Davestuff

I’ve done five* truly crazy drives in my life. In no particular order, they are:   ·         Roundtrip from Albany to Baltimore. by back roads (more fun than the interstate), for a party in a Corolla FX16 with two passengers—one 6’6”, one 6’4” (right, Val?). This was not a large car. ·         Roundtrip from NYC to Deal’s Gap in a Caterham. See 1,700 by Se7en. ·         Commuting, every weekend during the summer of 1996, from upstate New York to somewhere in the vicinity of Ashtabula, Ohio, with Merdwin the Mediocre. The best part was when the Plymouth’s engine seized on the Thruway. ·         Leaving Heathrow in a brand new rented Cougar and entering London rush hour traffic, then driving over 3,000 miles though Scotland over the next month. The rental car company had never had a car returned with like mileage, and when I reported it, could at first not be convinced I wasn’t adding an extra zero. ·         Altamont to Mississippi, and back: Back around 1994, I worked bri...

A climber's anthem, ripe for rediscovery In darkened days of strife and fear, When far from home and hold,  I do essay my soul to cheer  As did wise men of old ;  When folk do go in doleful guise  And are for life afraid,  I to the hills will lift mine eyes  From whence doth come mine aid. I shall my soul a temple make Where hills stand up on high ;  Thither my sadness shall I take  And comfort there descry ;  For every good and noble mount  This message doth extend—  That evil men must render count  And evil days must end. For, sooth, it is a kingly sight  To see God's mountain tall  That vanquisheth each lesser height  As great hearts vanquish small ;  Stand up, stand up, ye holy hills,  As saints and seraphs do,  That ye may bear these present ills  And lead men safely through.  Let high and low repair and go To where great hills endure ;  Let strong and weak be there to seek  Their comfort and their cure ;  And for all hills in fair array  Now thanks and blessings give,  An...

Outside magazine, August 1999 Jocko's Rocket Will the car of the future come screaming out of the Mojave desert? By Brad Wetzler N inety miles east of Los Angeles, the San Bernardino Mountains give way to the flat, dusty moonscape of the Mojave Desert. Out here, the only things that stand up to the wind are gnarled Joshua trees and row after row of wildly spinning wind turbines. Continue driving east toward the town of Joshua Tree and you begin to see makeshift homesteads of shaggy-haired drifters living like moles in dug-out caves, plastic tanks discarded by chemical companies, and blue-tarp tents. Nearby, dozens of local eccentrics are hawking their artistry from flimsy plywood booths: miniature cacti welded out of copper, wood-carved jackrabbits, and beaded necklaces. Military jets scream overhead. Welcome to the gritty outskirts of Twentynine Palms, California, the last stop on the planet for deadbeats, loners, and dropouts; one of the few places in the country where $20 can...

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