To be continued . . .

I really hate to just stop the blog like this but I'll let everyone know when it's finished and ready to screen.

Alex Jones, photographer extraordinaire, has a photo slideshow at his site:

his site.

But I'm home and I will continue to blog on a daily basis on various subjects.

I'll be returning to the valley to shoot additional footage but for right now I want to help ensure Justice for Janitors.

I'll leave this blog as is and am going to start a general blog

here.

10.21.06 -- 8:00 PM

The journey motif inherently contains growth. Change.

I have learned much and have gotten to know many people that I would not have met otherwise. For example, Alex Jones.

Who?

203 Miles - 7



And Errin Eggers who needs to take better pictures even though she's a reporter and not a photographer.

Jay, John and I have become close and we feel that no matter the outcome of the journey, it has well been worth it:

10.19.06 -- 10:00 PM

The names of the towns--Roma, Rio Grande City, Mission--don't matter. They are the same. Some come out of their business and wave. Some shake Jay's hand and offer water. None join.

None.

10.15.06 -- 11:30 PM

Jay had started the day off 19 miles from his stopping point, the Roma City plaza. I drove ahead to Roma. People were lined up all along the streets. In lawn chairs. Along sidewalks.

Some just standing, waiting.

I drove back eager to share the news when I was told by a Roma police officer to pull over and park. I-83 was being closed off for the parade: the annual Roma City Festival.

I got out of my car and watched Ms. Roma pass by on an elaborate, hideous float. Smiling and waving at me. Elementary school kids throwing sugary sweets at my feet. Small town dignitaries drove by on small town floats, waving.

All up and down I-83 were smiling, laughing faces.

10.15.06 -- 9:00 PM

John often prefaces his comments with "I love my country, but . . ." I took a step back when he admitted to me that he voted Republican in the last election and that he often listened to conservative radio. But he says the media is so off on the border debate that it has caused him to question everything else they stand for.

John knows the border better than most Border Patrol; he knows the the valley, the river intimately. Another topic he is well-versed in is war.

He fought in Vietnam.

I have learned much from John. Especially about war. I'll never forget what he said when I finally mustered the courage to ask him the question I had wanted to know since I discovered he was a vet.

"What's war like?" I said, both of us sipping on a cold beer.

He took a deep breath. Stared off into the dark, glistening Rio Grande in the distance. "Have you ever been in a car wreck?" he asked me.

"Yeah."

"It's like that, but slower . . . and continuous. You see an arm detach from a body. Blood."

10.14.06 -- 10:00 PM

WARNING: Not for the squeamish!

Jay's blisters: Part II

10.14.06 -- 3:00 PM

Rain.

10.13.06 -- 3:00 PM

There's nothing
more awe-inspiring than
space.
Wide open space. Lush,
expansive
green fields
with a sliver
of tar slicing through it.

Blue skies
with white
clouds,
stroked on with a paintbrush.
A grey cloud in the distance
added by the master
artist to add texture
and varience.

"Takes your breath away" is
not the correct phrase to describe
the feeling. Rather, you breath it in
verociously, wanting
to consume what lies before you.
You want to devour it.
Possess it. Take it in you
and pray it stays in you, only
expelling it when you turn
to dust and become one
again with the dirt below
your feet.

10.13.06 -- 10:00 AM

Being out of city limits and out in the open brush means less exhaust and less exhaustion.

We have passed through San Ygnacio with little fanfare. There has been much media coverage throughout South Texas, newspaper and television but most don't even know about Jay's journey.

But there are those who honk as they pass us by. When this phenomenom first began, it would scare the hell out of me. We'd be trudging along at 2 or 3 miles per hour while some 2 ton pick-up goes speeding by at 60, 70 miles per hour blaring its horn. Several have stopped to offer their gratitude, some offer a small contribution. 5 to 20 dollars to make our trek easier. Some offer ice cold bottles of water. None have joined us in our journey. The concerned are willing to contribute thier money and perhaps a few minutes of their time but not their soles. Our lodging is already taken care of for several nights.

The local Catholic church of Zapata has put us up at the Oso Blanco and the owner offered the room for as long as we need it.

Jay is certain that once we reach Roma, the first of the larger towns, others will join and the reception will be larger.

Regardless of our group remaining a trio, our spirits have been lifted by miles and miles of progress.

11.13.06 -- 6:00 AM

I woke up this morning and went to the sink to wash my face. I turned the knob and cupped my hands below the streaming liquid. I splashed the cold water on my face. I hadn't given it sufficient time to warm up and the icy water flowed down my skin. I held my hands to my face and enjoyed the shock of it. It flowed over my closed eyes. Over my lips. Down my neck and over my exposed chest. I lowered my hands and opened my eyes to another pair of eyes staring back at me.

