The name matters not, but for what it’s worth, they call me Funnybone! (that’s if they call at all), a willing prisoner of an insatiable appetite for escapism, a man out of step with his time, an analog relic in a digital world, living a vow of voluntary minimalism and simplicity in an overly complex, human-centric Orwellian landscape, whatever all that means. I’m a remorsefully divorced, terminally and reluctantly single, middle-aged, tri-polar American male, living mostly out of a backpack (it would be challenging to live mostly inside one, after all), sleeping where I can, and seeing what I can, before the inevitable arrival of my expiration date. Idler, ex athlete, off-duty American, no formal education, over-thinker, nine-inch penis (until erect).
This little corner of the World Wide Web shall be my think pad along the Appalachian Trail, a sort of adventure scrapbook. Pabulum, mental masturbation, brain flatulence.
Having survived abortion, I was handed down the real world name of Charles, and I was dubbed ‘Funnybone!,’ exclamation point and all, back on the Pacific Crest Trail in 2002. (This was my first-ever long-distance hike, a decade before Wild began to pummel the path.) I liked the trail moniker enough to keep it. If it matters, this is how I was bestowed it.
Elsewhere, I’ve kept just two online accounts of previous travel adventures to this point, and they can be found at the following links:
- HERE is an account of my boggy slog along the Pennine Way in England, in late 2012.
- HERE is my journal from my second thru-hike of the 2,650-mile Pacific Crest Trail back, back in 2006. It is one of the most-read accounts on the trailjournals website, which continues to surprise me. The trip is still fresh in my mind, making me realize just how rapidly the years roll by.
One of the goals on the AT, besides experiencing as much as possible (and not merely completing the trail), is to write and take pictures, and to keep it all under one roof. This shall be that roof, holes and all. The pessimist lurking within assures me that no one gives a shit about what I have to say (just as I tend not to), and that blogs are prosaic and inferior to that noisy, irksome social experience called Facebook (i.e., who you know, or who you think you know), but ultimately I write (and roam) for one person and only one person, ideally to get to know him better. It is here where I can look back, when, or if, the time comes.
Funnybone! / Chuckie V Veylupek
Divided States of Americuh
Pi Day, 2013
PS: I’m not responsible for anything I might write during this trip.