textfiles/magazines/CRASH/crash6.txt

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CRASH        Your guide to travel thru the underground        Jan 1993

"The first person we met in the bar was an old woman with oxygen tubes 
 in her nose to breathe. She was sipping beer through a straw."
                ...and other fun adventures from our 2-month road trip


-----

"A culture cannot be discriminatingly accepted, much less modified,
 except by persons who have seen through it -- by persons who have cut
 holes in the confining stockade of verbalized symbols and so are able
 to look at the world and, by reflection, at themselves in a new and
 relatively unprejudiced way."
    -- Aldous Huxley 


---------
GREETINGS
from the Crash Crew

You realize by now we're not your ordinary travel zine. We get 
sidetracked. And to celebrate our 1-year anniversary, we've made The 
Crash Update bigger, more colorful, and even changed its name.

The process of joining the network has been simplified in response to 
input from our members and also from experience gained on a 2-month 
road trip across the USA. The trip was made to see if a network like 
this could really work, and it was a major success. We stayed with 
people in 21 cities across 18 states, avoiding hotels completely. We 
crashed on beds, couches, futons, in tents, on floors, and enjoyed 
every minute. Nothing can describe the thrill of meeting each of our 
hosts for the first time. The article "Crash Course" is a day-to-day 
journal of this odyssey.

This issue marks the separation of Crash magazine from The Crash 
Network. Now you can join the network and ignore Crash entirely (you 
won't hurt our feelings -- sniff, sniff).


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DEBRIS
Networking and information

* BIKECENTENNIAL, THE BICYCLE TRAVEL ASSOCIATION, publishes *Get Ready 
to Go Mountainbiking,* which lists resorts and ski areas catering to 
mountain bikes, mountain bike festivals, events, clubs, and 
organizations, guidebooks and manuals; and *Bicycle Vacations Guide,* 
which lists domestic and overseas tour operators. $2.50 each from 
Bikecentennial, P.O. Box 8308-P, Missoula, MT 59807 USA.

* And on the subject of bicycling/adventure travel, there's the down-
to-earth magazine KOKOPELLI NOTES. Issue 3 has an upbeat article on 
the invasion of Cuba...by bicycles from China, as well as thoughts on 
the joys of walking, written by Henry Thoreau. Send $3.00 for a sample 
issue to Kokopelli Notes, P.O. Box 1137, Asheville, NC 28816 USA.

* OUT YOUR BACKDOOR, a magazine of informal adventure, has off-beat 
travel info, notes on the Hospitality Experience, many helpful book 
and zine reviews, and a strangely familiar article on freight train 
hopping by Lee. Hmmm... $2.00 to Out Your Backdoor, P.O. Box 2163, Ann 
Arbor, MI 48106 USA.

* GLOBAL EXCHANGE REALITY TOURS organizes tours in Cuba, Mexico, 
Africa, and the U.S., concentrating on learning the language, culture, 
and politics of local peoples. They also publish books, buy and sell 
crafts from third world artistans, host speaking tours, foster 
partnerships between first and third world groups, and conduct human 
rights and public policy campaigns. For more info, write to Global 
Exchange, 2017 Mission St., Suite 303, San Francisco, CA 94110 USA, or 
call (415) 255-7296.

* GREAT EXPEDITIONS MAGAZINE is "committed to sustaining a network of 
travelers, to share their experiences, to encourage socially 
responsible travel, and to increase appreciation of the world, its 
cultures, and environments." The sample issue we received had articles 
on El Tisure, Venezuela, Peru's Taquila Island, Bali, the Himalayas in 
Nepal, and an excerpt from a remarkable book about 6 mens' bicycle 
trip across Siberia (over 7,000 miles). We're talking *out of the way* 
treks here. Truly adventurous types should write to Great Expeditions, 
P.O. Box 18036, Raleigh, NC 27619 USA, or call (919) 846-3600 or (800) 
743-3639.

* Study Russian with a Russian family in Petropavlovsk on the 
Kamchatka Peninsula. At least two hours of private tutoring a day. 
Write RUSSIAN LANGUAGE, 626 Merrill St., Sitka, AK 99835 USA or call 
(907) 747-5553 from 0800-1800 PST.

* AUSTRALIAN ALTERNATIVE COMMUNITIES DIRECTORY describes 41 
intentional communities in Australia that welcome visitors and are 
open to new members. Send $5 to Jo-Anne Ferriera, Australian 
Association of Sustainable Communities (AASC), 142 Agnew St., Norman 
Park, QLD 4170 AUSTRALIA.

* TRANSITIONS ABROAD helps independent-minded travelers plan their own 
kind of overseas adventures: join an expedition, take a professional 
seminar, locate jobs and internships, exchange work for room and 
board, stay with a family, learn a language. Sample $4.50. Write to 
Transitions Abroad, 18 Hulst Rd., P.O. Box 344, Amherst, MA 01004 USA 
or call (413) 256-0373.

* GAIA PASSAGE publishes a newsletter of "evolutionary travel 
information." Issue #4 included travel advisories for Albania and 
Mongolia, references to publications about communal and sustainable 
living, air courier travel, and various international travel 
resources. Back issues are $4. Write to Gaia Passage, Cullowhee, NC 
28723-2589 USA.

* MEDIA ACTION KIT ("Do it yourself publicity"). Access to talk shows, 
mailing lists, press packets, etc. Send a 29c stamp to Media 
Distribution Co-Op, 1745 Louisiana St., Lawrence KA 66044.

* WANTED: Old shock machines, quack medical devices, violet-rays, 
electro-treat. Collector wants to buy old 3" and 7" electrostatic TVs 
made before 1950. Pilot, Emerson, Dumont, Halicrafters, Motorola, RCA, 
also projection sets. Write to Steve Chekey, P.O. Box 39, Litchfield, 
OH 44253 USA or call (216) 723-2758.

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CRASH COURSE

by Miles Poindexter

****************
Saturday 10/3/92

We wanted to leave at 8:00 am but due to the fact that we left 
everything to the last minute we got going around 12:00.

We reached Los Angeles in about 7 hours, with only one stop to eat 
some food in a scenic gas station parking lot, next to the bathrooms 
and dumpsters, looking at an oil storage tank in the hazy distance.

Steve and Suzy welcomed us into their huge loft in downtown L.A. that 
was in a converted warehouse. It was hard to consider this the 
beginning of our road trip, since I was still in California. The high 
point of the visit was going to Millie's Cafe and seeing my friends' 
band on the jukebox!

**************
Sunday 10/4/92

Chloride, Arizona! Population approx. 300, looks like. We stayed with 
a progressively minded person named Stanfield Major. He edits 
*Touchpoint,* a networking zine for non-monogamous couples.

