The drive is an endless repetition of fun and unfathomable boredom.
We are human curiosities in the small towns where we stop to refresh, revitalize, refuel and retire. People eye our cameras and booms with delight, apprehension, disgust and desire.
Other people are unfazed.
I like those people the most.
Our team has grown to include a sound operator, Nat, who was unable to join us until we reached Florida. We found him tanned and smiling, waiting by the beach with a laconic grin and a peaceful demeanor. He’s a pleasure to meet and have integrated into our strange little fold.
For we are indeed strange.
Two mad women, two chilled men.
Perhaps we’ll balance each other out?
Perhaps we’ll kill each other.
One thing I’ve discovered since Nat joined us?
That I thoroughly enjoy getting mic’d up.
If this is the only action I get in weeks then at least it’s recorded for posterity.
The journey is strange.
The people we’re meeting are all good hearts and souls.
There seems to be a thread of depression that runs through the majority of the interviews and I wonder at the connection between prolific Internet use and a deeper sadness.
I’m becoming more and more curious about the subject matter.
I’m becoming more and more fond of, and empathetic towards, people and the choices we make to allow new relationships to evolve, rather than turning our back on them- sometimes the easiest decision.
We are seeing true beauty in nature.
We are seeing true beauty in people.
We are seeing true beauty in ourselves, and each other.
We’re also seeing some ugliness.
But that, my friends, is life.
It’s a dichotomy, and we have to make choices about what we’re ready to put up with and accept, in ourselves and in others.
Me? I’m stronger than I thought when it comes to other people, and weaker in myself.
I’ll be interested to see what I’m like at the end of this journey, and I want to drag it out as long as I can, in order to evolve as much as possible.
In Nowhere, Alabama we pull into a parking lot. A dizzying row of chrome and steel machines line the concrete. Motorbikes. Lots of motorbikes. It’s almost 10pm when I go inside the grim, greasy bar and am greeted with the curious stares of forty leather-clad bikers- big, black, beautiful, slightly scary looking boys.
A momentary silence falls.
I look down at my questionnaire.
I look back at my potential interviewees.