It seemed that last year I was gone more than at home. I spent a month in the jungle living on a macadamia nut farm in Hawaii, went on a near month long tour with friends COGNITIVE DISSONANCE and SECURICOR, went to Chaos in Tejas, and took a bunch of mini-road trips with friends to punk shows in Chicago, Milwaukee, Madison, etc. Even near Minneapolis I was going camping outside the city and adventuring along the river. Basically, was gallivanting all over my home city and the country just craving new experiences, always wanting more. I'm impatient as hell and cant sit still. I just want to learn, experience, and do. Always on the go, never stopping, never slowing down.
Besides very brief stints in Seattle, WA, Austin, TX, and a small town in Minnesota with my grandparents when I lost my mind, Minneapolis has been home base for my entire existence. I love that city and know it very well, however, even when trying to fight the urge to leave, I knew I was done. Aching for new scenery, bored with the same landscape. Sick of walking into a place, and someone knowing or recognizing me from somewhere. Sick of small talk, bored with the "Do you know so-and-so?" game. I love booking shows, but was sick of peoples judgement when I put myself out there. Was sick of shit talkers, drugs, and the same old boring conversation. Sick of people talking about what could be better, but then never acting on it. Is there a such thing as being too involved? My involvement in community projects, DIY, punk, and activism were exceeding the hours I slept. I didn't sleep. My passion was wearing thin. I needed some time off. Time to think. Time to be alone. Time to get to know myself. Time to re arrange my priorities and gain a new perspective, cuz' even the very full schedule of my life was leaving me empty and lonely at the end of the day.
I didn't want to burn out or grow jaded. I never want to burn out or grow jaded. I hoped to run away long enough I could figure out what I was running from, if anything at all. I didn't know where the fuck I was going, I just knew I needed to get there.
So I gave most of my belongings away, packed the rest up, and left. The last show I booked in Minneapolis was my last night in town. Streetwalker, The Skuds, Nuklear Blast Suntan, and Cognitive Dissonance played a great show. I knew in my heart this would be the last time for maybe a while I would see the people I'm closest with. Tears tried to escape my eyes as hugs from friends diminished. I knew I'd see them again someday. I joined up with NUKLEAR BLAST SUNTAN on their tour for a couple dates and caught a ride with them down South, backpack on my shoulders, living free, destination unknown.
After a near death experience hopping a freight train to Atlanta, I decided I'd switch to hitchhiking for awhile. Hitchhiking through the South was absurd. This was my first legitimate time spent in the South. (Texas and Florida apparently don't count!) It was nightfall when me & this ukelele playing kid I met in a train yard in Augusta, GA got dropped off in backwoods Mississippi after a long day of hitching, all the way from central Alabama. We were wasting time sitting outside a gas station, singing old blues songs, and attempting to score a ride. We were about to go find a spot in the trees near the highway to camp out for the night, when a woman comes out of the Pizza shop nearby and was like, "Ya'll need a place to stay? Ya'll can take a shower and get something to eat at my place!" Without hesitation we agreed. We had to wait a bit for her to get off work, but when she came out again we got in her car and the adventure to where we were staying for the night began. It seemed to be miles and miles of dirt roads, surrounded by swamps and trees, and no lights before we approached her living quarters. We even hit an armadillo on the way. That was the first time I saw one in real life. We got to her house, full moon gleaming bright, thick woods all around, some sort of creature howling in the background, humidity so thick it was like taking a drink of water when you breathed in the air. We approach the door and before we could step inside she says "Wait out here for a minute", and locks the door behind her. Sketchy? Should we get the fuck out of here? What is she doing??! Luckily, for entertainment she had a trampoline in her yard, and we passed the time jumping on that for about a half an hour or so. When she finally comes outside, she invited us in. It was a comfy little cottage with air conditioning and proper sleeping arrangements. She went on to explain she was a lesbian and apologized for taking so long to clean up the mess of dildos that were scattered everywhere from the swingers party she hosted the night before. INTERESTING! Cool! Not a serial killer! Sweet! She had a chocolate fondue fountain and we spent the evening dipping strawberries and pretzels in it, chatting, and she even popped opened a bottle of champagne for us to indulge in. Passing out for a minute it seemed,she woke us up at the crack of dawn, drove us about 40 miles outside of New Orleans and dropped us off. We caught an easy ride again hitching, a straight shot into the French Quarter. Living the life! That ukelele playing boy from West Virginia and I parted ways, and I haven't seen him since. Oh, the friends you meet on the road.
From there, the very open "plan" was going up the West coast, stopping in various cities to visit friends, get to Seattle and do some sea life conservation work, get back to Hawaii, meet up with my best friend and go with him to Indonesia, and eventually meet up with an old friend in Australia whose been studying tropical diseases, being a pirate, and working with indigenous tribes. Basically, was traveling with no intention to stop or slow down as far as I could see it. I was in Austin, Texas, at the comfort of one of my favorite humans, (and his dog!) house, when I woke up to a phone call that for the first time in months made me look back. "We found J.P. dead on the floor, in a pool of vomit this morning.... everyone is freaking out, this is not good." An insane sense of surrealism took over, the only thoughts I had were "WHATTHEFUCK!??? This can't be real!!!!", and "How do I get back home? NOW." It took a few days of bullshit to make enough money for a bus ticket to Minneapolis, but I got there as soon as I could. Needless to say, it was the longest bus ride ever.