We got some food at the one general store and later went to Wheelers, 
one of 2 bars in town. A round of Old Milwaukee for 3 of us cost only 
$2.25. Unfortunately, it was also the only beer on tap. We played some 
pool but broke the pool table from sinking the cue ball so much. The 
table just stopped returning it to us. I guess it got stuck somewhere 
inside.

Needless to say, Chloride was a little weird. The first person we met 
in the bar was an old woman with oxygen tubes in her nose to breathe. 
She was sipping beer through a straw. After a friendly "hello," the 
manager of the general store talked to us about how 2 people had just 
been murdered at Grasshopper Junction, a campsite near Chloride. We 
set up our tents in Stan's yard, next to the cactuses and fell asleep 
early.

**************
Monday 10/5/92

Woke up at 7:00 am to get an early start to the Grand Canyon, and met 
the talkative general store manager again. This time he told us there 
had been 6 police cars around Wheelers last night. The sheriff had 
even come into the bar to ask questions because some townsfolk had 
decided to run someone out of town. I'm glad we were only staying one 
night or they might have run us out next. I don't know how we slept 
through the whole thing since we were camped in Stanfield's yard right 
across the street from Wheelers.

We did manage to glimpse the murals of Chloride which is what the town 
is known for. I thought they were going to be ancient native 
paintings, but they were painted 20 years ago by some guy on acid.

We headed to the Grand Canyon. We hiked along the southern rim and ate 
some sandwiches of cheese and dry coleslaw that we made sitting at a 
beautiful vista about 4 feet from the edge. The canyon looks great 
during the day, but as dusk falls it starts turning grey and appears 
kind of sinister. It started to remind me of the domain of Morder from 
*The Hobbit.* I wouldn't want to be down there at night, kind of like 
being caught in a giant grave. The stars must look amazing from down 
there since the walls cut off all the earth light. Weird that one 
would see farther out into the edge of the Milky Way by descending 
into the earth.

After watching the sunset from Hopi Point, we drove to Flagstaff and 
crashed at the house of the band Primitive Tribes. Sasha, Sandy, Shaun 
and Fred book their own tours, make their own tapes and bumper 
stickers, and do their own international distribution.

***************
Tuesday 10/6/92

Drove all day to Albuquerque, passed a sign for "Route 666 -- South." 
Scary. Lots of American cars on the road in the midwest. Why? Just 
because they're "made in the USA?" More scary. We had lunch at a 
restaurant in the Old Town that was way too expensive, and nothing for 
vegetarians either. We were supposed to crash with someone named Anton 
Mechanism, but he hadn't left a phone number, so I tried calling for 
info, and the operator laughed at the name Mechanism after making me 
spell it. They didn't have it.

So we drove right to his address and I knocked on the door of Anton, a 
complete stranger. There was a long silence and then he opened the 
door, buttoning his shirt. He was groggy since he had been napping but 
remembered my letter and invited us in. It was 8:30 at night and he 
was just about to go to a show with the band Miracle Legion. So Bojo 
and I bought some dark beer (Anton's favorite) and we got to talking. 
Anton's zine is called *Noise in the Void.* He's also busy studying 
anthropology and Celtic history. On his wall there were some beautiful 
gothic portraits of women he had done using colored pencils, crayon, 
lipstick and eye shadow. He has a rather large collection of pet 
chameleons (he corrected us when we called them lizards).

Later, at the club, Bojo met a girl named Tammy, who had just been 
living in L.A. and sang in a band. I met a girl, Marilyn, who 
exchanged phone numbers with me. Later we went to a 24-hour cafe 
called Frontier and I saw someone that I thought had gone to India on 
a spiritual journey of some sort. But here he was in Albuquerque 
hanging out with his mom's boyfriend asking me if I had any pot. I 
didn't.

Next day I called Marilyn and we went for coffee and food, then thrift 
shopping. We visited Old Town again and realized what a tourism 
wasteland it is. Later we went to see a strange movie called 
*Delicatessen* at a theatre on Central Ave. There're many good looking 
shops and cafes on this street, as well as the campus of University of 
New Mexico. After the movie we went to Joe's Bar to meet Bojo and 
Lesley and everyone. Anton said there was a club called Beyond 
Ordinary that had industrial dance music, so we went there. It was fun 
dancing to Jane's Addiction and Nine Inch Nails but there wasn't much 
heavy stuff, or even new. So we checked the live band at the other end 
of the club. They were playing on a stage literally 9 feet up! You 
could hurt your neck trying to watch them up close. We left Bojo and 
Tammy at the club and Lesley crashed at Anton's while I slept over 
Mariyln's.

The next morning we got up too late to see the International Hot Air 
Balloon Festival and then Marilyn kept saying she hated goodbyes and 
wouldn't get out of bed when I got up to leave.

****************
Thursday 10/8/92

When I got to Anton's, everyone was still asleep, but the strange 
thing was that Bojo was asleep on Anton's bed, and Anton was on the 
floor next to Lesley. When Lesley and Anton woke up they told me that 
Bojo had come home very late and very drunk from the club. He been 
lying on Anton's bed telling them how he had gotten lost and ended up 
in one of the most dangerous sections of the city and was trying to 
call a cab on a pay phone covered with blood when someone in a pick-up 
truck drove up and asked him "What the hell was he doing in this part 
of town?!" The guy was very helpful once he heard Bojo's story and 
drove him to Anton's. Bojo passed out on the bed after a few minutes 
and no one could wake him. Luckily, Anton wasn't mad about sleeping on 
the floor and even invited us to visit again on the way back.

Next stop was the Peace Farm which is just north of Amarillo, Texas. 
We got there late afternoon and soon realized it was completely 
deserted. I guess that's why it was so peaceful. There were 2 trailers 
and 2 tiny houses on the lot. We found one trailer was unlocked so we 
just...kind of...explored. Someone had sent a letter to us telling us 
people could crash in the "guest trailer" at the Peace Farm so we 
figured this was the one. There were dirty dishes in the sink and 
rotting food in the fridge. It was as if somebody had left a few days 
ago, or maybe some one came and killed whoever was here and the body 
was buried in the yard. It was hard to keep our imaginations from 
dredging up scenarios from all the slasher films we had seen. As night 
approached and the cold wind started moaning outside, we decided to 
all sleep in the living room instead of separately in the bedrooms. I 
began to wonder if this trailer was some kind of lure for innocent 
hippies who would be hacked to death in their sleep and later eaten, 
kind of like a giant man-made Venus Fly Trap. There was a TV and VCR, 
bathroom facilities, and free food. It was too good to be real.

2 hours later a car drove up to the other trailer and our hostess soon 
came over to say "Hi" and we were relieved to see that she didn't have 
a butcher knife with her. Mavis welcomed us graciously and remembered 
exactly who we were from our letter. She even stayed to watch "Star 
Trek -- The Next Generation" with us. (I still like the old one.) I 
have a habit of asking questions constantly during a TV show and 
talking too much so I almost got kicked out of the living room. The 
next day we dug a compost hole for Mavis and dumped all the rotting 
food from the fridge in it. That was our contribution for our lodging. 
The Peace Farm is a a great idea.