10.12.06 -- 11:30 PM

My mother came down today. She brought down my laptop and iMac. I insisted she send them in the mail but she said she wanted to go for a "drive."

She rented a room at a motel we were staying at and before we went to bed she told me to sit down. She wanted to talk to me.

I sat down across from her on the bed. She looked in my eyes and hesitated. She wanted to tell me to go home. But she knew I hadn't even considered the possibility, although I had.

She told me to take care of myself.

10.12.06 -- 9:00 PM

I remember watching a sunset once. I wasn’t really watching it. I wasa teenager and I was with a girl, whose name I can’t recall, and I was thinking of what would be the right thing to say at the moment. I got the girl, but I didn’t know until today that I had failed that day:



Even though there were several things I had to get done today, I sat there for nearly an hour and watched the sun’s embers slowly fade. I wondered if, perhaps, an undocumented immigrant had rested on that very bank, the American Dream beating feverishly in his heart. I wondered if he had watched the sun fade on a way of life, on culture, on family.

I wondered if his dreams were ever realized.

I wondered many things but one thing I knew: if the wall were to be built no one would ever be able to see a sunset from that bank again. Instead, they would see a cold, grey, steel wall.

10.12.06 -- 5:00 PM

I dropped Jay off at his stopping point today. I coasted about 20 feet farther than his exact stopping point. He turned to me and stared, I didn't meet his gaze. When I stopped I looked at him, "Are you trying to make me cheat?" he said.

I reversed 20 feet and let him out.

You can't help but admire him. Despite his stubborness. His every step sends a shot of pain through him forcing him to consume ibuprofen at regular intervals. I walked with him the entire 14 miles the first day. My aching muscles and sunburnt neck persuaded me to pick up my car. I walk only a fraction of the miles he walks a day but the soreness persists, I can only imagine the pain he must feel.

Belinda Flores of the South Texas immigration counsil joined us today again along with two friends.

I forgot what day it was today. Time has been replaced by distance. All that matters are miles.

Lydia has decided she can't work with Jay.

10.11.06 -- 10:00 PM

WARNING: Not for the squeamish!

Jay's blisters. Part I:

10.11.06 -- 8:00 PM

Here’s the routine: We wake up around 7:00 AM (I’m usually up before then—I’m back to moviemaking schedule which means about five hours of sleep a night). We load up the truck around 8:30 AM and head out around 9:00 or 9:30 AM. He walks for at least 8 hours, taking short breaks in between and sometimes stopping somewhere for lunch. Whatever point he stopped on the day before, he goes right back to that EXACT same spot. Not an inch back; not an inch farther.

Jay has an unwavering faith in destiny and believes no evil can possibly befall us seeing as we are doing good. This often leads to clashes with Lydia, our volunteer co-ordinator. She’d prefer there be a definite plan, a definite course of action, a definite route with specific stops. Jay ain’t having it. I don’t think Lydia will remain part of the team. And our lodging and shower situation will be even more tenuous.

Whenever Jay is asked by a reporter about particulars, for example when he will reach Roma, he always replies: I don’t even know where I’m sleeping tonight, much less when I’ll get to Roma.

Steve is editor of an online journal called the Rio Grande Review. He won’t be with us on a daily basis but he will walk with us from time to time.

The third team member who will be with Jay and I on a daily basis is John. I haven’t talked about John because every time I point the camera at him he ducks out of it. Seems he doesn’t trust me. But he is absolutely indispensable to our journey. He drives his truck right behind Jay like a guardian angel. He carries water and granola bars and I don’t see how this journey would be possible without him.

Benigno Pena (the gentleman who took care of our room) joined us today along with his friend:

10.11.06 -- 1:30 PM

The Texas Sun is either neutral or for the border wall. It must be or it wouldn't bear down so oppressively on us.

Out of all the things I forgot to bring during the hour of chaotic packing before I set out to Laredo . . . My legs, arms, neck and the top of my bald head are complaining the most. I began wearing a baseball cap this morning. The sun laughed at me and continued to sear the back of my neck. I've abandoned the cap and am now wearing a cowboy hat purchased at a gas station. Jay laughed as if he were surprised I lasted this long when I asked him if we could stop to buy a hat.

A purple and red blister has set in on the bottom of my foot. Jay has one developing too.

My ancient ancestors once roamed through terrain similar to this. And they bore no shoes, no wide-brimmed sombreros. All they had was reverence for their Gods. They respected and survived off the land and never caged it or forced it to submit to them.

10.11.06 -- 8:30 AM

The week the students walked out of their classes in Houston Texas, I decided it was time I stopped talking about doing something to change things and actually DO something to change things. I quit my job and picked up a camera. The result was my first documentary, "undocumented."

But the anxiety that continued throughout the course of producing "undocumented" is different than the anxiety that I now feel.

Houston is my city. I was raised there. I have never left there.

