First thing this morning, the time-traveling guy walked over. I saw him coming and from 100 feet away he started talking, “You know, I aught to have let you have that spot last night, I’m sorry. I should have,” he said. He gets extra points for his kindness after the fact. Apologies make the man. I told him no worries and petted his old dog. He said she was sad because her buddy, his other dog, an old bluetick, aged 18, died two weeks ago. “She just ain’t been the same since,” he said. Dogs are really good friends and I feel like one of the best things humans ever did (for ourselves) was domesticate them so they could be our furry buddies.
I left Osceola National Forest this morning and made it to Conecuh National Forest about 3:30 p.m. It’s a heavily forested area (go figure), with tall straight pines like evenly spaced, green-wicked birthday candles on a really old person’s cake. Like thousands and thousands of years old. Some of them had clearly been on fire recently, so that old guy probably had a good time.
I found a beautiful spot near a lake, complete with my own dock, and as I was setting up, a red truck pulled up and out came an old man and woman. I’d unhooked my trailer and had spent the last 15 minutes untangling a 150 foot Starlink cable that I was going to need in order to reach the shore of the lake, where the tree coverage faded. The woman was carrying a little orange rservation tag, and my heart sank. I started thinking, here we go again. These old timers liked this spot and they went and paid for it, and now that I’m half setup they’re going to ask me to leave. But I had the right of way. My stuff was here, and that’s the law of the campground.
I sized them up. He was pushing 70 with a limp and looked like he could use a cane, and she was all of 5 feet tall and looked brittle as the pine needles on the forest floor. I made up my mind right then that I wasn’t going to pack up. I figured if they tried anything I could knock them over like dominoes and it would take them 20 minutes to right themselves for round 2 and by then I would have set their truck on fire.
But the old woman called out, “Camp host! We got yer tag fer ya.” Phew, I thought. They were just doing me a courtesy. We chatted for a bit and the old man said some other Starlinkers were here not long ago and the web worked for them. It’s amazing, this tech that’s barely a year old is infiltrating the outdoors so quickly. I saw one last evening at Osceola as well. I suppose if you were to look into the future, like the soothsayer I met last night, you might guess that America is going to need more campgrounds soon, because everyone who can pick up and work from anywhere is probably going to give it a go—and why not? What a world. The old guy also said fishing here is good.
After I set up, I drove into the nearest town, Andalusia, Alabama. I bought groceries and a 7-day fishing license and ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant that was really decent. I started to think I recognized the town’s name. Andalusia. It was a lyric from one of my favorite bands growing up—the Pixies. Not only that, but it was my favorite Pixies song, Debaser. Although Frank Black, the lead singer, was singing about the Andalusia in Spain, not Alabama.
During high school I played Y-basketball and the back of my jersey said “Debaser #6.02214076×10²³—the number being the “mole” unit of measurement in chemistry. My friends and I were freaks and we didn’t give a shit about basketball. Our mission was spectacle as well as bringing light to the fact that there’s far too much emphasis on sports, especially as a young person in this country, so we made a mockery of it in our own way. I don’t regret it one bit.
Here are part of the lyrics to Debaser:
Got me a movie
I want you to know
Slicing up eyeballs
I want you to know
Girlie so groovy
I want you to know
Don’t know about you
But I am un chien andalusia
I am un chien andalusia
I am un chien andalusia
I am un chien andalusia
Wanna grow up to be
Be a debaser (debaser)
Debaser (debaser)
Debaser (debaser)
Debaser (debaser)
Debaser (debaser)
Debaser (debaser)
My friends and I were weird, but not as weird as Frank Black.
Tomorrow I’ll explore the area and get in some much needed hiking. I’m only about 70 miles away from Pensacola, FL, and its white sandy beaches.
I am un chien andalusia!
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