**************
Friday 10/9/92

The first thing of note to see upon entering Oklahoma was a highway 
sign that said "Hitchhikers may be escaping inmates." What a pleasant 
state. But then again, we had been warned.

So you want to visit Norman, OK? Well, make sure you buy your alcohol 
before 9:00 pm, because after that, you can't. Don't bother drinking 
the domestic beer, it's all 1/2 the normal alcohol content so it will 
make you piss a lot and not much else. Because of the weakness of 
Budweiser and it's counterparts, most Oklahomians seeking fun turned 
to the other bud, the green bud. But then the Oklahoma government 
cracked down on that because it became the state's #1 cash crop. So 
it's not as easy to get as it was a few years ago, but it's still 
pretty cheap.

We were very lucky that Mark has a friendly room-mate, because when we 
arrived at his door, Mark wasn't home and had not told Kevin that we 
were coming! They had no phone so we couldn't have called ahead 
either. But they both work on Dachau, a zine about the Oklahoma music 
scene so Kevin invited us in when I mentioned this zine.

He was eating army ration food which looked pretty gross, and started 
telling us about how he was sent to Kuwait during the Gulf War. It was 
upsetting to know that one can be taken out of college and sent 
overseas for a stupid oil skirmish even though one is only in the Army 
Reserves. Kevin had been going to boot camp only one weekend per month 
in order to pay for college and they had sent him to war. The Army 
also gave him some kind of experimental shot in case Iraq used 
biological weapons. He was still having side effects, which included 
intermittent bleeding gums and hair loss. I guess the Army really is 
an adventure.

We got to hear a tape of our band on his $1500 stereo and it actually 
sounded good for once. Then Bojo and I bought some 40-ounce malt 
liquors and drank them with no noticeable effect at all. Luckily, 
Kevin met a friend of his at a cafe where we went for coffee and she 
invited us to a party where there was a giant bottle of tequila 
flowing. The cafe was on Asp Street, near Oklahoma University. This 2 
block strip of stores and caf<61>s is where a lot of students hang out.

Most bands coming through Oklahoma play in Norman because it is a big 
college town. It's also one of the cheapest places to live. The house 
Kevin and Mark live in with 3 bedrooms was only $230/month. I can't 
even find one bedroom in a flat for that price in San Francisco.

*****************
Saturday 10/10/92

Dallas was hell. Well, I'm sure that's a far too generalized judgement 
of a city so let's just say that on this particular day, for this 
particular person, Dallas was hell. I'll sum up this experience up 
with a brief list of the top ten things that went wrong in the big 
"D."

1. Roxy, the person whom we we're to crash with, was out of town and 
didn't tell his son we might be coming. We did get to see his front 
porch and it was fun and funky with all kinds of Native artwork and 
artifacts. Roxy is of Choctaw descent and we would still love to meet 
him someday because he wrote us a cool letter.

2. John Held, Jr., our back-up crashee, was also not home when I 
called.

3. Oklahoma State and Univ. of Texas were playing a football game the 
day we arrived. This college game is such a big rivalry that people 
come from all around and just party in Dallas the whole weekend. Many 
residents just leave town cause there're so many drunk, annoying frat 
types from out-of-town that invade their local bars. (Maybe our 
Crashees left town for this reason?)

4. The Texas State Fair was also happening which meant more obnoxious 
people, lots of traffic, and no parking anywhere.

5. Easy Street, the club where we wanted to go to see a show, and 
maybe meet someone cool who would offer us their floor for the night, 
had been closed down for good about 3 weeks ago.

6. I dropped my address book in a puddle of urine, in a parking lot 
near a dumpster, where I guess a bunch of drunk assholes had been 
pissing.

7. The phone took 85 cents from me and then botched my call to my aunt 
and uncle in Houston. They were our next crash pad and we were 
thinking of driving down there that night and just skipping Dallas.

8. I almost hit a cop on the highway leaving Dallas. I was about to 
enter the left lane, so I looked in my mirror and started to go left, 
when I had to swerve back just in time to get out of the way of a 
speeding state trooper with no siren or flashing lights that whizzed 
by at something near 100 mph. There were too many highway patrols out 
this night because of the big events. We saw 4 people pulled off the 
road in 5 minutes of driving.

9. The bar we went into had some horrible English motif, right down to 
the bartender's limey accent, and beers were $3.50 each, way too 
expensive for us, and one was warm.

10. We got lost trying to leave. The map we had didn't show any 
streets that we needed.

The one good store we found was Direct Hit Records, owned by Kelly 
Keys.

***************
Sunday 10/11/92

Arrived in Houston at 12:30 am so I guess it was the beginning of our 
"Sunday" even though we went right to sleep. My uncle put us up in his 
huge house. We each had our own bed and got a really good sleep. Uncle 
Emmett was so gracious, even after having to wait up for us pretty 
late. In the morning, after long, leisurely showers, I called my 
cousin Trey who also lived in Houston and we went to visit him. The 
city of Houston is very modern and very expensive. It just seems to 
have no character and no respect for its own history. They didn't 
preserve one historical building that I could see. Nothing but half-
empty sky scrapers built during the oil boom. Anyway, it was great to 
see Trey now that he was divorced from that neo-Republican woman he 
had met at Texas A&M. Trey was always too intelligent to fall into the 
trap of ultra-conservative thought for very long, and it was nice to 
see him back among the living. He showed us Madonna's video on his 
giant screen TV with sense-surround stereo, then we headed for New 
Orleans.

***************
Monday 10/12/92

Most of the highway in Louisiana is on bridges over swampland. The 
swamps are beautiful with trees and lush foliage growing in greenish 
water. Our host had been living in New Orleans for 10 years and was an 
amazing source of information about this beautiful old city. Michael 
is a painter and his girlfriend is a sculptor. His house is a giant 2 
bedroom flat that rents for only $200/month. We slept in the living 
room on a spare futon he had and the next day explored the French 
Quarter. The Voodoo Museum sucked. They wanted $5.00 just to let us in 
(it's very small) and everything in the shop was overpriced. The 
streets in the Quarter look like someplace in Europe. It's very old 
architecture and a lot of intricately detailed iron work adorns the 
buildings, with vines and other plant life growing throughout.

We didn't have much money so we visited a couple of thrift stores. 
Many of the cheapest ones are on Magazine Street. We also drove by the 
mansion of Anne Rice, which was two huge houses combined into one. 
There were many burned out, empty buildings throughout New Orleans. 
Many people had left during the economic recession/depression of the 
last 3 years in which this city had been hit very hard. The Cajun 
accent sounds a lot like the Brooklyn accent in New York City. We hit 
many clubs and some good, inexpensive food places. Too many to go into 
detail about so I'll just list as many as I can.

