Off the Grid / On the Grind by Marcela Pulido

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WORDS

MARCELA

PULIDO

WWW.MGPULIDO.CO @MARCELA.JPG FB.COM/THEMGPSTUDIO SHOOTME@MGPULIDO.CO

COLLAGE

ART

WORDS

JAY

BERRONES

WEBSITE WWW.CARGOCOLLECTIVE.COM/JAYBERRONES INSTAGRAM @JAYBERRONES EMAIL BERRONESJAY@GMAIL.COM

TABLE OF CONTENTS

WYOMING

bison in Yellowstone National Park

THE COWBOY STATE “The mountains knew the definition of freedom. They provided a place where he could find his mind.” ― Daniel J. Rice, This Side of a Wilderness WORDS BY JAY BERRONES

Wyoming is very near and dear to my heart. It sounds weird to say it. Like any native Texan, I thought no other place could compare to the motherland. But there’s something about the rectangle state. It truly is unequivocal in beauty, and not just the physical kind. Life there seems to be slower and more tranquil in a very old and soulful way; breathing in the air feels like pure nostalgia. Cowboys tip their hats to say hello. Mothers laugh and give great big hugs with smiles wider than the oceans. The land is a living look into the past full of majesty that would take a lifetime to explore. HF bar ranch was the first stop on our tour, not only because I had to go visit the ranch I’ve spent some summers working at, but because we had to pick up Dilly the van. The cast at the ranch makes up a sort of surrogate family of mine that I’ve grown to call my own more and more as the years go by. We were met with cheerful slaps on the back and the company of drooling dogs in the fly and rod shop. Sounds just like the country. We had to make the stop brief so as to get on our way. Dilly’s first task on her maiden voyage was to tackle the Grand Tetons and she handled herself just fine. Myself? Not so much. I was trippin’. My palms were sweating so bad I couldn’t hold a glove on them if I wanted to. I had never driven through mountains before and it’s not really something you think about until you do it. I just wish I had done it in a small compact car for my first time.

To be honest, I’m not sure if Marcela knew just how nervous I was... I play it real cool, you know? Dilly took turns on a dime up cliff edges you could hardly see with only a thin barrier to separate road from a 500ft drop… and climbing. All those stops we took to take in the sites? Nah, I was just letting my palms dry up and my nerves settle for a second. Up and over the Mountains was the objective. We went headfirst into the metropolis valley on the west side of the Tetons. I can’t quite explain it but the valley seemed to be a big a bowl of vibrant sunshine and outstretched roads littered with eerie ghost towns and bright yellow dirt. Dilly learned a lot about the open road on the first leg of tour. Like the fact that there were 3.7 million flies in the valley and they all seemed to want to hang out on the windshield. Gas station squeegees became a hot commodity along the way. We made use of our second hand radio and blasted tunes going West pulling 80mph down the interstate. Because in Wyoming there ain’t hardly anybody there to tell you what to do. Or hardly anybody around, period. I think maybe this is why I have a deep adoration for this place: there’s a palpable freedom out in the open state that you can’t get in very many other places. With unregulated wild beauty, it teaches you to respect the land on which you tread. Because out there, quite frankly if you don’t? You’re dead.

Yellowstone Canyon, Yellowstone National Park

notes from the true wild WORDS BY MARCELA PULIDO After 7 long hours from the ranch, through steep roads that left me constantly wondering how capable Dilly the van was for this particular part of our excursion, and just as dusk was beginning to settle, we reached the Eastern park entrance to Yellowstone. Exhausted and unnerved with me behind the wheel, my nerves were apparent with my butt literally positioned on the edge of the seat and with a steely grip on the steering wheel. Jay, good-naturedly as always, laughed at my obvious discomfort and took over the helm for the remaining trip. We were eager to make it to the Western park entrance to where we’d meet up with my dear friend Cesar, who had spent the summer working in Yellowstone and would serve as our guide. Golden hour settled into blue hour which in turn became… dark. Night had briskly fallen and as it were, the remaining two hours of our trip were enveloped in darkness in what is

unquestionably the wildest place I have ever encountered. The roads weaved through what we know now was the caldera, or the volcanic crater, that is the Yellowstone Supervolcano. Inexplicably we'd be hit by the ever-potent smell of… "what is that smell, sulfur? It smells like rotten eggs…” we rounded the turn of the unlit roads and were greeted by a tumultuous cloud of steam rising from the ground, “Whooa…” we both exhaled. It was a sight we never tired of seeing, filled with a strange mixture of awe and naive terror at what strange, otherworldly place we had just entered. The following day was a whirlwind of exploration of the wildest and most diverse, colorful land I have ever encountered. From the copper sands, to the yellow stones of the namesake canyon, and the deceivingly clear blue water that rumbles to a boil, Yellowstone is an unquestionable force to be reckoned with and to be experienced firsthand.

