the journal of a wasteland wanderer

prologue

Surviving in a wasteland isn't horrible. Yeah, not having a government to regulate things kinda sucks. No taxes are sick though. No running water, no electricity, no old world commodities is a little annoying but you get used to it. The communities that sprung up after it all are nice.
Of course, I wouldn't know first hand. I was born after it all happened. My grandpa used to tell me stories of the old world. It sounded beautiful. Stories of cities that had populations in the millions, nothing compared to now. We can only see the remnants of it now. The old cities I've been to are quite pretty. Nature has regained its land since the lack of people. Vines have climbed up most buildings, trees manage to grow out of blown out windows and such.
I’ve admired nature my whole life. It’s a living thing, ecosystems that have lived for thousands of years now strive in human abandoned areas. There's a few spots around the country that I keep track of, pretty spots  full of nature. They’re mostly old nature preserves and national parks. Zion Valley starts to get real pretty around this time of year, so does the Smoky Mountains. The mountains feel like they call me everytime I think about them. It’s where I grew up, a small cabin with my parents (god rest their souls), and my grandpa (god rest his soul).
My grandpa used to tell me about the mountains. Stories of spirits that take refuge in the valleys and the caves. I fear the mountains but they do not fear me. I respect the mountains and they respect me. I wish I could talk to them, it’d be nice to hold a quaint conversation with them. I’d ask them questions about life, about death. I’d ask if the hollow trees that whistle with wind are alive, if they’re happy with what they are.
I've seen a lot of the wasteland. Rural areas are inhabited by families who've been there for decades. Urban landscapes hold bustling communities full of some of the nicest people I've ever met.  Suburbs aren't that much to rave about, they're smaller urban areas that mostly keep to themselves. Me, I ain't have a home. I wander, from coast to coast, border to border. I hear talks of a land across the sea that might still have an old world type government. A utopia that didn't collapse.  Some place called "Fairbanks' ' Heard it from my grandpa before he died, god I miss him.
I keep having this dream of it. It haunts me, the idea of a perfect city. From my travels I've heard of a way to get there. It's said that if you travel up north, sticking to the west coast, you'll enter a land called Alaska and that's where it supposedly is. A utopia smack dab in the middle of a forgotten land to most.
Now, I've traveled all throughout what the old world would call "America" but I ain't ever crossed the border into the colder region of "Canada" seems real scary. Nothing I couldn’t handle though, I’ve done month long hikes through mountains and valleys and canyons before.
Most trips through land I’ve known before bore me. I think it was interesting when I was naive and unknowing of the mountains and trails. It’s the exploration of something new that excites me, and this seems like the best exploration that I’ve never done
I set out tomorrow. From the border of California and Nevada I walk.