R. C. BRIDGE LOUNGE -- 120 Magazine St. (live entertainment)

COUNTRY FLAME -- 620 Iberville/near Royal (Mexican/Cuban)

GUMBO SHOP -- 630 St. Peter/near Bourbon St. (Cajun)

COOP'S -- 1109 Decatur/near St. Philip (Cajun)

RUE DE LA COURSE -- Magazine St./near Race St. (cafe, there are many 
shops on Magazine)

CAFE BRAZIL and CAFE ISTANBUL -- Frenchman/near Chartres

CHECKPOINT CHARLIES -- Esplanade/near Decatur (24-hr. bar with bands)

KAGANS -- Decatur/near St. Philip ($3 pitchers of beer and rock&roll 
crowd)

TIPITINAS -- Napoleon St./near Tchoupitoulas (bands)

TINAS -- St. Claude St./near Spain St. (great food. 2 pancakes and 2 
eggs for $1.55)

BENNY'S -- Camp St./near Valence (bar with bands -- no cover)

THE HUMMINGBIRD -- 804 St. Charles/near Julia (24-hr. restaurant, 
cheap food)

******************
Wednesday 10/14/92

Some license plates in this state look like this: LoUiSiAna. Get it?

I finally found a present for my mother's birthday, so now I could 
relax. I really hate buying presents for people because there's no way 
to know if they'll like it. It drives me crazy because I want to get 
something unique, but then again my mother has no where near my taste 
in weirdness. I got her a hammock.

We tried some Cajun cooking at Coop's. It wasn't nearly as spicy as I 
expected, but there was always "Louisiana Hot Sauce" on the table to 
fix that. 

*****************
Thursday 10/15/92

We found 64oz. bottles of malt liquor and you might say "big whoop, 24 
ounces more than a 40oz," right? But they were so big and under $3.00 
each that we were fascinated by the prospect of drinking a whole one 
so Bojo and I bought 2. We even saved one of the bottles to bring home 
with us. Of course we got plastered and then went to eat at a ritzy 
looking restaurant called The Gumbo Shop. I was trying to eat my gumbo 
(which is a soup with lots of rice and parts of crab with the shell 
intact), but my head was just spinning faster and faster. What happens 
on the road is that I don't eat much since money is very tight and 
there's not always enough time to eat 3 meals a day and still see the 
sights. So I drank a lot of malt liquor on an empty stomach. I went to 
the bathroom and puked, then sat on the toilet seat and tried to get 
my head to stop spinning. Bojo finally came to get me after 15 minutes 
and they guided me out of the restaurant to the street. I was 
staggering drunk and don't remember much. They told me that they had 
to get my wallet from my pocket and extract the money I owed for my 
dinner. So remember, unless you want this to happen to you, drink 
about half as much as you normally would on the road.

***************
Friday 10/16/92

We stayed with Dale Ashemun, who's a member of The World for Free, a 
great underground network run by Mykel Board out of New York City. 
Dale has one of the biggest collection of comic art and erotica 
fiction that I've ever seen, and writes for *Psychotronic* magazine. I 
don't know what he thinks of us since we spent a lot of time in his 
apartment reading his sex books instead of seeing the city. Dale 
talked of his friendships with Lydia Lunch (Bojo's favorite) and Annie 
Sprinkle. One night we all sat on his bed and watched a video Tracy 
Lords made when she was 16.

It was great to feel the humidity of New Orleans after the dryness of 
California, a state which I see as a developing desert. New Orleans 
has a lush, sultry vibe to it, and a tinge of danger also. Too hot for 
me to ever live here, though; I'm glad we visited in October since it 
was milder weather.

We left today for Memphis, Tennessee, which took about 6-1/2 hours. We 
ate at Babylon, a vegetarian/natural restaurant that was too 
expensive. Later we went to Shangri-La, the record store of Eric and 
Sherman on Madison St., our crash pad for the next 2 nights.

Shangri-La is truly a little paradise. I bought a new tape of Gang of 
Four's greatest hits with 20 songs on it for $5.00. Stop in this store 
when you get into Memphis to find out what shows are happening in 
town. Friday night we went to see 3 bands at a club called Barristers. 
The first band was OK. The second band was technically good but they 
were musicians without a song, just hollow wanking. The third band, 
The Grifters, was intense. This was their first show in many months. 
They had nearly broken up because the bass player and guitarist liked 
the same girl, and she was married to the drummer! So much of the 
emotion they were feeling came across very powerfully live.

*****************
Saturday 10/17/92

Bojo and Lesley went to Graceland and I spent 2 hours in Sherman's an 
isolation tank. This is a tank of water that's so pumped with heavy 
salts that your body will float on top of it. It's also windowless so 
its completely black inside. After a while it feels like just floating 
in a void; almost total sensory deprivation. One either falls asleep, 
or goes on a journey inside their head.

My mind was cluttered with so much trivial bullshit from living in the 
city with all its distractions that I could not hang onto a single 
thought. My brain just kept wandering. When I was young I could get so 
absorbed in something like a drawing that I could work on it for a 
week straight. I had focus. And now I think I've lost it, and without 
focus, creative ideas will remain just that: ideas. I'd been slowly 
realizing this over the past months and one of the reasons I went on 
this trip was to explore smaller, quieter environs where I could get 
involved in my music without interruption. The city is a great place 
if you want to get swept away, almost like an amusement park of life. 
But right now I need to get away for a while.

That night we went to the Antenna Club and saw five bands for $5.00. 
There were many punk rockers there, since the club allowed anyone 18 
and up to enter. And I guess its not enforced too well because a lot 
of punks looked younger than 18. Very cool scene, but Eric told me 
these shows are very rare. Beers in the club were only $1.00 per can.

***************
Sunday 10/18/92

Went to see Al Green, the soul singer turned preacher, sing at his 
church. There was a great gospel choir singing when we arrived, 
accompanied by a piano, drums, bass, guitar and organ. Then Al Green 
came out and started in with a very upbeat message about how everyone 
is blessed to be alive no matter how bad things get. Then he would 
keep breaking into a gospel song right in the middle of a sentence. 
The band would always catch on right away and start rockin' with him. 
Then Al would build it up and start shout-singing and running around 
the pulpit. Gradually the music would speed up and one by one, women 
in the audience would jump up and start writhing and gyrating in these 
spiritual orgasms. One woman was screaming at the top of her lungs and 
crying in ecstasy, like at a Beatles show. There were attendants 
(ushers) running around and surrounding people who were freaking out 
to keep them from hurting themselves or others, but never interfering 
with their convulsions. Sometimes a person would break free and run 
around the church, dancing and spinning wildly, and the ushers would 
have to chase them. Meanwhile Al Green was still screaming uplifting 
chants while his band was jamming full volume at a frantic pace. 
Finally he would stop and everyone would get to sit down and rest for 
a while. Actually, this 3-1/2 hour spectacle of spiritual fervor blew 
away the punk rock show the night before. We got into our car 
afterwards feeling strangely invigorated for our 14 hour drive to 
Raleigh, North Carolina.