The Grand Prismatic

WASHINGTON

PALOUSE FALLS

the evergreen state "Washington is nicknamed "The Evergreen State" because it sounds better than "The Incessant Nagging Drizzle State." - Dave Barry WORDS BY JAY BERRONES Seeing as how this is a platform for honesty, I will say that we have an extremely profound love/hate relationship with the state of Washington. We lived in Seattle for one year and when I say one year I mean exactly 365 calendar days. I felt at severe odds with the Evergreen State, something felt off, something we simply could not escape. The upside to this elusive looming relationship is that it sparked in us a need to leave our old selves completely behind and explore a new way of being. It wasn’t all a loss. And even though we made very few friends, the ones we did make were each a diamond in the rough. As far as letting go of our old lifestyles of “work for the man and never look up” Seattle did help ready us for our future selves. We met and probed people who work for themselves as a form of expression; people who ran fruit stands, people who do woodwork and frame art. These are some of the most inspiring people I could have met at such a crossroads in my life and for that I am eternally grateful. But there’s just something woven in the fabric of the way people enjoy life in the upper pacific northwest that I’ll just never click with... and maybe that’s my loss. Speaking to the physical beauty of the Evergreen state is easy but maybe that’s why I gravitate towards places with less regulated beauty. Because in Washington everything is accessible and easy to describe. The part of Washington that spoke to me the most was most definitely not the side of it that's highly regarded. I loved Eastern Washington in all its raw disparity. In my pleasantly twisted brain, the miles of rolling dead wheat fields and wind turbines offered an offbeat serenity that stopped me dead in my tracks. Nevertheless, we soaked up the feels on the beginning of the trip hard. We spent the nights in dark campgrounds reading our favorite books and messing with cameras. By that I mean teaching me, the old dog, new tricks. Ghost riding the whip taking photos to better capture the mood of this controversial land and waking up with dirt in our boots.

WORDS BY MARCELA PULIDO Ahh, Washington. Where to begin? Our time in Washington came to symbolize the culmination of everything that we were running from, frustrated with, and just could not relate to. Don’t get me wrong, the state of Washington is hands down one of the most beautiful regions I have ever had the pleasure of exploring. But something about it felt instantly off. I guess out of the two of us, I weigh more heavily on the negative aspects of our time here. Jay constantly has to pull me aside, verbally shake me and make me realize that at the end of it, it really wasn’t so bad and worked as a springboard to bigger and better things. It was here that I rubbed elbows with some of the best in the wedding industry that gave me the courage and confidence to jump all in. This is where I cut myself with the x-acto knife that lit up a little lightbulb in Jay’s head and started him on his awesome collage art. All in all, it wasn’t so bad. But it was here, working early mornings in a corporate job in Seattle. Seeing the same people day in and day out that would never speak to us or acknowledge our existence. Trying desperate and feeling like I was pulling teeth in trying to get people to even make eye contact with me while walking the dog. There was something inherently annoying and makes-my-blood-boil about this city that frankly, lit a fire under our asses and fueled us to change our lives and make a drastic, much needed change. So, in a way, thanks a lot, Seattle. For sucking so bad that we were determined like hell to leave you.

THE LONG ROAD TO NOWHERE WORDS BY MARCELA PULIDO There’s maybe a small possibility that on the first leg of our trip we were a bit too eager with how long we could drive Dilly the van. We set our sights at around, six to seven hourlong trips, occasionally eight. So yeah, we definitely overshot it. After our trip to Yellowstone we were heading back West to Eastern Washington and Palouse Falls. It was our first trip to the falls and we were thrilled to encounter some new sights. We are used to the lush greenery of the Evergreen State and were thrilled to experience something different. We did not expect what was going to happen this evening. The roads were long and empty, surrounded on either side by the rolling, golden hills of wheat fields that had recently been harvested. The sun was setting, creating that beautiful golden hazy glow on the landscape. It was perfectly warm and lovely, we couldn’t help but stop to capture some photographs. With Jay even enthusiastically climbing on top of the van to snap a shot of the winding road and the golden hills. But we completely underestimated how long we’d end up on the road this night. We drove through the tiniest town of Washtucna, and we started to become slightly unsettled. Looking through the windows of the buildings in town as we drove by, half of them looked abandoned and decrepit. That’s when I received the first text. I responded back to figure out who they were, only earlier that morning my own Dad having told me he had gotten a new number so I figured it might be him. But wait, he mispelled “dad” as “dqd” which is strange… and he doesn’t usually text such short responses, much less in English. I was chatting with Jay as he drove, both of our uneasiness growing by the minute. It was the final two messages that left a knot in both our stomachs. “Hell o. Death.” I stopped reading him the texts and we sat in silence, music playing, trying to ignore the fear we were both feeling. It didn’t help that the directions to Palouse led us to an unpaved road in complete darkness, no moonlight to guide

us, just the headlights of the van as it jostled it’s way through the gravel. It felt endless. Finally, we rounded a corner and… there it was. The Palouse Falls parking lot and campsite, with a few cars already there. Our neighbors were a group of frat boys and cheerleaders guzzling booze but otherwise friendly and polite. We had found our home for the night and we finally felt safe. We couldn’t help but laugh in absolute relief.

