Our task ended in Eureka, Nevada, but Vegas was on the mind ever since we stopped that bus. Chad was down, so we parted ways with Boyd, with much brotherly love, and headed to Sin City for no particular purpose. Why does everything have to have a reason? It’s better to just be, sometimes or all of the time. Some are so busy with the future that they miss the present. And present we were. 

I taught my new brother from another mother the ways of minimalism and, to an extent, poverty. After several hours of searching for a decent, unoccupied spot, we finally set up camp in the massive gutters of the outskirts of Vegas. Luckily, I stumbled across a functioning faucet only 20 minutes away from camp that had a steady stream of water due to poor city maintenance. Just need a source--doesn’t matter if it’s potable.

Then we walked the strip at midnight, as one does, taking in the sights and smells and sounds. So many beautiful people. I busked for cash with my flute playing. The bodysuit and, at that point, surfboard prop was probably pretty eye catching in the desert, but not as much as Chad. In fact, all it took was a head-to-toe look at him and a couple of words to get us into a strip club for free with “backstage passes,” where I unceremoniously shed the wetsuit to suit up in a very different way and then learn some killer moves from him and some new friends. Growing up in the soulless upper crust, I was taught several forms of dancing. Stripping wasn't one of them. Our proceeds from a week at the club far exceeded our needs, even after we bought Chad some camping supplies (my gear was set up for only one). We donated the rest to a local homeless shelter before heading out to the chill, sunny beaches of Hawaii. Oh yeah, and in Vegas there was a brothel guy who kept trying to recruit us, but we turned him down because "Love should be free, bro!"

On our first day at Waikiki Beach, I borrowed a cheap board from a friend and tried to teach Chad how to catch some waves. It didn’t suit him at all. After a few hours we decided he’d stay on the land forever. He was a good sport about it though. And that works out better anyways given his preference for painted pants. 

What else? I busked a few hours a day for the moments when dumpster diving didn’t pan out, so that my bro and I wouldn’t have to dip into the shelf-stable supplies for dinners. One day a friend I hadn’t yet met came over with a ukulele, and we made a beautiful thing of it for several hours that caused the crazed tourists with their smartphone cameras and full agendas slow down as they passed by--even stop--and savor the moment. It was righteous, Divine even. Which reminds me, every time we lite a fuel cube to warm up a drink or make an oatmeal breakfast, we have a moment of silence for the innocent life lost to our hands.

Bonus: Kainalu taught me Hawaiian in exchange for surf lessons. The brohship expands!

The universe saw it fit to let me be alive and well for a while longer, by the powers of friendship and peace. But the continuing journey has been laden with pain and tears.

I was chatting it up with a new friend, a fellow international backpacker, when I learned that his precious Fluffy went missing. A lost child! We stopped everything and went searching for her. When I found myself near that crocodile-filled swampland, I realized I saw something a few days ago--something resembling Fluffy in the tall grass near the water’s edge. I immediately collapsed to my knees and wept, grieved by the inevitably violent designs of the natural world and Matt’s impending heartbreak. In my internal tsunami, I didn’t notice the several crocodiles approaching. Channeling my sorrow into brief anger, I drove two back with a primal roar. One was undeterred though, and it solidly chomped my ankle. Thankfully, Sally and Chad were suddenly beside me, and (sadly) the reptile assailant was soon no more. 

Joe: "I'm sorry dudes, I just got so overwhelmed with the feels. Fluffy was lunch for one of the crocs, man. But you guys came in clutch. And I'm sorry I made you hurt it, Sally. Thanks though, man, like a ton… Don't worry about me." Joe winces in pain. Oddly, the pain is all over him, not just where the crocodile chomped. "The peacemakers are blessed--I'll be good soon."

Chad: "Remember, Bro, peace comes from within. YOU taught me that. It hurts me that Fluffy is gone, too, but it's in the nature of crocodiles. It isn't their fault... We should go tell Matt. Good lookin' out, Sal. Appreciate you, girl."

We broke the news and the three of us--Matt, Chad, and Joe--wept for a long time. Matt stuck around with us for several weeks after that, during which we walked and sat with him in silent solidarity. Sometimes he shared stories of Fluffy. Sometimes he cried. Sometimes he seemed to feel nothing at all. No matter what, we were there.

After a few days of what I immediately diagnosed to be chronic pain, while meditating in the early dawn and listening to the world slowly awake, I achieved peace within myself. I could feel the familiar warmth of the sun balanced by a cool, salty ocean breeze from head to toe ... and then the pain was no more. All that was left was a tattoo spanning in various spots from my neck to my toes. It looks like the rippling effect of sunlight shining down through water which, I discovered that evening, faintly glows in the dark. Totally righteous, man.

Sadly, there was a second goodbye this trip. In the small but growing town of Lukla, a popular spot for climbers to pass through on the way from Kathmandu to the Southern Base Camp, Chad and I were discussing his desires to come with us (something which I feel he was not ready for). And suddenly something clicked. Then Chad and I had a long talk. It was hard to express this growing feeling that my brother from another mother had a different journey to go on--his own journey to spread love in the unique ways that only he can. His company had been divine, but I knew in my core that we both were destined to shine brightly in this dark world and our lights so close together would soon stifle each other. I knew in my core that something was beginning for both of us.

Chad has stayed behind in Lukla. Squirrel, Jared, Matt, Gyaltsen (our tour guide) will push forward. Before we began the eight-day trek to the basecamp--the first stage of our hike up the mountain--Chad and I tearfully bid each other farewell. Ride your wave, dude, and peace be with you.