***************
Monday 10/19/92

Drove all Sunday across Tennessee, and over the Appalachian mountains 
in North Carolina. We got into Raleigh at 5:00 in the morning. It was 
too early to contact our crashee so we looked for a coffee shop. We 
passed one that had only men dressed in overalls with pick-up trucks 
parked outside and drove on. I stopped at a phone to look for 24 hour 
joints in the yellow pages and found an International House of 
Pancakes. So we went there to eat and Bojo and I drank 3 cups of 
coffee each. Finally, at 7:45 am with the waitress about to kick us 
out, I called Alice to get directions to her house. We got there at 
8:00 and Lesley crashed on the couch while Bojo and I decided to just 
stay awake until Monday night (the coffee helped).

Alice and Bill are in a band called Wild Child so we talked and played 
tapes of each others band. We were only half awake so everything was 
kind of foggy, like a natural mind altering effect. We walked around 
town to get fresh, cold October air in our lungs, and had more coffee 
at the only coffee shop in Raleigh, Cup-A-Joes on Hillsborough St. The 
prices were OK, considering the lack of competition, with 75 cent 
house coffee and 65 cent day old baked goods.

NC State Univ. accounts for the myriad of students walking around 
here. And there's actually a few other colleges in this rather large 
city. One of them is The Peace College.

We watched the final presidential debates that night. I thought Ross 
Perot was the winner, just because he said "It'll be fun!" I want a 
t-shirt saying "Ross Perot for President...It'll be fun!" It's a 
brilliant slogan. Afterwards we went to Nurs, a Greek food place with 
pita bread filled with falafel and hummus and vegetables for $1.75. I 
laid my sleeping bag out after I got back and fell asleep in about 3 
minutes.

****************
Tuesday 10/20/92

Lesley announced that she hated sleeping in stranger's living rooms 
and wanted out. She was going to She was going to fly back to San 
Francisco when we got to New York City. A trip like this isn't for 
everyone. I personally have been loving it so far, but Lesley wasn't. 
The most important thing for me during this trip was the interaction 
between the people we stayed with. Lesley was more interested in 
seeing the "sights," and considered crashing a necessary evil in order 
to save money.

She accused me of running the whole trip like a dictator, and dragging 
her and Bojo along wherever I went. But I argued that I was just 
following our host around and doing what they wanted as their guest, 
and also because I'd rather hang out and get to know them than walk 
around touristy spots in a city. As usual the truth lies somewhere in 
between.

Maybe something will work out. I'm not going to make any plans or 
decisions about my future until this trip is over.

******************
Wednesday 10/21/92

Last night we slept at the beautiful house of Sonar Strange. I had 
called her Tuesday afternoon to tell her we were in Raleigh, and she 
said she had already seen us. Turns out we had walked into the store 
she was working at and she was sure right away we were from out of 
town but was too shy to ask us our names.

Today we were invited by Alice and Bill to go with them to an open 
mike night and play a song or two. We went to their rehearsal space 
and borrowed some instruments to practice with since we didn't bring 
any with us. Around 10:00 pm we went to Easy Street with Bill and 
Alice to sign up to perform. Every band that performed before and 
after us was a lame clich<63>d blues-progression, sloppy, guitar soloing 
mess. It was like a musicians' graveyard. We did our 2 songs and the 
audience actually clapped! I was surprised but happy. They thought we 
were weird though. Afterwards, while I was watching Alice and Bill's 
band, a guy came up to me and said he really loved my drumming and 
asked me if I played a lot of jazz. I said, "No." Then he said he was 
really looking for a drummer. So I told him I lived in San Francisco 
and the commute to rehearsal would be rough. Then he says he had a 
really weird band and needed a drummer to keep up with their 
experimental style. Realizing that nothing I was saying was sinking 
into his dimly lit mind, I asked what "weird" musical influences he 
had? "Oh, uh, like Led Zeppelin mixed with Pink Floyd, with a little 
bit of fusion thrown it." he said. At this point I just kind of went 
"Oh" and mumbled something about looking for him if I moved to 
Raleigh, then turned around and tried to ignore him. After Wild Child 
finished, we left for Sonar's and fell asleep watching *Sisters,* an 
old Brian DePalma movie.

*****************
Thursday 10/22/92

Went to Cup-A-Joes again and read papers about the coming elections. 
Then ate at a Chinese restaurant with luncheon specials for only 
$3.00. Sonar's band was playing that night at The Brewery so we went 
early to the club to get in free and brought beer for the band.

After sound check things got slow so we all went to someone's house to 
smoke. Little did I suspect that in little-ol-Raleigh I was about to 
see my very first real-live crack pipe. I was fascinated by the scene. 
After someone did a hit on the crack, the other person would say 
"shotgun me" which meant, put your mouth up to mine and blow the smoke 
into my lungs. I declined a hit on the crack pipe but went for a bong 
hit. 2 guys started flirting with me when they found out I was from 
San Francisco, so I started talking about womens' bodies in loving 
terms until they recoiled in horror. One of them said, "I love women 
to death, honey, but I just don't like their body parts," and we all 
broke out laughing.

Back at the club Sonar asked me to videotape her band but I was 
buzzing from beer and bud so I kept tilting the camera back and forth 
trying to get the proper "Batman" angle like the TV show used whenever 
they showed the bad guys. I hope they liked it.

***************
Friday 10/23/92

Drove to Chapel Hill and walked around lost until a girl came up to us 
and asked us if we were lost. It turns out we were on the main avenue 
but in the wrong section. We talked with her for a while and she gave 
us her phone number and told us she was going dancing with friends 
that night. Her name was Lesley also. Then we visited a store called 
The Internationalist on 408 W. Rosemary St. with lots of zines and 
books.

I called our crashee, the editor of *Ransom St. Magazine,* but found 
out he was in the hospital for leukemia treatments. I was sad when I 
found out and I hope he's feeling better.

Not wanting to go back to Raleigh, we decided to meet Lesley at the 
Dance club and see if she or one of her friends would let us crash. 
The club was in Durham so we headed there and found 9th St. which had 
some nice shops. One record store was called Poindexter Records so I 
showed the manager my driver's license and talked him into giving me a 
free shirt, just because it was my last name.

