Endless

This is the first chapter of a book about my travels that I will probably never have enough time or patience to write

Sitting on the flight from LA to Fort Lauderdale the last month of adventure appears on the chair before me not unlike the interactive tv screens a few rows up being enjoyed in the 1st class cabin by Americas 1st class citizens, all decked out in their most vain attire, their stressed buttons struggling in a tug-of-war with their counterparts to contain full bellies swollen with wealth and greed. I watch my memories cruise by in our grafted up van down the west coast of America. From Vancouver to LA with 2 adventure seeking old friends, an everlasting stock of beer and healthy bank accounts dig the coast; the past appears to be full of contentment and the future eager for new beginnings.

As is often the case with flights the initial excitement of traveling somewhere new is often stained once you realize that yet again you are seated in front of a faceless toddler with an aptitude for kicking. I sit and stare, wishing it was over before it had even begun. Hoping to gain some consolation from my neighbour I look to the left and find my arm submerged underneath a Floridian beast in a sundress. Trapped now between the unstoppable force and unmovable object I close my eyes and buckle up for what appears is going to be a long ride.

1 Bag check, 4 cigarettes and a taxi later I arrive at my destination at 6am bleary eyed, vacant and ready for sleep, only to be met by a bottle of Cruzun Rum and a great Australian friend that I met in Canada which I hadn't seen for almost 3 months. It would seem we had a lot to discuss. Nat looked as sleepy as I did; his layers of curls pushed awkwardly to one side, his eyes swollen with unresolved dreams, mouth pungent and dry. As is always the case when I'm in the presence of this optimistic, insatiable, alcoholic animal my mood is lifted and I let the sleepiness float away as we enjoy straight rum and cigarettes and indulge in each other’s stories.

'So did you find the American dream' Nat asks as he greedily swallows another glass.

 'Hmm' I mutter.

Deep in thought, I find myself pondering my experiences. Is the American Dreams being detained on the border for 7 hours whilst paranoid cops in bullet proof vests discuss secretively whether or not records of long annulled stealing charges could indicate that a career criminal was entering their 'promised land' with malevolent intentions? Or maybe it was 2 weeks of genuine homeless integration lead by a lazy-eyed, alien conspiracist hitch hiker who in his dishevelled penguin suit relished the life of self-employment through offering pedestrians a variety of mildly entertaining penguin jokes in exchange for money or marijuana? Was it finally realizing that all white Caucasians are geeks as I twisted awkwardly in LA as the only white guy in a black club full of booty shaking, grinding f*****g young couples who seemed to have rhythm and sex appeal oozing out of them? I lucky dipped for a response and he seemed happy with the result.

'so hows the boat doing' I ask eagerly, knowing Nat has been avoiding this
'Its not looking good dude' he sighs
'What do you mean, we are young and successful, we can do anything'
'Look man, this is how it is, Ive spent the last month working on it everyday, doing everything in my narrow range of ability to fix it and still final completion is far out of sight, I mean we are running out of time and money and we have never sailed before, like do you know how to replace a head gasket or repair a mainsail?'
'hahaha' we share in laughter, both fully aware that I was a complete romantic.

However for the last 2 months I had been dreaming of sailing the Caribbean in my very own boat which we had repaired and learnt to sail together (what a grandiose delusion) and I wasn't about to let it go without a fight.

'Come on dude we can do it' I pleaded.
'How?' Nat replies pessimistically, or was it realistically.
'I don't know?'
"Its impossible dude'
'Come on'

Conversation carried on like this for a while until we both got bored. Nat the eternal optimist obviously had the straw of reality jammed into the base of his skull and his spirit sucked out, I wasn't about to share the same fate and continued to entertain foolhardy illusions of white sandy beaches, kaleidoscopic coral so rich and diverse, and emerald sunsets sinking into the earths dark unholy void permitting a blanket of stars to burn neatly in the sky whilst peering down into the ancient depths of the secret laden ocean.

I stumble clumsily into the kitchen for more drinks, the alcohol doing what it is meant to do, when suddenly Nat appears from the opposite room in which id left him, bewildered and confused I keep my head down and try and ignore the apparition and focus on the drinks. The ghosts voice startles me

'You must be Shaun, hows it going mate?'

Too Australian to be Nat, without looking up I deduce that there is a stranger in the house and as the brain box kicks in realise that it’s actually Nat's Dad who has come to America on vacation. Looking up, still a little rattled, I am met by deep chestnut eyes which mirror Nat's unequivocally, as if picked and moulded from the same tree. His curly hair adds a boyish charm to a face complete with all the wrinkles and indentations indicative of a truly happy man.

