Hector’s willingness to engage in travel is admirable for a blind, naked rabbit, so it’s difficult to be frustrated when I discover he’s adverse to climbing uphill for more than a few moments at a time. The check-up Hector received early in our acquaintance suggested he’s enjoying the upper-middle age of a rabbit’s lifespan. He seems healthy enough but the hardships of his life have been weathered with stoicism alone. The creature is entirely unwilling to explore the more athletic forms of endurance this late in life and a certain world-weariness may have something to do with it.
All to say that I climb Bagger Hill with Hector strapped to my chest, looking like an alien parasite in a modified baby sling. If it were a day hike I might have considered leaving him behind in the kennel, strapped to the bike and covered against wind, rain, and predators. Hector is quiet, by default, and the trailhead is well enough off the beaten path that I doubt anybody would have been in a position to steal him or to question his abandonment. Sources say the trail to ‘The Y2Kave’ takes at least two days- and that’s quickly paced. I, like Hector, have slowed down, some. I plan for three days and pack for four. Toss a rabbit’s weight on top and you have a slow hike indeed.
‘It’s common enough to find oneself nostalgic for the simpler sort of apocalypse that Y2K embodied. Imagine humanity’s unraveling, not at the hands of some insidious nuclear power or by means of plotting and coups, but as a result of simple short-sidedness in the creation of its digital calendar systems. Imagine the collective grimace- the flashing double-zeroes on screens across the globe as planes fell from the sky and microwaves silenced and the streetlamps all went out. Imagine it happened at midnight- a great wave of darkness opposite the sun, revelers frozen with their champagne. Awake, as one might be during a plague. Surprised, as one might be by an atomic blast. Alive enough to be afraid.
Alabama’s ‘Y2Kave’ is a bit of a time capsule in that regard. It is the site chosen by a group of 20-something pessimists for their final days on earth, a tribute to a night of hedonism and paranoia. ‘The Y2Kave’ is far enough off the beaten path that it has been spared defacement. Animals find the place repugnant for some reason, perhaps the residual paint fumes or the unnatural coloring of the walls.
The small cave has become an unlikely respite from the modern world- but a temporary one. The dawn of the century was, by no means, an age of absolute contentment. ‘The Y2Kave’ is the product of fear- naïve fear, perhaps, but fear just the same. Few stay for longer than a week before the place’s subtle haunting drives them away.’
Hector and I reach the cave late in the afternoon, having overshot the turnoff half a mile before catching the mistake. I’m happy to find ‘The Y2Kave’ vacant. My sense is that visitors tend to be meditative rather that rowdy but I don’t savor the possibility of having to commiserate over the state of the world. Things are obviously bad. Let me suffer alone.
Hector is asleep when I set him down in the sling. He opens an eye when I reattach his harness and closes it again once I stand. I let him rest and step into the cave.
Shitholes doesn’t mention that some amount of purposeful conservation has occurred at the site of this ancient doomsday party. Empty bottles of discontinued wine coolers have been organized along one wall. Scraps of paper have been patched together and anchored by rocks. Several other items- a frisbee, a joint, a pack of Camels, a pair of glasses- have been inventoried in the back where visitors have identified them in chalk. Two halves of a Y2K emergency pamphlet have been rolled up and pressed into a wine bottle. It reeks of late-nineties graphic design, all 3D fonts and clipart despite the dire warnings.
A controversial timeline of the party itself has been laid out on another wall, this also in chalk. The anonymous attendees of the original party seemed to have begun a mural early in the night- a visual depiction of human civilization from the beginning of time. The mural is largely western, beginning with a satirical depiction of Adam and Eve, leading into vague scenes of Egypt and possibly China, and slowing down once more for the founding of the US. To their credit, the artists had a pretty good memory of the past centuries’ American atrocities and less-satirical depictions of those events take up much of the remaining space.
The chalk timeline notes the drunken sloppiness of the painting as the timeline reaches 2000, at which point there is an unfinished sketch of the party itself followed by a couple dozen doomsday scenarios. Everything from nuclear war to alien invasion.
There is some internet chatter about a jutting rock near the end of the mural where paint has dried dark brown. Some suggest the party ended in violence, when drawn-out paranoia overcame the nihilism. The inclusion of twenty-odd cans of food and a rusted pot in the inventory suggests the potential for a longer stay- a half-hearted shelter for the early days of the end times. It doesn’t take much for humans to turn over so few resources.
I bring Hector into the cave a little later to see if he has a sense for the place. He hops here and there and he pauses briefly to lick at the bloody rock before I pull him away. After the novelty has faded he, like other animals, seems to be in favor of spending the evening outside.
It’s a clear night, and not so cold for mid-autumn. We sleep under the stars and pack up early the next morning. We make better time on the way down and are soon cast back into the troubled present, eased not by the respite itself, but for having recognized the futility of dwelling overlong in the past.
-traveler
