Clown Camp Chronicles - Part 1
The dream of travel, a disjointed preparation, a sketchy PCR test, and a short jaunt through Prophetstown, IL.
I’m learning how much daily writing helps me process and share the world around me. A lot is happening, constantly. Part of it is the world’s fault, part of it is my restless curiosity about the world. The best things are found off the garden path, where vigilance must be in abundance and phone reception is scarce. If I am going to make a habit of being in a pathless wood, writing is like bug spray: it protects me from mental gnats, but bathing is a must.
Upcoming posts will chronicle the experience of clown camp in Buffalo, MN. It’s a charming little lakefront town, and I could easily spend a weekend biking through the town and playing in the park. Alas, I am here for a self-assigned story on American clowning, modern fooling, and community.
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July 24th - Departure
Camp starts on July 26th. In the weeks leading up to camp I’ve painted a vivid daydream of camping on my way over. I remained dedicated to this dream, even as the “dreaming/packing” life balance was precarious as best.
In the morning, I stopped by a local COVID testing site that offered free PCR tests. And then I stopped by another one. And another. Chicago has an incredible amount of testing sites, and so few of them are actually open during their listed hours. I don’t say this is to chastise people and add to the “People Don’t Want To Work” bullshit. These words are written in bittersweet appreciation that these are folks who also have my fine taste for starting Sunday morning shifts on their own time.
COVID-testing storefronts in Chicago are the Spirit Halloween of the medical world. I’m not privy to the details of the hustle, but certainly people don’t set up so many testing sites out of the goodness of their hearts. While tests are free, people with health insurance receive results faster than the uninsured. Like with any hustle, the quality of service can vary wildly. Take the testing place I opted for, for example, where my sample was collected in a vial of viscous red liquid and set back down in a pile of matching vials. Midswab, the test administrator gave some words of encouragement.
“You probably don’t have it.”
I am buoyed by my good fortune!
I picked up a free bench-futon that a classmate of mine from a decade ago posted on Facebook. We were able to get everything into the car, then later, with a few of my alterations, the mattress and base were a perfect fit for the back of my Kia Soul. If for some reason I couldn’t camp, I could sleep in my car comfortably-ish.
Okay, I’ll be real with you. I have a little bit of a fantasy for extended traveling and staying in my car as needed. Sure, in the deeper depths of the fantasy my vehicle has more amenities than a Kia Soul (example: headroom,) but at the core of this fantasy is the courage to live fully within an uncertain world. My mind plays out a worst-case scenario where unpredictable weather events rise with fascism. Continuing unabated, folks like me will need skills and communities to fall back on or, the scary uncertain part, communities to fall into.
Anyways, I packed my car for clown camp, said goodbye to my partner, came back inside because I swear I had forgotten something, said goodbye to my partner, and got into my car.
Then headed back inside because I left the Drum World CD I got from the thrift store that I wanted to listen to, then said goodbye to my partner, and left for the road.
Prophetstown
Prophetstown, IL is named after Wabokieshiek, the Native American leader and military commander of the Ho-Chunk and Sauk tribes. During the Black Hawk War of 1832, he had a vision in which his all neighboring tribes along with the British armies joined forces to ward off American forces. When this vision was not realized, the community was razed. He was captured and brought to Washington D.C. to meet Andrew Jackson. When he was released, he resettled in Wisconsin to live out the rest of his days.
I didn’t know this when the name popped out on a camping app. “Prophet” in the American imagination conjures a mix of Puritan “Divine Providence” and Manifest Destiny’s will of God. In the Prophetstown State Park, campgrounds are undoubtedly featuring Winnebago RVs on what used to be the home of the Winnebago tribe. Indignities pile up. I say undoubtedly, though, because I was not able to stay on these grounds. I left Chicago too late in the day and, oblivious to how campgrounds work, could not obtain a space. My visit was limited to driving through main corridors and rural highways. A few bars, plenty of churches, and no corporate outposts in sight.
By midnight, I settled for rest stop near Davenport, IA, a towname my mind auto-fills to “Yahoo Answers Druid Drew Davenport.” I haven’t made blackout covers for the windows yet, so there is a slight fishbowl sensation (would this mean my suction cup fan is one of those sucker-things?) My bed’s height lies just below the bottom of the rear passenger window. At a quick glance, peepers will see me seemingly floating sideways in an impossible position. In essence, they are right: on my first night, I feel as if I am floating.
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Great writing . Can’t wait to read the rest.