'And you must be John, F**k you and Nat are the same person' I exclaim

'He wishes' Jon laughs smooth and unconsciously.

He proceeds to recount his and Nat's tales of cruising through the Caribbean in a 100ft motor yacht captained by his younger brother.

'Do you know who Eddie Irvine is Shaun' He rushes excitedly

'No Im afraid not’

'Mate, Eddie Irvine, Australian F1 driver, partnered with Schumacher in 1996'
he says expectantly like it’s common knowledge and not just some esoteric fact  that GBR enthusiasts pride themselves on.

'Errrrr' I slur

'Well we were drinking with him in the Bahamas' he proudly moves on
'and when we revealed that we were father and son, he looked at Nat and said ''you better slow your life down mate'' can you believe it Shaun the fastest man in the world told Nat to slow his life down' he chuckles as he finishes the story, and it becomes apparent that he has retold it many times before.

We laugh and drink and smoke and I revel in the fact that one of the most interesting individuals I know has incredulously split and cloned an equally entertaining, slightly more Australian yet wiser version of himself.

6pm Rolls around fast and as Jon wraps up a story of how his penis has the ability to secrete lubricant, we realise simultaneously that it’s the point in the night where we should probably go out. I lead the way to the front yard to wait for the taxi and as the flare of the afternoon sun distorts my already blurry vision I get my first chance to truly dig Florida complete with its polished tar roads, thick humidity and pop-art palm trees, somehow out of place in this middle of nowhere suburban street.

 

Hooters is the first place on the nights agenda. Whilst enjoying mediocre food and stealing glances from mediocre waitresses we recount the absurdity of our Hatian taxi drivers opinion that female domination is present and augmenting in America. Several times I attempt to change the subject to the boat but my pleas are met with deaf ears and sullen contempt.

 

After several unrecallable series of shots, beers, stories and cigars I find myself struggling to make pasta for 4 in the cluttered kitchen of Nat’s supposed sugar mamma. Here I drift off to sleep whilst watching Val Kilmer match Jim Morrison’s every move, song and trip with perfect synchronicity in the movie ‘The Doors’

 

Back where yesterday began, we decide to take a trip to the mariner so that I may fully comprehend the impossibility of my naïve sailing reveries. Whilst I stare out the window, hung over and vacant, Nat attempts to prepare me for the shock and negativity I’m about to receive, I continue to brush his pessimism off and resolve to make my own decision once we arrive.

As we enter the marina I struggle to see our boat Endless through the luxurious shadows cast left and right by rows and rows of tightly packed motor yachts. Finally I spot the 30 foot sloop, with blue hull, stained sails and clutter spreading all over the deck like a hoarders reverie, whose dilapidation is magnified tenfold by her affluent neighbours. We board her and as I walk into the messy cabin and allow my romanticized perception to fill me with hope; my heart and mind pulsate with enthusiasm. Nat runs around, pointing, condemning and listening endless problems and obstacles.

‘The VHF antenna needs replacing, we need a new GPS power cable, Autopilot belt, Head gasket, brackets for mainsail, batteries, float switch, gas burner, depth gauge, anchor light’ he rants esoterically to the void, whilst I stare oblivious floating timelessly in a stupor of possibility.

We head back to the deck and longue in the humid sun whilst I frustrate Nat with my nonsensical optimism with Jon playfully encouraging.

‘we can do it, we can do it, we can do it’ I chant.

‘So this is how it is’ Nat yawns tiredly.

‘My uncle wants Dad and I to drive his car to Colorado for him and we are leaving tomorrow. Now you can stay and do what you can for the boat for the 2 weeks were away or you can come, but if you do we will have no chance to fix this before the end of the month when my Visa runs out.’

With this my clear blue skies of optimism are suddenly blackened by the rolling maudlin clouds of reality. The boat turns an unappealing shade of grey as I look around and realise that I don’t know how to fix a boat. In my whole life of working experience the closest I’ve got to manual labour is lawn mowing, which I sucked at, I mean I’m a social worker and a cook, I wouldn’t even know where to start on this wreck. I look around in confusion as I struggle to find a single thing which I am confident that I could fix.

Engine: no.

Sails: no.

Hull: no

Electrics: no

 All I can discern in this horrible mess is a gentle light piercing the brooding shadows and engulfing father and son in natural joyous abandon. So I say ‘F**k It ‘and once again in my life I refuse logic and follow the reckless path of instantaneous hedonism, planting my head firmly in Florida’s steaming, echoless sand I through myself into the wind of experience and with a smile on my face and adventure in the mind I allow fate to tug gently on the reigns of my future and guide me unforgivingly into the unknown.