Toasting in our relief to be alive.

OREGON

Multnomah Falls. Portland, OR

THE BEAVER STATE “I’m a free spirit who never had the balls to be free.” ― Cheryl Strayed, Wild WORDS BY MARCELA PULIDO Growing up in the hot desert of the Inland Empire, I knew no reprieve from the summer heat. That was all I knew. But when I turned 8 and my oldest sister Yvette turned 18, she went away to college to Berkeley. That was my first trip anywhere North. I was enamored by the lush greenery, the cool air, the weird and quirky people… it was when I was 8 that I set my sights to the North and just knew in the depths of my soul that I had to get the hell out first chance I got. That chance didn’t come until I was 23 and had a degree and it came in the form of a summer job in Yosemite. It was here that I met my roommate Martha, a cook from Portland, Oregon. Naturally, the idea struck. It was as simple as, “Hey, as soon as our contract here is up do you want to get an apartment together in Portland?” “Are you serious? Hell yeah, I’m down!” Having packed up all my belongings in my red Mitsubishi Lancer (Helena, my first sweet car and adventure mobile. She treated me good and took me through many road trips all over the West Coast) and away I went, much to the constant chagrin of my parents who worried themselves sick over me. I had hardly a penny to my name. I slept on the floor of a two bedroom apartment that I shared with four other girls while we got our lives together, found jobs and soon thereafter an

apartment. It was inarguably the toughest time of my life but also the most fulfilling to surpass and come out on top. If I thought Berkeley was lush and green and I had no idea what awaited me this far North. I’ve never in my life seen so much water unless it was the ocean. I remember driving through I-84 E through the Columbia River Gorge and my head turning every which way all the lush greenery and water. The incessant rain left everything blossoming in ways I’d never experienced. Let’s not forget the sheer ridiculous amount of waterfalls in the Columbia River Gorge! Initially, I was inspired by scenery and majesty of the great outdoors. The majority of the photographers I looked up to and that I was inspired by resided in the Pacific Northwest. Truthfully, I just never imagined myself living here. Because then I didn’t know any better. I had no idea that it was ever even an option for me or that I even could. Yet here I am. Oregon for me has come to symbolize the obstacles I overcame, admittedly the majority of them having been selfinflected. It was here that I feel on my butt, hard. But it was here too than I learned to pick myself right back up. This may not be the place I call home for the rest of my life, but I'm thankful for all the hairbrained schemes and shenanigans that I head in the meantime.

The Painted Hills, Eastern Oregon

Thor's Well. Florence, OR

utah

The less you are familiar with something, the more it’s a genuine pleasure when you come to know said thing. This is the case with Utah. I root for the underdog. Mormon country has its obvious problems but there’s also plentiful beauty here. I tried to hold off on my expectations for it and it only proved to strengthen the experience we had here. The rocks are bold and honest. They show their teeth to all and apologize to none. Naked red earth flaunts its' flaws and makes you understand the insignificance of your being. More than any place we traveled through, Utah offers a lot of time to sit and think. It’s an incomparable setting of stark red, green and blue colors.A true time warp deserving of its own realm. I remember the stretch from Salt Lake city on our way down to Lake Powell. Land stretches for centuries and still the mountains off in the distance stand in true grit like a cowboy to a gunfight. Fragments of Godlike sunlight pierce through thick clouds turning a mirror on their fragility. Utah landscape tells it like it is and doesn’t think twice about it. There are many reflections in the faces of the mountains. But none like the reflections the scenery itself evokes from within.

THE BEEHIVE STATE "This was the desert, everything all at once, whether it was needed or not." ― James Anderson, The Never-Open Desert Diner WORDS BY JAY BERRONES Utah presented its own unique set of challenges. First of which was the man made dirt road ways that hugged the side of straight up rock walls. If you can image putting up shelves on a cement wall and sprinkling some red dirt on them, you have Utah rock roads. The second challenge is accurately perceiving depth with your naked eyes. It seemed like the plateau cliffs just kept tapering down into a hellish but beautiful valley. We’d drive down the sides of mountains only to look back and keep seeing the same monster cliff smugly taunting us. From high up the sun beaten monoliths don’t look so intimidating. But from closer up I can’t help myself but apologizing to the rocks for ever belittling them. I’m sure there’s a million and one more challenges I’m not recalling but my hope is that the words would inspire anyone to experience these on their own. Southern Utah can only be described as magic. Not the kind of magic that little school girls think getting asked to prom is, but honest to whatever-God-you-worship magic. Indian desert people don’t operate by the principles and constructs carried out by the rest of modern society. Interstate 15 is peppered with broken down, man-made booths that shade the hunched over, tiny and old Native American woman with weathered hands maneuvering and weaving the turquoise jewelry that they sell to the everyday tourist schmuck. In this case it was us. Simplicity. It is the fabric of the native of people. You can feel just how at ease they are out in the middle of nowhere. I find myself envious of such an effortless peace. And I suppose transcendent would be a good word to use but it’s more than that. As if there were a blanket being thrown over your cold, quivering body and being brought into a warm home greeted by a bowl of soup and bread. That feeling. We eventually made it down to Lake Powell. I heard a lot about it on my pitstop in Wyoming. The Lake itself has has more shoreline than the West and East coast put together. Dope, right? Stick that in your pipe for a minute. Normally a hotspot for delusional frat boy Spring Break shenanigans, we arrived late enough in the season that we got the lake and the campsite all to ourselves. Hard tan sand cliffs surround thousands of miles of water trapped in the middle of the high desert. It could probably stand to be described as getting dropped of on Mars and finding the only water left on the