Our Lesley wanted to go back to Raleigh. I said No Way, I'm not 
passing up a chance to meet some cool new people just because there's 
some risk of not finding a place to crash. Deep down I knew someone 
would let us crash, but God forbid we face an unknown future for a few 
hours! Corny, huh? But I made my point. We met the other Lesley and 2 
of her friends, Martin and Rich. As it turned out, Martin was a member 
of the Crash Network also! The rest of the night was spent dancing at 
The Power Station, the only dance club in Durham, or so the attitude 
of the door guy would have us believe. We danced until after 2:00 am 
and then Rich let us crash at his house since Martin had to get up 
early.

*****************
Saturday 10/24/92

Went to breakfast and then a goodbye kiss with Lesley (from Chapel 
Hill) ended up being followed by a couple more kisses while we sat on 
the hood of Rodney (my car). I guess we liked each other more than we 
thought. I gave her my phone number of where we were staying in New 
Jersey since she was going to be in NYC visiting friends around the 
same time.

We drove to Rockville, Maryland, which is right outside of Washington, 
DC. Since we didn't have the phone number of Amelia G., we drove right 
to her house, which she affectionately called "Cambodia." She and her 
husband Forrest answered the door after our knock. They were a bit 
wary of our video camera (which was filming), but after the initial 
shock, she remembered who we were and invited us in.

Amelia G. is the editor of *Black Leather Times* and *Blue Blood* and 
she and Forrest are great people. We went to a party with them and got 
to meet a lot of the DC black leather crowd. I also got to check out a 
lot of sex and horror literature laying around Amelia's office. Fun!

***************
Sunday 10/25/92

Went to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History and the Air and 
Space Museum. But before that we saw the Lincoln Monument which 
elevates Abraham to Roman GOD status. This thing was big! Near it is 
the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial. It is in the shape of a "V." In the 
60's the "V" sign made with one's fingers meant "peace." Is there a 
correlation here? Anyway, I don't need to tell you there's plenty to 
see in DC, I mean, the whole city is a shrine to something. So I'll 
just say we saw as much as we could and then headed to New Jersey that 
night.

****************************************
Monday 10/26/92 through Tuesday 11/10/92

Well, we stayed in New Jersey in my home town until Tuesday, November 
10th, when we went to Boston, Massachusetts for 3 days. I'll keep my 
account of our stay here brief since a lot of it was family stuff that 
would only be interesting to me.

Lesley left for NYC and took a flight back to San Francisco.

My grandfather was away on a cruise so we "house-sat" in his home 
until our trip to Boston. His house is over 100 years old and inside 
was like an antique furniture museum. We soon figured out how to use 
the VCR and stereo and electric stair-chair which went up and down the 
stairs at about 10 feet per minute.

We took a two day trip to see my sister, her husband, their new house, 
2 cars, 2 dogs and my 2-1/2 month old niece in Betham, Connecticut.

We went into NYC just about every day since all we had to do was drive 
to Hoboken, NJ, park for free and take the PATH subway train under the 
Hudson River into downtown Manhattan for $1.00.

We saw the Guggenheim and Metropolitan museums, Central Park, the top 
of the World Trade Center and Soho. It cost $4.00 to take an elevator 
to the 107th floor observation deck at WTC, but one could stay as long 
as one wanted. We stayed until the sunset. The Guggenheim is a strange 
looking museum designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and inside was a great 
show featuring Russian art during the time of the Bolshevik 
Revolution.

At night we ate at St. Marks Pizza and walked around the village. Most 
of the bars were expensive except for The Ale House on Barrow St. 
(near West 4th Street and 7th Ave.) where mugs of beer were $1.00 on 
Monday night, Sophies on 5th St. near Ave. A where dark and light beer 
is $1.00 per mug every night, and Phoebes on 3rd Ave. near CBGB's 
where one can get a pitcher of Bass Ale all night for $5.50.

Lesley, the girl we met in North Carolina, came up and met us in NYC a 
few times with her friends she was staying with. She and I held each 
other and kissed a lot in museums and walking around "The Village."

We met up with Mykel Board who lives in a great location in Manhattan 
near Broadway. We talked about his network (The World for Free) and 
mine. Hopefully, we can combine our resources in the near future.

The parade on Halloween night had the air of a Mardi Gras festival. It 
was so crowded I was crushed. Lesley invited us to a party in Brooklyn 
but we had very little money. We stayed in Manhattan to see a $3.00 
show at the Continental, but the bands were lame. Many artists live in 
Brooklyn because it's cheaper so I urge you to check it out when you 
visit New York City.

Bojo and I bartended for my mother's birthday party. There were over 
100 people in my parents' house so we were quite busy making drinks. 
The most popular was orange juice, cranberry juice, and Vodka on the 
rocks. I didn't remember a lot of people who seemed to know me. 
Towards the end of the party Bojo and I inhaled the helium from some 
balloons and sang "Happy Birthday" to my mother like a couple of 
chipmunks. A couple of guests seemed fascinated.

It was CMJ (College Music Journal) week in NYC. When this event comes 
to town, every club suddenly charges 3 times what they do normally to 
see bands, and the bands are usually premier underground acts from all 
over the world. So we were drinking at Phoebe's one night cause we 
couldn't afford to get into CBGB's and we met 2 people from 
Massachusetts who were in NYC for CMJ. Christine and Todd went to 
college at Stonehill (near Boston) and she was General Manager at the 
radio station there. They invited us to visit them next week so...we 
did!

****************
Tuesday 11/10/92

Arrived at Stonehill College and found out Christine lives in an all-
girl wing of her dorm. So we set up sleeping bags in the lounge, 
surrounded by 5 bedrooms with 2 girls in each. Luckily, none of them 
were bothered by our presence. In fact, by the third day, some of them 
were walking by us to the bathroom, dressed in only a towel.

We bought some Arctic Bay beer which was $7.00 for 12 bottles. At 
night we drove into Boston (about 25 minutes away) and tried to go 
dancing at Axis on Landsdowne St. But when we got there I guess the 
doormen took offense to our appearance because we waited outside for 
40 minutes while they let in all their friends and any cute girls. 
Christine had to meet 2 friends inside so we waited until they let her 
in, and then Bojo and I headed next door to Bill's, a very cool bar 
where we got in for free, and met some people who weren't "too cool" 
to talk with us. We also found out we had just missed a band while we 
were waiting outside at the other club. Unfortunately, Bill's closes 
at 2:15 am so our night was cut short.

******************
Wednesday 11/11/92

The next day Christine told us one of her DJs was sick and asked if 
we'd like to do a 3 hour radio show! So we picked out all the 
gothic/dance/industrial we could find and did the "Hippi-Witch Hour." 
Every time we talked between songs I played the *The Exorcist* 
soundtrack in the background. Later, Christine bought us food at the 
cafeteria and we headed to Boston again. Newbury Street has the most 
shops and is a beautiful street with restored brownstones. Most of 
this city is a collage of old-meets-new architecture and it is 
strangely clean.