 

The next thing I know we are jammed into a slick black Jetta, complete with satellite radio and leather seats shooting across the middle of Florida and towards Americas south. Our ridiculous time limit is 5 days and as Nat and I are both unlicensed we take turns sleeping while Jon grips the wheel tightly for up to 14 hours a day and rants caffeine induced soliloquies to the road and the earth and the sky as Jim Morrison’s poetry pours out of him like a rock star possessed and his Texas drawl imitations turn the car into a generalized vacuum of idiocy, so racist it could suck the inside of a 10 gallon hat out, inverting and trapping it like an upside down tortoise on top of the balding perch of Americas Southern man. 

Alabama and Mississippi fly by in a blur of dry empty space, dirty introverted gas stations and uncomfortable cramping in fleeting rest stops. I am really unable to describe any of these 2 states as I literally saw nothing but the finish line. New Orleans was our first stop. New Orleans, New Orleans, New Orleans, what a place, towering 18^th century French buildings envelop cobble stone streets congested with every race and religion all sharing the same empathetic smile as the rhythm of their footsteps echo and communicate between the brick walls. A city destroyed by nature, and rebuilt through unity. The only place I know of that in one night of NFL carnage can contain an exponential growth in population in a sphere of open minded cultural understanding without hindrance or discrimination.

Beer, Bop and b***s. Nat and I dig the amazing streets and good company, smoking in bars, slurping expensive shots through flabby breasts and dub stepping. We spend most of our night either freaking out the few squares of the 200 there for a pharmaceutical convention audacious enough to leave the safety of the pack or macking any girl foolish enough to be impressed by our superfluous verbosity and our game of occupation charades. We could both feel the burning passion of this city erupting in our bodies like the smoke from 1000 cigarettes, we greedily inhaled every inch of it only to exhale and beg for more. Girls repeatedly shut us down but our inflating egos just absorbed the negativity and strove forward. The end of the night was spent in a sparkling gay bar with our man-seeds still firmly planted inside our balls; here we proposed to end the night’s sexual disappointments in a homoerotic union of beards, lips and tongues.

 

The next day I awake hung over and dizzy in the backseat, the southern sun pouring down all over me and lighting up the barren desert. I overhear Nat and Jon having an apparently long overdue father-and-son moment so I close my eyes, feign sleeping and digest it all.

‘How can one feel a part of society when the system that controls it is so blatantly corrupt and selfish’ Nat protests

‘The only way to get by is by being abundantly hedonistic, smoke, drink, f**k and do whatever you want because the system doesn’t care about you so why should you about it’

‘Mate’ Jon draws out in contemplation. (Sometimes I think Jon could have whole conversations deep, profound and enlightening with this one word.)

‘Are these impulses to seek selfish pleasure your own, or are they just retaliation to society?’

‘F**k yeah, its f*****g great’ Nat blurts out before he takes a second.

‘You know, every time you pick up a newspaper, skim through the channels, learn anything new about the world it’s all negative and depressing, with petty misguided wars, economic downturns and ecological ignorance, what can I do but look after my own s**t’

‘Mate it’s all relative’ Jon replies.

‘Of course if you try to tackle the big picture things are going to seem impossible, however you can’t let yourself be poisoned by it, you need to open your heart and share love with those around you because that is the most powerful thing any of us can do’

‘Yer like essentially that is true, but it’s almost ignorance. F**k working 9-5 all week just so I can pay my debts and barely scrape by, surviving isn’t good enough for me, I want to feel alive. I’m just going to keep partying and taking what I can while I can’

‘You know all this drinking and reckless partying isn’t sustainable though mate, you need to seek something that you love and derive satisfaction from for peaceful longevity.’

‘F**k that I’m dying young, 27 club Bro!’ Nat exclaims.

‘My own son the lizard king’ Jon chuckles

I listen silently as they laugh and end their conversation, empathetic to each other’s opinions but stubborn and content with their own. We all wind down the windows to dig the southern air and as the heavy lugubrious wind rolls steadily through the car, oblivious to our presence; it carries all our thoughts, feelings, worries and discontents with it to its unknown destination and leaves us feeling peaceful and refreshed. ‘Come as you are’ is groaned out by Kurt Cobain and we all unconsciously bob and sing along to it, hypnotized by the South’s great thoughtlessness.

 

Author's Note

dig it