a campsite on one of the so-called 4x4 roads designated by the official park map, furthered my angst. Under promise and over deliver,  perhaps for a Prius.  The Syncro wanted more dirt, and I wanted more seclusion.

See the face?

Craving God's County, BLM and National Forest, I left Joshua Tree at sunrise the next day. Setting my sites on Kern River Canyon,  I headed north away from roads connected to LA.  Traffic died off.  The occasional lifted pickup truck sped by, and my music blasted with windows down.  A sign read "No service for 55 miles."  Good things accompany these signs.

Sunrise in Joshua Tree National Park.

These ditches are dug to stop off roaders.

One of the most beautiful sunsets of my life.

The shortening days prompted me to pull off the road earlier than usual.  Invited by a trail snaking up to a hill,  I drove to the gate, packed my pack with The Monkey Wrench Gang, my Snowpeak cook kit and two cans of chili.  No registration or designated areas to cook, just a mile of hiking to do before sunset.  I locked the doors out of habit before realizing that there was no one around for ten miles.

Here are some more links,

Sunset (Picasa),

The Desert (Picasa).

South of LA

A thick marine fog cloaked the palm trees and bluffs, limiting visibility to a few hundred feet.  Nearby traffic hummed on the PCH.  Every few minutes, a hollow sound announced the passing of a liberally muffled motorcycle.  Sitting in the driver's seat of the Syncro with the door open, I watched waves roll in from the grey horizon.   Dozens of  black dots bobbed up and down as the swells past.  Blindly reaching for a bag of pistachios, I tracked a wave pass through an especially dense group of black dots.  A handful started moving towards the shore in anticipation of the wave peeking. Two white streaks went in separate directions.

"Damn, that looks fun. I'm suiting up," I said looking back towards my cousin, Nikko, stretching out in the back seat. "You cool to hang out for a bit?"

"Absolutely," he said, keeping his eyes pealed to, "Travel's With Charlie."

For the sixth time since leaving LA two days earlier,  I grabbed my 3'2 suit and 7'6 Walden Minimagic from the roofrack and raced down the stairs towards the beach.

On Friday morning,  Nikko and I followed the ocean down towards San Diego in the final leg of my exploration of the California Coast.   Despite the areas reputation for constant sun, a San Francisco like fog covered the coast, making the densely developed area feel remote and repetitively uninhabited.  Exploring the numerous parks and surf breaks that separate Mediterranean "mansions,"  supplemented the sections of coast where 1 combines with I5 with residential roads.  Parking the Syncro on sections of road unrestricted by parking laws by night, we joined the thousands of other gypsies taking advantage of the warm climate and reliable waves.

Reef.

Lined up.

Drying a constantly wet towel.

Three feet at 13 seconds.

Limited visibility.

Baywatch.

Black Dots.

Paddling out through the white water, I paused for a second to look back towards the bluffs. Teeth like rows of parked cars some hundred feet above contrasted the gray background, bringing back memories of a foggy Manhattan skyline.

A surfers "Hoot!" brought me back from my day dream, and I paddled with purpose, narrowing avoiding the waves peak.

Here are some more links,

SoCal (Picasa),

Out of Reception.

Out of Reception

Following an ongoing theme here on A Restless Transplant, I have a new tumblr I am updating called Out of Reception.  The project started a few years back with photos taken on my iPhone.  From there, it evolved into my Instagram (@fosterhuntington) feed.  The lack of shareability of Instagram photos with none iPhone users prompted me to build a new site to house them.  In addition, I am taking more photos on my year long trip than I know what to do with.  A lot of these photos work their way in to stories here on ART, but some of these orphans need another home.

Out of Reception is a home for these orphan photos and a selection of my Instagram feed.  The format is simple; a photo and a location.

 Elk Lake, OR.

Crater Late, OR.

Updated a few times a day,  Out of Reception will be an on going and much more immediate documentation of my trip.  If you're on Tumblr or into RSS,  go ahead and follow it.  It's a fun medium for me to mess around with.  Also, for all things ART, check out the facebook page here.

Here are some more links,

Out of Reception (.com),

Out of Reception (ART),

A Restless Transplant (Facebook).

Nate Walks America

"I meet all sorts of folks from all over the world," the road worker explained, replacing his burned-out cigarette with a horseshoe of Copenhagen.   "Hell, two days ago, I met this kid that's walking across America."

"No shit?"  I said leaning out of my rolled down window somewhere along US-50 in Nevada.

"Yup.  He started out east in February,  Delaware I think.  Real nice kid, think he's For-rest Gu-mp or something. He walked through here two days ago and I gave him a Gatorade... Things are going fast today, the road should be cleared up in ten minutes," he said walking back towards the next car.

Thirty miles or so after the roadwork,  Dan and I spotted Nate walking along US-50.   Pulling onto the shoulder, we ran over to talk to him.

"Hey man, we hear that you're walking across America!" I said, striking up a conversation that lasted an hour covering topics from leaving our jobs to our roots in Maine (Nate grew up 20 minutes from where Dan and I went to school).

Nate left a comfortable job, a girlfriend and a "big TV" in late February after a year of debate.  "I just had to do it.  It got in my head and it wouldn't leave so I left..." from Delaware with a backpack, a one man tent, a few changes of clothes and enough food and water for two days trip.  Sleeping in campgrounds in the east and in parks and BLM land in the west, Nate marches 25 miles a day across the country. Once in every state, Nate takes a day off, sleeps in a hotel and catches up on emails.  To document his trip,  Nate maintains a website appropriately named Natewalksamerica.com, a Facebook page and a Twitter feed.  He has been at it for seven months.

"In Missouri, I ditched the backpack and ordered this stroller from Walmart.  I had it delivered to a store 100 miles a head.  Total life saver,  Immediately, my daily mileage went up from 15 to 25."  He's also gone through three pairs of shoes and now uses solid rubber innertubes on his Schwinn stroller to avoid flats.  Street Knowledge.

"Are you ready to finish?" Dan asked.

"No,  I love it out here.  I don't want to stop."

"You could always walk around the world," I suggested half joking.

"I have thought about that," he said grinning and scratching his head as if in deep thought.

Offering Nate a cold beer from my cooler he responded,  "No, I have made that mistake to many times.  I am permanently dehydrated and have lost a shitload of weight,  one beer would do me in."

I took his word for it, imagining the dozens of yahoos, like myself, that have offered him a beer as a token of their support.  Saying our goodbyes and exchanging contact info,  Dan and I jumped in the Syncro and hit the road.  In the rear view mirror, I watched Nate take a swig of water and started walking looking off into the rugged Nevada landscape.  Some people have it figured out, I thought to myself, shifting from first to second.

Here are some more links,

Nate Walks Across America (Picasa),

Nate Walks Across America (.com),

Whereisnate (Twitter),

Nate Walks Across America (Facebook).