planet. A lot of very gratifying events took place at Lake Powell. The first of which was the two goofballs in the visitor center. I can’t recall his name but the park supervisor chummed it up about all the places he lived in his lifetime (The editor [Marcela] would like to note that he was from San Bernardino, CA and was even born in the same hospital she was).You know the forgivable charming people that just go on about random things and it just fits into your life with comical relief? That was this dude. Needless to say he didn’t notice that we didn’t pay for camping. Not much about him indicated that he would have cared anyway. Mr. Park Ranger hooked it up with fresh tomatoes and peppers from the desert garden of a lady “just down the way”. I always love shit like this. It keeps me grounded. I’d like to think I did the produce justice by making a salsa over open flame in the beating sun. I can’t remember what we eventually used it for but that’s not the point. The sun loves to beat down any life form that dares to bear it on the lake and we were no exception. Our peace offering? Cold Coronas and Selena jams. It was the bare necessities of life in full swing. When it’s too hot, jump in the water and vice versa too cold in the water? Jump out. This is the point where Rupert got a little too brave and tried to scale the sides of the slick rocks to investigate the waters. Idiot. The dummy fell in head first and survived with the help of a life jacket made for dogs. To be honest he would have been utterly helpless without it. Later on in the night Marcela took the opportunity to practice night photography. Her inspiration came from a lifelong admiration for the stars and that night on the lake there was no shortage. This may be my favorite anecdote. An ode to the way she and I work together if you will. She kept shooting pointing towards the milky way right over the van. And I couldn’t help but wonder how dope it would be to have us in the photo. There was a lot of quick maneuvering, climbing the ladder of the van and holding poses. But we were so in tune with each other and trying to capture it just right. Sort of our own little version of dancing. The image itself has it’s own story but behind the scenes was equally as fun. Before you shun Utah and don’t give it the fair chance it deserves, take a look.

ON THE FIELD WORDS BY JAY BERRONES Home. I got a chance to show Marcela my Home. I feel very blessed to be able to find a home anywhere I go. The dirt and grass where I grew up. Shared moments with brothers. Shed blood sweat and tears with teammates.

We parked Dilly in the parking lot of a sports complex that had a baseball diamond right next to a skatepark. I reenacted games and plays from memory that let me relive my childhood. Baseball was my life coach growing up. I learned lessons between the chalk lines that could never be taught in any classroom. I probably looked like a total idiot flipping, jumping and throwing imaginary balls at imaginary targets. But not only did the lady soak it in, she crafted this photo for me.

I am WHO I am today thanks to this sport. Respectful, encouraging, hard working but painfully humble. That shit sounds painfully NOT humble. To be honest I never take the time to watch the sport anymore, but the character it left behind never escapes me.

The brotherhood that sustains me to this day because of the sport is one I could never have cultivated anywhere else. Baseball has a magical way of putting me in touch with my own past and those I grew up with, which is unlike anything I have ever come to know. Not to mention it gave me a lot of moms!

SHOUT OUT TO ALL THE BASEBALL MOMS WHO CLAIMED US AS THEIR VERY OWN!

Alta, UT

Arches National Park, UT

Naturak Bridges, UT

Hall's Crossing. Lake Powell

selena on the lake WORDS BY MARCELA PULIDO The Southwest is an immensely magical place. I’m never quite sure if it’s because it’s where I originated from and the desert just intuitively feels like home. Whatever the case, our trip to Lake Powell by way of Hall’s Crossing was one of my favorite days on the entire trip.

Lazing about the campsite, blasting Los Lonely Boys and cooking lunch (a lil bacon wrapped hotdogs stuffed with cheese, what can I say? We ate heartily), we soaked in all the sun our brown skin could withstand, which is to say quite a bit.

Lake Powell was the culmination of the Indian Summer that we had been chasing having left the Northwest. We left right at the beginning of the rainy, Winter season knowing we wanted no part of it. We arrived to an awe-inspiring image on a perfect, blissfully warm late October morning: the reddest sands and boulders we had ever laid eyes on juxtaposed by the warmest, most purely blue lake water. In essence: it was heaven.

