Clown Camp Chronicles - Part 2
Traveling Iowa City, a felt-sense of wandering, positive results, and Tail Light Rebellion.
Hi hi! Welcome to Turtles All The Way Up. This is an ongoing travelogue experiment following revelations related to a clown camp. You can find part 1 here, or wing it and keep reading. In this second part, I still haven’t made it to clown camp. So far, I really like writing about my travels and the digressions therein. At some point, there will be actual clown stuff, I swear. Plus, there are things that need to be talked about at some point in their own post, like The Second City non-equity movement to unionize.
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I woke up in my Soul to an email. PCR results: Positive.
Welp, shit.
The plus side, I have all the materials needed to avoid contact with strangers in confined spaces for the rest of my travels. I’ll be working through the store of food I have. For toilets, I’ll wear double KN95s when I run into a gas station. I have a jug of water that will keep me covered for the time being.
I’m not yet deterred from this trip. Returning to the apartment is not a simple solution, as my partner is hosting a friend who flew in. Health-wise, I have no symptoms. Work-wise, I have an unpaid week off. Ethics-wise, I do not want to do harm but how does one exist without endangering others or being a public nuisance/plague rat? I want to get a second opinion on my COVID status, and Iowa City seems like my best option. Best case scenario, I get multiple negative tests, my suspicions about the sketchy testing site are validated, and I can go into clown camp with good conscious.
The original reason I planned a course through Iowa City was to see Tail Light Rebellion, a perenially touring new roots/folk band. Originally a one-man band formed by Jonny Swagger Natale, the act is made for the road. Currently, it’s a duo. Mauz Sorcha plays keyboard and accordion accompanying Jonny’s guitar, vocals, and kickdrums.
To say I’m inspired by their ability to entertain diverse audiences is an understatement. The whole endeavor carries the excitement of a long-form stunt. Booking happens on the road, and as of this writing, their schedule is dense from now to November. It’s a versatile act that fits your hometown watering hole on Friday, your neighborhood DIY spot on Saturday, and then closes out the weekend with an afternoon set at a family Irish pub. True to the roots and folk tradition, this is music for the room and all the people in it at this moment. Rapport is top priority. The fandom is kept alive through social media, especially through their facebook shitposting group “Tail Light Rebellion’s Wild Party.” Some folks join for the memes only to discover weeks later that, hey, this band is pretty good.
Whenever I’m traveling, I like to see if our routes overlap cities, though I by no means would consider myself their #1 fan. It’s comforting to meet wanderers as I wander. Meeting transients while transient, I feel more capable of tapping into the unique felt-sense that comes from being on the road. Gone are the “in-the-office” auto-responses to morning greetings. There is no “oh you know, another day in paradise” or “just living the dream,” those phrases that pave over the day’s possibilities by confirming with a coworker that all is shit. If asked “how’s your [work] day going,” I auto-respond “Eh, we’re doing it.” It’s a benign verbal shrug that can mean “Another day, another dollar,” but actually feels like “After a morning spent contemplating impending catastrophes, an alarming amount of us have once again chosen to show up here and change nothing.”
Mid-wander, the events accruing over a few days remain present-tense in the body. Telling stories while wandering is not simply recounting, but proof of our own vitality. Our knowns unfurl and reform as the days and destinations change, so the only consistency comes from our choice to embody our ever-changing selves.
It wasn’t my choice for my Em body to contract the novel coronavirus, but we will make the most of it. I take an at-home test and tested negative. These tests can be inaccurate, but still, I’d be more relieved to have a positive result to confirm the PCR and do away with doubt.
Speaking of doubt, I’m feeling more exposed with my fishbowl car and cot. I take my mind off of the unknowns by spending an afternoon making blackout window covers at a park in an Iowa City suburb. I brought all the materials needed from Chicago: Reflectix, black cloth, spray adhesive, duct tape, and cardboard to make stencils for the windows. The whole process took about two hours, but the real triumph was doing this on public land while not feeling like a weirdo.
As far as PCR testing goes, the clinic in Iowa City that isn’t charging asked me to create a profile online and call a phone number to speak to someone (will only last about 10 minutes,) all while I’m there in person. Surely, there is another place! Turns out, all those other places are charging over $100 and by the time I call the first clinic’s phone number in fealty, the office has closed. On the plus side, the weather is nice, and I make a dollar playing uke.
Realizing that my next best option to get a COVID test would be in Minneapolis, I attempt to stay at a campground in Amana. In my haste to make a reservation, accidentally booked for tomorrow night. All the same, there’s no staff present and I’m using a primitive site. I don’t know what the local charges are for stealing a campsite, so I don’t risk an overnight stay. I do, however, build a fire and risk a weenie roast. I drive on to a rest stop in the southern burbs of the Twin Cities
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