The store to see on Newbury was Greenman Gargoyles, Grotesques, and 
Chimeras where there are miniature and full size replicas of gothic 
gargoyles from cathedrals. The store is dark and decorated sparsely 
with dead leaves. Over the speakers one might hear a monk choir or 
haunting piano music played by one of the store's owners. The 
miniature gargoyles start at $6.00 so I got one called a "house 
protector." There are also postcards and framed photos of stone 
gargoyles on Notre-Dame cathedral in Paris. 

The freedom trail is a red stripe painted on the sidewalk that starts 
at the Boston Commons and takes you through the city to many 
historical sights including the home of Paul Revere and the site of 
the Boston Tea Party. The home of Benjamin Franklin (one of my heroes) 
was nowhere to be found, even though it was marked on the map. I kept 
thinking that for a country founded on revolution, we tend to be a 
pretty docile crowd these days.

Walking from the south end of Boston to the Italian sector on the 
other side of the city and back again wore us out, so we had some 
coffee at The Other Side, a new caf<61> on Newbury St. They had wheat 
grass shots to offer if one was brave enough.

Back at Stonehill, we relaxed while drinking Boston's "home brew" 
Samuel Adams. Christine had been the ultimate tour guide.

*****************
Thursday 11/12/92

Went into Boston one more time and walked around to our favorite spots 
and tried a slice of pizza with tortellini on it at Trio's, a 
restaurant in the North End, which is the Italian sector. If you go 
there, make sure you say hello to Louie -- Trio's friendly owner. Then 
we headed back to New Jersey, a 4 hour drive which goes through 5 
states.

***************
Friday 11/13/92

This Friday we had some bad luck, but it was a fun night in NYC 
anyway. We went to Wall St. to see all the strange people in 3-piece 
suits running around and stuffing hot-dogs into their faces. Then we 
walked from the World Trade Center through Soho to Greenwich Village. 
It seems in Soho that every other person is a tourist and all I can 
ask is, "Why Soho?" It's just an overly expensive neighborhood filled 
with trendy clothes stores and art galleries that show stagnant art 
work destined for the walls of corporate buildings. All the artists 
that lived there and made it a thriving community have moved out long 
ago because their rents went through the roof. (Many moved to 
Brooklyn.)

So, anyway, we were supposed to go to Danceteria with my friend Sue 
and then crash at her place. But that fell through so we had a very 
indecisive period of bar hopping and wondering what to do. I called my 
friend Paul but he decided to stay in. Darren wasn't home when I 
called his NYC apartment. (I found out later he was in NJ looking for 
us.) I had also forgotten to bring the phone number of Dawn, the only 
other person I knew in NYC. So, over a pint of Guinness at Wally's, we 
settled on seeing *Dracula* at the same theatre that my friend Adam 
was seeing it and hook up with him afterwards. Well, when we got to 
the theatre at 11:30 every movie was sold out, even the 2:00 am show. 
(It was opening night.) So we decided to get some coffee and meet Adam 
after the movie. We stopped at a few places and finally got coffee at 
a cafe on Ave. A near 3rd St. where they had about 20 board games you 
could play. "Operation!" was taken, so we immersed ourselves in a game 
of checkers. We got so into it we lost all track of time. When I 
looked at my watch it was over an hour later, and we had just finished 
one game! It's a good thing we didn't play chess in that mindstate 
(slight depression mixed with a lot of beer and 2 cups of coffee). We 
had about 3 minutes till the end of the movie so we rushed back but 
I'm sure we were too late because we couldn't find him. So we just 
headed back to NJ. Friday the 13th indeed.

*****************
Saturday 11/14/92

Didn't do much because we had to leave early Sunday for Ohio, the 
first stop on our express, 6 day drive back to San Francisco. 
Basically we worked on Rodney (the car) and I collected some brightly 
colored Autumn leaves for my flat-mate Shannon back in SF -- she 
wanted to use them in her art. Darren came over and we talked of our 
lack of plans in our lives at the moment. Neither of us had jobs or 
were even in a band. Neither of us knew where we wanted to live next 
or what to do with our lives. It was so sad. Then we smoked a bone 
that he had brought as a going away present and I for one got really 
plastered.

***************
Sunday 11/15/92

I'm not going to keep a journal of the trip home. We had to get back 
to S.F. in 6 days so it was a lot of 12 hour drives and one night 
crashes. A few crashes were with people we had already stayed with. 
(We brought out-of-state beer to Norman, Oklahoma). We met a wonderful 
person in Columbus, Ohio, named Roberta Cable and we crashed with 
Eggboy and his girlfriend in Springfield, Missouri. And I had quite a 
mini-adventure with cops in Albuquerque which I talk about elsewhere 
in this issue.

Altogether, the trip changed my life and maybe the lives of people we 
met. I hope others will be inspired by this travel tale to seek 
adventure and knowledge not only in the places they go, but also and 
more importantly, in the people they meet.


-----
"The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is
 at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land."
    -- G. K. Chesterton


---------------
BEYOND ORDINARY
by Miles Poindexter

What kind of night is it? Clear and cold. SHE is beautiful, and our 
romance is only a day old. I am the stranger in HER world. But HER 
world is strange. It is late, maybe 2am. We are in HER room, 
discovering each other in the dim light of HER room lamp. Naked. An 
undiscovered landscape unveiled in the night. Ecstasy. Our bodies 
together in the midst of our own small journey.

Suddenly, HER door bursts open. Anger pours forth into the scented air 
of HER room. A former lover vents HIS rage till HE is exhausted, then 
turns away, engulfed in anguish. I am unchanged, still entranced by 
HER, by our pleasure. But HE has told me I must leave. I dress, and go 
to HIM. I must explain HER independence to HIM, and the sacred ground 
of HER privacy that HE has trespassed on. The threats continue. Tribal 
wars and machismo whirl in HIS mind. I stand undaunted.

HE summons the lords of order of modern civilization. HE calls the 
police. In their presence, I explain the simple violation of HER 
rights. HE begs to have HIS male ego gratified. Something is amiss. 
The blue men are slaves of the law but...they are men. SHE is called 
forth and attacked indirectly, slyly, by the officers.

"You have the right to bring 10 guys in here a night if you want, but 
think of HIS feelings here..."

"Pretty soon you'll have to grow up, young lady."

"We don't know what HE might do to your new lover if HE gets enraged 
enough..."

"Slut, whore, bitch" oozes forth from each officer in the testosterone 
silence. One cop unlatches HIS gun after HER dog, sensing the verbal 
attack on its master, growls at HIM.

The situation becomes surreal.

"Don't worry about me, officer," I say. "Why don't you just tell HIM 
HER rights?"

"You shut up or we'll drag you to jail and make you shut up."

I am the filthy outsider, who sees through this thinly veiled reign of 
terror against HER. I see their ridiculous fear of women, so strong 
that they must band together now to verbally beat HER into submission. 
I am the traitor to my kind.