Finally, our bellies full and our hearts content, we took off towards the waters. Dressing Rupert in his doggy lifesaver, which later saved his life, we swam, we floated, Jay dived (and lost his glasses) all while drinking cold beers and listening to Selena on the warm waters and even warmer shore. Our skin deepened even further and our souls were filled to the brim with a calming joy.

We found a campsite nearby, mostly empty but for a few older folks and their RV’s, but the best part? It had showers! What mercy! You begin to really appreciate the small luxuries of life when you’re living on the road and a nice, clean shower was one of the things we so desperately needed then.

We frolicked late into the night, playing with lights and long exposures, laughing loudly without a care in the world and considering staying just one more night, could we? Just for one more night?

arizona

THE COPPER STATE "This was as the desert should be, this was the desert of the picture books, with the land unrolled to the farthest distant horizon hills, with saguaro standing sentinel in their strange chessboard pattern, towering supinely above the fans of ocotillo and brushy mesquite.” ― Dorothy B. Hughes, The Expendable Man WORDS BY JAY BERRONES

Anyone who knows me knows I’ve spent time in Arizona. I think of it as one of my most personal heartbreaks. I wanted to love the land... and I do! But I’m no desert dweller. Time burns slow like a candle on a Catholic altar. Scoulding heat makes the days seem like eternities to which the nights offer no reprieve. Don’t go there unless you have a high tolerance to living inside of an oven. On orders that I get some form of conventional education, I went to the desert to attend audio engineering school. While it probably wasn’t wise to go because I wasn’t ready to focus on anything, I came out of it with a better understanding of a solitary way of life. I made friends at school that have gone on to do incredible things in the audio industry. Even though my life didn’t pan out that way, these people are some of the most potent influences in my life. The same goes for the people I met outside of the school. People in the desert seem to forget the world around them (maybe due to heat) and don’t question what, why or how they express themselves. Fearlessness. Xela and I agree that the lands surrounding a people cultivate them. Fearless rocks and desert? Fearless artistic people. The route through Arizona was windy. Dilly took us through the Northern woods of the state before we came back to hit the Southern valley on our way to California. This being the case I’d like to state for the record that the Grand Canyon is NOT just a big hole in the ground. First off, I think of a hole as circular? It is anything but circular. It was more like

watching a celestial palette of bright colorful waveforms standing still for centuries. There is a palpable sense of breath alive and well coming from the depths of her. She’ll swallow you up in all her faded glory. Tempted as we were to spend all day there, we made our way east to Sedona. This town sits buried between the mouth of the northern Arizona pines and Death Valley. Two landscapes collide in an incredible setting of stark red rocks peeking up through a dense woods of ponderosa. I like to think of the rocks as a naked body using an elegant dress of trees to cover up just enough skin to seduce you with exposed elegance. Normally I’m not a fan of meeting people online. But I had long admired another collage artists work online that goes by the name of Mr.Babies. Nick is his real name. He was kind enough to let us park Dilly the driveway of his blue A frame house for the night. Coincidently he had another travelling collage artist staying with him while we were there. Needless to say there was a lot of paper cut and philosophical conversation had. Joining together with other creative minds that pursue the same art form as you is a powerful experience. Mr.Babies workspace is littered to the brim with stacks of photo books. The walls weren’t spared any space to breathe either. Frames and frames of collage work covered just about every inch of the house. Even the shower! While I was busy cutting paper safely in the house, Marcela had a whole different experience reading in the van. I’ll let her comment on that.

JAVELINAS WORDS BY MARCELA PULIDO We arrived to Nick and Tom’s perfectly pleasant little triangle home in Sedona, AZ and I was instantly smitten. The warm, gentler air, the lush green landscape juxtaposed by the martian red dirt of Sedona… it always feels right to end up back in the desert, if even just for a few days. The fellas were getting acquainted, holed up in the art room and having a grand time. It was nice to see Jay bonding with some artistic dudes and watching them all create awesome collage art together. It was inspiring, to say the least. I was off in the kitchen on my laptop frantically trying to tie up some loose ends to the last wedding I had shot in Seattle before we departed and responding to e-mails. Keeping in contact was tough during these two months since that was literally the last thing I wanted to do. We were meant to be off the grid, after all. But I finished up my work while they were still going, so I decided to go to bed. I said my goodnights to the dudes and went off to the van to cuddle up with Rupert. I stayed up for a bit longer reading by the internal light of my kindle. (Don’t judge me, I’m a purist when it comes to books but can’t deny the convenience of e-books when you’re on the road. Trust me, if I could take my entire library everywhere I went I would in a heartbeat!) when I started to hear some scuffling coming from outside…

It sounded like someone was walking around the van. I knew no one could see me so I stayed quiet, trying to peek outside, trying to see someone out there but unable to in the pitch darkness. My heart started beating faster, wondering who the hell would be outside after midnight and what they would want. Suddenly I heard the trash can get knocked over and Rupert started barking and growling frantically at our unseen foe. I looked outside the back van window and through a single ray of light pouring outside I saw… a pig? Wait, no, a lot of pigs. Holy shit, there were like twenty piggies of assorted shapes and sizes running in every direction! I called Jay and the boys turned the lights on and ran out, scaring and scattering the little javelinas in different directions. Little baby ones, big fat ones, so many little javelinas just running through the streets! My relief was palpable. There wasn’t some escaped axe murder convict trying to steal the van, it was just a bunch of adorable little piggies. Once they scattered and everything calmed down again, Rupert, Jay and I finally laid down to sleep peacefully.