I am now alone. No friends. No cash. No contacts. All I have are two men standing by my side whom I didn't know until 24 hours ago.

And while the possibility that I would not finish "undocumented" weighed heavy on me everyday of those six months, I KNOW I will finish this. But the hardships that will come during our 203 Miles will be many. But I won't quit and from what I have gotten to know of Jay, he won't either.

10.10.06 -- 9:45 PM

(BLOG NOTE: Okay, so the spontenaity of this project--and the expediancy to which I set out on it--has left me very unprepared for what I'm wanting to do. I wanted to update the blog daily and thought that I'd find places where I could type stuff up quickly and continue on without distracting Jay from his journey. But we go hours without a gas station--nevermind an internet cafe. So I haven't been able to upload what I've handwritten in my journal. But I've remedied that. I'll be able to post maybe more than one post a day. And I'll be able to post video too. I'm two days behind on the entries but I should be caught up by tomorrow. VIDEO NOTE: I'm working with iMovie when I'm used to Final Cut, which is the equivalent to speeding around town in a porshe and then being relegated to a bicycle. So I can't do everything I'd like but . . . )

10.10.06 -- 9:45 PM
Jay, walking stick in hand, was a veritable P.T. Barnum this morning at the press conference before setting off on his journey. He'd point to a sign and acknowledge it's historical significance as enthralled as if he were pointing at Jumbo, Zip the Pinhead, General Tom Thumb:



He's bubbling with the knowledge of sixty years and is very generous with it. We didn't get a chance to really sit and talk today. But we did get in plenty of walking. 14 miles of walking in the Texas sun. By that time, my camera weighed 300 lbs. and I could no longer feel the soles of my feet.

I had been running up and down the street while Jay was walking, shooting him at various angles.

I was exhausted.

The camera crew from the NBC affiliate in Laredo had been following us since we had left Laredo. We came to our stopping point for the day, the Exxon at Rio Bravo, and I slumped down in a chair in their small dining area. The last thing I remember was placing my arms on the table and laying my head on them.

I was awakened by an impassioned voice. It belonged to a local rancher who was discussing the damage the fence would do not only to his land but, more importantly, to the wildlife all up and down the Rio Grande.

After the rancher left, I asked Jay where we were spending the night. He told me he wasn't able to get in contact with the gentleman who was going to put us up and that we were going to have to camp out at a local park.

I dreaded the thought of setting out in the morning. I dreaded the thought of the following day's 15 miles without having showered.

We were about to set the tent poles in the ground when we got a phone call. We ended up staying in a motel.

10.10.06 -- 4:45 AM

We set out in less than six hours and I haven't slept. Seven hours ago, before I read the Houston Chronicle article about Jay Johnson-Castro, I had no idea I would be traveling to Laredo to document his journey. 350 miles and an X-Large Monster energy drink later, I sit here in the business center of the rather swanky La Posada hotel. The hotel is less than two football fields away from the Rio Grande. I can see Mexico. I have never been to the border (save for when I was brought here "illegaly" while a toddler); never seen the fiercely contested imaginary line drawn by Man across our silent Mother. But I will see every single inch of the 203 miles of it that lie between Laredo and Brownsville.

So far, the group consists of Jay Johnson-Castro and myself. How many--if any--will join us, I don't know. I don't know many things: where we're going to sleep, what we're going to eat, what our route will be, where we'll "use the John" as Jay said in the Houston Chronicle article. Actually, I don't even know what Jay looks like. I've only spoken to him on the phone but we haven't met yet. We're having coffee in less than three hours, though . . . three hours. And I haven't so much as laid my head on a pillow and probably won't tonight. I don't know if it's remnants of the adrenaline that coursed through my veins as I hastily packed my bags and loaded my equipment into my 1997 Honda Civic or the caffeine in the Monster--but I'm not tired.

Jay seemed cool on the phone. "Bring a pair of good walking shoes and a hat," he said after I explained to him who I was and what I wanted to do. Lydia (haven't gotten her last name yet) has volunteered as Jay's publicist and will try to help us in anyway she can (trying to arrange a place for us to sleep, food, a "John," etc. She's already being motherly, calling me "Mijo" (an endearing spanish word meaning "son") and telling me not to worry. I'm not sure of her age but by the sound of her voice it doesn't seem like she's old enough to be my mother. But I apprieciate the gesture; it was comforting. Steve is the final member of our band of conscientious adventurers. I'm pretty sure I detected an accent, British maybe, but I can't be sure since he was waking from a nap and I was running on massive amounts of caffiene. We spoke only briefly but I think he mentioned that he was the editor of a newspaper in . . . I forgot what small town. I'll find out and let y'all know.

I don't have any money, I don't have any idea what to expect, I don't know how long this journey will take. All I have is my Panasonic DVX100b, some clothes and the firm belief that the proposed fence will do much more harm than good.

I can't wait to get started.