"If we have to come back again, someone here is going to jail," both 
officers say, staring at HER. SHE and I soon leave and walk towards a 
friend's house.

"What if HE had a girl over, and you burst in, and told HER to get the 
fuck out in a jealous rage, and then called these same 2 cops at 2am 
in the morning?" I ask, shaking from the cold night.

"What if?" SHE says, knowing HER answer.


----------------------
VAGABOND GLOBETROTTING
by M.L. Endicott

Travel is experience. It has traditionally been considered the 
ultimate education. Travel will not only teach you about the world, 
but about yourself as well. It is also the ultimate sport. Travel 
includes every possibility of life, and tests every faculty. It is 
both work and play.

Life is a trip, from birth to death. We come from all, develop an 
individual identity, and return to all. The first part of life is 
concerned with self discovery, and the second part with self 
transcendence. The quantity and quality of experience afforded by 
travel surpasses imagination. It is intensified living, at times even 
approaching the ecstatic. The travel experience is a metaphor for this 
trip through life.

Travel is not tourism; travel is the alternative to tourism. Tourism 
is industrialized travel, in fact the world's second largest industry. 
It is a legacy of both imperialism and industrial revolution. As the 
era of colonialism wanes, so too will the industrial-age give way to 
the information-age. In turn, tourism will cease to be an assembly 
line activity, geared toward generating a profit at the expense of the 
Earth, and become an information intensive activity, enhancing the 
leap toward global consciousness.

The distinction between tourism and travel is not a new one. 
Technically, both are tourism and both are travel. Practically, 
tourism is a consumer activity, whereas travel is a do-it-yourself 
approach. Where tourism is wasteful, travel is energy efficient. 
Tourism too often reinforces the status quo; in addition to 
international frontiers, travel transcends social classes, or socio-
economic strata. Tourists vacation, take a ritualized break in 
routine; travelers take a holiday, meaning literally "holy day," a 
celebration of the sacred, the unity of all. While tourists seek 
gratification, travelers may find both positive and negative 
experiences equally enlightening. Tourists clamor to arrive at some 
destination; travelers appreciate the journey as much as the 
destination. Tourists surround themselves with a cultural bubble; 
travelers attempt to experience local life as a native. Tourists 
travel to find their expectations; travelers hope to return with new 
insights. Tourists seek status and elitism, to live better than they 
do at home; travelers seek humility and serendipity. Tourists count 
new countries; travelers count new friends. Many cultures have 
ritualized the transitions to self-actualization and self-
transcendence in the form of initiation or rite-of-passage. Such 
rituals commonly consist of three phases: severance, threshold, and 
return. The severance of travel is often symbolic of death. (Hence the 
significance of the going-away party in our culture.) The self-testing 
aspect of threshold experience mediates between innocence and wisdom. 
The return embodies a new, re-created person, born again.

Native North Americans institutionalized the vision quest as a rite-
of-passage for initiating youngsters into adulthood, or coming-of-age. 
Australian Aborigines developed the practice of walkabout for much the 
same reason. The wander jahr and grand tour were similar experiences 
for Europeans of different classes in previous centuries. Such 
experiences were a form of self-testing, trials of strength or 
endurance. In Moslem cultures, the haji pilgrimage to Mecca serves as 
a rite-of-passage for those on the path returning to the 
transpersonal.

Whether contemporary vision quest or walkabout, wander jahr or global 
grand tour, the New Age haji, the 24,902 mile around-the-world mandala 
is a modern expression of the archetypal theme of the hero's quest, 
familiar in legend, myth, and dream.

    -- Excerpted from the 176-page how-to book, 
       VAGABOND GLOBETROTTING: STATE OF THE ART (Cullowhee, North
       Carolina, USA: Enchiridion International, 1989), copies of
       which are available for US$8.95 each, postpaid, from him at
       P.O. Box 837, Saint Simons Island, Georgia 31522-0437 USA.


-----
"Travel, exotic experiences in foreign places, the sting of being and
 living in an alien culture, and religious experiences are today's
 ways by which the young find their identity."
    -- Ronald Sandison, M.D.
       (in *Albert Hofmann Foundation Bulletin,* Winter 1991)


----------------------
JOIN THE CRASH NETWORK!

Crasher: person who is traveling, guest.
Crashee: person who is allowing Crasher to sleep at residence, 
         host/hostess.

Joining is free!  Send email to johnl@netcom.com for a questionnaire 
(or send us an SASE to our mailing address, listed at the end of this 
file). Filling it out and returning it gets you listed in our Crash 
Directory, which is available only to members. Anytime you're planning 
to travel, send $5 for an up-to-the-minute directory and follow the 
guidelines below.

*************
HOW TO USE IT

You can use the Crash Directory to contact other members that you would 
like to meet. Or if you have a destination or journey in mind, you can 
use the directory to find potential crash sites along your planned route 
(flexibility helps). Before your departure, contact your potential 
crashee by mail, phone, or email and inquire about a visit. When all 
your crashes are confirmed, you're ready to hit the proverbial road.

**************
THE CRASH CODE

1.  Any Crashee can turn away a Crasher if they do not agree to the 
    Crash by prior consent.
2.  No charge for stay unless agreed upon by both parties beforehand.
3.  Toilet and shower facilities should be made available to Crasher 
    if possible.
4.  Don't eat Crashee's food unless offered.
5.  Don't use the Crashee's phone, stereo, TV or any other property 
    without their consent.
6.  No stealing.
7.  Don't bring friends over without the prior consent of the Crashee.
8.  Treat each other with respect.
9.  Help each other in every way possible during Crashes.
10. Crasher must obey rules of Crash Pad unless they contradict 
    above rules.


-----------------
CRASH INFORMATION

Editors: Miles Poindexter, John Labovitz.

Crash is published in January, March, May, July, September, and 
November of each year. 

Subscriptions are $5 for six issues. A sample issue is $1 or three 
US 29c stamps.  Back issues (text only) are available via anonymous FTP
at netcom.com in directory /pub/johnl/zines/crash.  The printed issues 
also contain illustrations and advertising; for the full Crash experience, 
send for a printed sample.

Crash is happy to hear from you. Send artwork, articles, and aardvarks 
to us at:

    Crash
    519 Castro Street #7
    San Francisco, CA 94114 USA
    email: johnl@netcom.com

If you are interested in advertising in the print or electronic 
version of Crash, please contact us for rates and sizes.

Copyright (C) 1993 Crash. We encourage other zine editors to reprint 
or excerpt parts of any articles written by us (Miles Poindexter or 
John Labovitz). All we ask is that information about this magazine and 
the network be included with it. If you wish to reprint something by 
an outside contributor, please contact them beforehand (either by 
their contact information listed after the article, or c/o Crash).


------------------
END OF CRASH JAN93