Horseshoe Bend. Page, AZ

Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

new mexico

THE LAND OF ENCHANTMENT I'll be waiting in this parking lot / And in my dreams, I am dirty broke, beautiful, and free. WORDS BY JAY BERRONES

New Mexico is the forgotten armpit of the country. It’s the land of enchantment that feels like it never made it out of 1999. Perhaps that’s why it is in fact so enchanting? Some scenes look like living relics of the not so distant past and it feels familiar. It’s a place where even the full khaki suited vato loco can fully appreciate the simple joys of mass exodus hot air balloon festival. And that’s where we started our journey in New Mexico. For real though, this was definitely a premeditated part of the trip. We knew we had to make it to this event and when we realized that our itinerary was going to allow us to do so, there was no doubt that we’d have to be there to see the mass ascension! Driving into New Mexico, you can feel the old world superstitious mood drifting through the air. We were greeted by a toothless bearded man on the side of the highway that was more like an apparition than human. I can’t recall exactly the words he said but we left feeling wrangled in by the ghostly spirits of the land. Mr. Unknown most definitely set the mood for the New Mexico leg of our tour. We pulled into the festival grounds around sunset the night before mass ascension. Walking up to the gates gave us both the familiar excitement of going to an amusement park as children. All of a sudden… BOOM! One hundred largerthan-life balloons towered above us looking down with big old dumbo smiles. Playful giants! It was overwhelming to be so close to such huge menacing objects yet feel like they could do you no harm at all. Your heart unexpectedly fills with overflowing joy and confusion but damn, is it awesome! The festival itself is such an honest, unregulated and enjoyable event. It feels very real and surreal all at once, as if you were dreaming while awake. For me it had partly to do

with the amount of families that come out. In today’s “progressive” society, the concept of family seems to be dwindling but not in New Mexico, and it is a beautiful sight to behold. Teenage daughters push strollers with baby sisters in them while tending to the wild young brothers. Very round and macho men clear paths for their cubs to walk through the crowds and each pack respects each others’. The only word that came to mind was harmony. It felt as though we were in the middle of one giant Native American BBQ and everyone knew each other from years back. Which, if you know me, that’s all I ever want out of life. If you do too? Then you should most definitely visit the Hot Air Balloon Festival at least once in your life. There’s honestly too many words for the hot air balloon festival alone, nevertheless we must keep going. On our way out of New Mexico, we got pleasantly stuck in the towns outside of Albuquerque. We took the turquoise trail east from ABQ and stumbled upon Madrid. Pronounced “MAD-rid”. It’s the halfway point between Albuquerque and Santa Fe that lives in perpetual sun. What used to be a coal mining town in the early 1900’s, was abandoned and later repurposed in the 70’s to be an oasis for artists and musicians. Silly us, we didn’t bring out the camera on this part of the trip. I know that it would have photographed well, but I rather enjoy that we accidently allowed ourselves to just exist in the moment without worrying about capturing it.

eVERYBODY LIKES BALLOONS! WORDS BY MARCELA PULIDO I first became aware of it’s existence through a photo I encountered online. Spending far more time than I care to admit sitting in front of a computer, I browse endlessly image after image either seeking inspiration of style, aesthetic, or exploration. But when I saw this image, I literally stopped in awe to appreciate what I was viewing. It was an image taken in India of a hot air balloon festival. The landscape was warm, golden tones of hills like waves easing in and out of one another but what struck me was the seemingly innumerable amount of hot air balloons filling the sky. Even in an image, it was awe-inspiring and I knew I wanted to see it for myself. During the planning process of this road trip we (by that I mean I) did research on each state and destination we had intended to go to, trying to find places to see and activities to occupy our time with. Yet again, hours spent sitting in front of a computer doing research. But it was then that I encountered the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. We kept going back and forth… can we? Can’t we? Frankly our itinerary was all over the place, trying to fill up as much

as we could and even then, things changed day by day. It wasn’t until maybe a week prior that I realized… we can make it! Perked up and excited, overjoyed like a child I told Jay and we set our sights to Albuquerque. We parked the van in a graveyard that night (which if you’ve ever grown up hearing old Mexican ghost stories you might understand why it was rather sleepless for me) to be close by. We ran through the fields like children, literally chasing the balloons as they went up in their little pods and slowly filled up the sky above us. Giggling madly, eyes darting catching all the colors and shapes as they floated towards the heavens, “Look! There’s Smokey the Bear!” “Check out that whale!” Chatting eagerly with attendants and watching the flames inflate the balloons then levitate the baskets… ...it was as if just for a day we were temporarily transformed into a boy and a girl of just 6 and 7.

