Real travelers -- as opposed to mere sightseers -- might yearn for opportunities to learn of new manners and customs, languages and religions, and ways of life. But it's tough to do that without traveling to third world countries, with all the costs and risks. Even there you would need opportunities to live and work with the locals, rather than just gawk at them as quaint caricatures.
Perhaps one of the biggest advantage of dispersed camping on public lands is that it makes you so separate from the normal American that you get to experience what could be seen as exotic foreign travel when you return to the most ordinary metropolitan areas in your own country.
When the ol' desert rat or dispersed camper -- think of him as a Noble Savage -- returns to the city, what exactly happens to him as he becomes "normal" again? Adjusting to the obscene onslaught of noise, 7 and 24 and 365, is the most immediate and obvious change.
Do most people see this Noble Savage as being unfriendly to humanity, as least compared to the supposedly gregarious city dweller? The other day I came into the Megalopolis of New Mexico, Albuquerque. After driving across town I realized that I hadn't seen many human beings -- I'd only seen motor vehicles! Thoreau once said that he walked across Manhattan Island and never really saw a living human being. What would he say today if he drove across the average American city?
It's true that if you look closely enough you'll see a hint of a human being behind the tinted glass of the car's side windows. They appear to be trapped in there and to lead a dim shadowy existence, just as ancient Greeks imagined Hades as a shadowy netherworld from which the dead could not escape.
I had unusually good luck in finding a shopping area that offered REI, Performance Bicycles, Sportsman's Warehouse, and Sports Authority all within easy walking distance of each other -- not that you could walk without being run over by the relentless crush of traffic. (And how ironic that was, considering the nature of the stores in question!) Here was a marvelous opportunity to stand somewhat aside from myself and observe what happens to the Noble Savage as he re-integrates with the most fundamental and revered customs of his "own" society and culture, which basically means buying crap.
There was a time not so long ago when I really would have lusted for many of the items in these particular stores. But the Noble Savage has come to see most of their offerings as silly and useless. Still, you feel a relentless force trying to make you believe that all of this crap is desirable and even necessary.
For instance I lack a rain-proof hat and "need" one for those times when my dogs want to go for a walk, despite inclement weather. Just a couple years ago I used to study rainproof hats at outdoor equipment stores, and came close to buying one, despite the ridiculously high price. At the REI store they had ones for a "mere" $60. But today I just smirked at the idea of paying such a sum. After all, I live in an arid climate. For the few days of rain that the Southwest offers, why isn't it good enough just to take a plastic grocery sack and stuff it under the usual sombrero? That doesn't cost anything.
And maybe that's the crucial step in getting sucked back into the insane existence of the Metropolis: endless driving through stop-and-go traffic to buy some overpriced and specialized item to meet every possible contingency and to solve every problem, rather than improvising with something that you already own. Soon you see "value" in every superfluous trinket.
Perhaps one of the biggest advantage of dispersed camping on public lands is that it makes you so separate from the normal American that you get to experience what could be seen as exotic foreign travel when you return to the most ordinary metropolitan areas in your own country.
When the ol' desert rat or dispersed camper -- think of him as a Noble Savage -- returns to the city, what exactly happens to him as he becomes "normal" again? Adjusting to the obscene onslaught of noise, 7 and 24 and 365, is the most immediate and obvious change.
Do most people see this Noble Savage as being unfriendly to humanity, as least compared to the supposedly gregarious city dweller? The other day I came into the Megalopolis of New Mexico, Albuquerque. After driving across town I realized that I hadn't seen many human beings -- I'd only seen motor vehicles! Thoreau once said that he walked across Manhattan Island and never really saw a living human being. What would he say today if he drove across the average American city?
It's true that if you look closely enough you'll see a hint of a human being behind the tinted glass of the car's side windows. They appear to be trapped in there and to lead a dim shadowy existence, just as ancient Greeks imagined Hades as a shadowy netherworld from which the dead could not escape.
I had unusually good luck in finding a shopping area that offered REI, Performance Bicycles, Sportsman's Warehouse, and Sports Authority all within easy walking distance of each other -- not that you could walk without being run over by the relentless crush of traffic. (And how ironic that was, considering the nature of the stores in question!) Here was a marvelous opportunity to stand somewhat aside from myself and observe what happens to the Noble Savage as he re-integrates with the most fundamental and revered customs of his "own" society and culture, which basically means buying crap.
There was a time not so long ago when I really would have lusted for many of the items in these particular stores. But the Noble Savage has come to see most of their offerings as silly and useless. Still, you feel a relentless force trying to make you believe that all of this crap is desirable and even necessary.
For instance I lack a rain-proof hat and "need" one for those times when my dogs want to go for a walk, despite inclement weather. Just a couple years ago I used to study rainproof hats at outdoor equipment stores, and came close to buying one, despite the ridiculously high price. At the REI store they had ones for a "mere" $60. But today I just smirked at the idea of paying such a sum. After all, I live in an arid climate. For the few days of rain that the Southwest offers, why isn't it good enough just to take a plastic grocery sack and stuff it under the usual sombrero? That doesn't cost anything.
And maybe that's the crucial step in getting sucked back into the insane existence of the Metropolis: endless driving through stop-and-go traffic to buy some overpriced and specialized item to meet every possible contingency and to solve every problem, rather than improvising with something that you already own. Soon you see "value" in every superfluous trinket.
Comments
As for the glimpses of people in cars, are they trapped or cozy in their little world, apart from the hustle and bustle of the city?
I'm almost always happy to be in my car, driving along and having my own personal concert. Windows up though... you don't want to hear me sing :p
Actually, I agree with you. Many of the things people buy are just laughable.
I got around town using the bus system for the most part. They do have a Rio Grande Trail that looked like it would be a nice bike ride (don't know about taking Coffee Girl however).