Carlsbad Caverns

texas

THE LONE STAR STATE "Y'all can go to hell, I'm going to Texas." -David Crockett WORDS BY JAY BERRONES

Home is a concept that becomes less of a reality and more of a feeling the longer you live outside of your hometown. Home becomes less of the physical realm and transforms into a spiritual one. The outline of a state is no longer enough of an encompassing sensation of familiarity. Although no one could deny the magnificently recognizable shape of the Lone Star state, I personally have sought to fulfill the void of what makes me feel at home and at ease in my own skin. The journey is long and excruciatingly painful, and mine feels far from complete. But like a loyal hound, the state of Texas is always home. A safe haven of loud, proud and incredibly diverse humans unashamed to make your acquaintance. Like an ancient stone, my family is still there. I’ve always found the idea of family very curious. Being born is one of the few occurrences in life you have absolutely zero control over. Much less can you control who you’re born unto. As if there were some divine lottery chute in the sky that pegs you to a clan of humans that have already existed through the same cycle. If you’re lucky, you like, love and adore your tribe. For better. For worse. I consider myself to be extremely lucky. Despite differences, faults and shortcomings, each and every one of the living and deceased members of my tribe is truly a great human. I’m not too certain how many people can willfully admit the same. These people are my home. Mom. Dad. Brothers. Aunts, uncles and cousins. Grandparents. All these people make up a place tangible inside me that makes me feel so very connected. They’ve watched me grow, struggle and succeed.

documenting our time in my home state. We were furiously busy with weddings of friends and family that we didn’t have enough time to keep cameras on hand enough. We mostly used the time to unwind from the two weeks of driving. But I will tell you about the things I forgot I missed so dearly about the motherland: the elements. After living so long in the Pacific Northwest where it rains constantly (but only gentle rains enough to piss you off) I forget how Texas rain is a furious beast. Those loud and proud people I mentioned? They know how to drive in it. Spend too much time in Portlandia and you’ll understand just how refreshing it is to experience knowledgeable driving. We had to brave the torrential down pour to get to my cousins wedding. Rain drops the size of baseballs flew sideways for the entire three hour stretch. Trucks hauled 80 mph as if there weren’t a cloud in the sky. My 74 year old grandpa was part of that crowd. It was pure chaotic harmony. I surely miss the way the sky cracks open with rolling thunder and lightening, the way mother nature shows us her teeth and demands respect. Such is my motherland. HA! I even have to admit that I miss the annoying sensation of skin peeling off leather car seats from the humidity. I wouldn’t be able to have come as far in my life if it weren’t for being lucky enough to have such a beautiful home to come back to; and in Texas to boot!

To be honest I wish we had spent so much more time

Austin, TX

california

the golden state California here we come, right back where we started from... WORDS BY MARCELA PULIDO

It took me leaving my home state to realize just how good we really have it....and also, just how spoiled we are. Let’s face it. California is an incredibly gorgeous state with a diverse landscape and so much to offer.

Carlos, and Stephanie, and we hiked 9 miles to the top of Nevada Falls on The Mist Trail. That was it, I was hooked. Two months later I packed up my car and moved to Yosemite for the summer.

The place I grew up is notoriously not the most photogenic, that’s inarguable. The Inland Empire is mostly desert surrounded by mountains but choose a direction and drive for an hour and you’ll hit something pretty amazing. One hour and you’ll hit Big Bear Mountain, one hour and you’ll be in Los Angeles, or Santa Monica, or Venice Beach, or Palm Springs… you get the picture. Mountains, beach, desert… it’s all so accessible. You could literally start the day surfing and end it snowboarding, that's nuts!

Once I left, I couldn’t stop. My days in Yosemite were spent swimming in the Merced River or hiking and exploring the park. I’d make day trips to Mammoth and stargaze in hot springs. Weekends were for San Francisco so I could welcome my newborn niece into the world. One week I went back home for a trip to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon for the first time, but we stopped at the Salton Sea and Salvation Mountain on the way.

Honestly, growing up most of my time was spent focused on my studies and education so I didn’t get to do a lot of travel or exploring in California. It’s a total shame, I know. But I like to think that I made up for it.

When it was time to head back to Yosemite, I took an extra day to drive up through the coast and Big Sur. I remember the long winding roads and how dense the fog was. I camped on my own for the first time, feeling completely rejuvenated as the rain drizzled on my tent the whole night.

My first camping trip was when I was 23. My best friend and her family (shoutout to the Rossanos!) took me out to Bishop, east of the Sierra Nevadas where we camped at Owen’s River. I had to borrow a sleeping bag and during the night I awoke to a creature sniffing me through the tent I was convinced was a bear. It ended up being a deer, thank goodness.

Maybe I was a late bloomer but I was hooked. I wanted to see everything that this glorious state had to offer. At this point in my life, every time I cross the border back into California or see the glorious purple mountains on the horizon, my heart swells with pride. California, the state that has always been so good to me, just California, has always felt like home to me. I feel pretty lucky to feel that way.

In May of the following year was my first trip to Yosemite that changed everything, I went with my best friends, Cesar,

inland empire WORDS BY MARCELA PULIDO I have heard this sentiment on more than one occasion, “You know how you have your friends in high school, but then you go to college or grow up and grow apart?” Yeah, I mean, I do know that idea but also, no. That just wasn’t the case for us. We know full well how lucky we are to have each other. The people on these pages mean the absolute world to me. I met each and every one of them during a different period of my life but I still consider myself immensely lucky to call them each my best friend. Better yet, I know they all feel the same way about each other. They were there during the awkward teenage years (and refuse to let me forget it) and still have my back to this day. We can honestly be 100% ourselves around each other and for awhile there celebrated birthdays with the most ridiculous themed parties we could think of. We suited up, drank craft beer in a hangar and played laser tag for the “Suit Up! LEGEN...wait for it...DARY Birthday Extravaganza!” and we’ve also picked our houses and drank flaming “expecto patronum” shots for a Harry Potter soiree. Yeah, we owned the hell out of our nerdiness and had a goddamned blast doing it.

I guess it doesn’t hurt that while yes, I’ve known Cesar since we traded Pokemon cards on the playground in the 6th grade and Stephanie since we geeked out over music in our High School art class and Carlos would push me around while we played basketball in PE, we’ve also all laughed hysterically at each other’s drunken stupidity and on more than one occasion, had to hold someone’s hair back. Truth is, we’ve seen it all. We’ve been there through the triumphs and the heartbreak, spent years distant and uncommunicative only to be brought back together again, stronger than ever. Home has been something that I have clearly struggled to define over the years and still constantly ache to find. But when I’m around these people, nothing else matters. We fall back into the regular rhythm of conversation and playful, good-natured teasing that can only come from years of comfort. It leaves us all feeling as if we haven’t spent any time apart at all, each and every time. Today our group has literally doubled with the addition of significant others but to us? That’s just more family to enjoy.

Colton, CA

Avenue of the Giants

Big Sur, CA

THANK YOU! PHOTOGRAPHY BY MARCELA PULIDO COLLAGE ART BY JAY BERRONES IN THE FALL OF 2016 JAY AND MARCELA, HAVING SPENT THE YEAR LIVING IN SEATTLE, WA AND HAVING INARGUABLY ONE OF THEIR MOST PROLIFIC YEARS TO DATE SOLD EVERYTHING THAT THEY OWNED TO PURCHASE A 1991 CHEVY EXPLORER VAN AND TAKE TO THE ROAD. OVER THE FOLLOWING PAGES YOU'LL SEE IMAGES, STORIES, AND ART CREATED ON THE TRIP. ON THE FOLLOWING PAGE THEY ANSWER WHY THEY DID IT.

We're fueled by the constant and ever-nagging desire for something more without ever really being able to put words what it is we're looking for. We just know when we're missing it and we know when it's in our presence. We even managed to find it in each other, our kindred spirits.

Cut from the same cloth and with an immense sense of understanding for each other and endless support for each path we are on, this is Jay and Marcela speaking. Always speaking in the "we" term as opposed to alternating speech forms unless telling our own anecdotes. It's just easier that way.

This is the story of our shared journey portrayed through each of our own mediums. Marcela having shared the outward, what's visible to the eye and what transpired out in the open. Jay having shared the inward, what he created as a means of conversations shared, magazines picked up in various locations through various means, exploring abstract themes along the way.

Jay has dreamt of going on tour with a band since an early age and finally acquiring a van was the last piece to this puzzle. Marcela only too eagerly agreed to go on their makeshift tour, in fact highly supporting the cause. No stranger to the open road and both lacking in any real desire to stay put, it was an easy decision to be made. Rupert had no say in the matter but it's safe to say he enjoyed being able to piss across the country and sniff out new smells.

You'll find the duality ever present in their very existence and relationship. There's no denying it and they work well together, so it's all the better accepting their "yin and yang" mentality and showcasing them through purposeful juxtaposition.

We hope you enjoyed our journey and find some meaning in our lifestyle and choices. It means the world to us to have been able to take part in this and to be able to share it with you.

Thank you, you especially whom holds this book in your hand. We couldn't have done it without your support.

From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you, MARCELA, JAY & RUPERT

PHOTOGRAPHY WEBSITE INSTAGRAM FACEBOOK EMAIL

WORDS

MARCELA

PULIDO

WWW.MGPULIDO.CO @MARCELA.JPG FB.COM/THEMGPSTUDIO SHOOTME@MGPULIDO.CO

COLLAGE

ART

WORDS

JAY

BERRONES

WEBSITE WWW.CARGOCOLLECTIVE.COM/JAYBERRONES INSTAGRAM @JAYBERRONES EMAIL BERRONESJAY@GMAIL.COM