Campaigns of Escape
“We travel on the road to adventure
On a desert highway straight to the heart of the sun
Like lovers and heroes, and the restless part of everyone
We’re only at home when we’re on the run
On the run…”
Rush
Dreamline
It was 1983 and the instrumental break of Genesis’ That’s All was softly playing through the intercom. It generated a nauseating memory as it became linked to the headache-inducing stench of electrical fires and burnt plastic that permeated the recycled air aboard the shuddering framework of the Moon Hawk as it entered an orbital path above a familiar planet. Stark alien sunlight shot through the thick dirty observation window in dramatic, prismatic fashion into the cabin. Poncho, normally upbeat and enthusiastic, was puddled in a far corner, his semi-gelatinous form relaxed to conserve energy and to accommodate the medical patches covering where explosive projectile rounds had punctured his thick Dralasite hide. His usual Hawaiian-print shirt that kept the two appendages acting as arms and the stalk that acted as both head and neck looked like a crumpled pile of laundry, making him look more pathetic than quirky in the sad stillness of the moment.
It’s December of 2018 and we are full-on hauling ass down Idaho state highway 45. Behind me, where the rear passenger seats are perpetually folded down, Nodachi, my newly adopted six-month-old Akita is quietly whimpering at the puncture wounds on his leg. Within seconds of cresting the rim of the Snake River canyon, I was engaged in a conversation with a veterinarian assistant, describing the details of Nodachi’s injuries. We had sought adventure, and as sometimes happens, our gamble resulted in paying a price after running afoul of a loose, aggressive dog upon returning to the trailhead. I gave a verbal command for my phone to end the call and flicked the cruise control up a few ticks.
Game Master: You enter a well-lit sunporch. On a small bistro table, a simple breakfast of a pastry, a bowl of sliced red pears, and a large iced coffee are spread out for you. Next to the meal is the Sunday morning newspaper…
It’s a Sunday morning and I’m staring at a photo in a newspaper story for several minutes.
A man — roughly my age — is leaning dramatically over a gaming table toward the camera. Below him and in the foreground is an array of fantasy gaming paraphernalia. The game is displayed in a fashion that only comes after years of dedication and practice.
The image and article that went with it stuck with me for days afterward. The article focused on the cultural revival of fantasy role-playing games, especially Dungeons & Dragons. Turns out, some of the games that became popular around the time I was obsessed with role-playing games in middle school (Dungeons & Dragons, Star Frontiers, Gamma World) were still going as strong as ever. How come I wasn’t playing them?
A week or so after encountering the article, my Akitas and I emerged from a gulch deep in the time-rinsed, otherworldly volcanic debris of the Owyhee rangelands. A cold, wicked wind ripped at the impossibly thin synthetic fabrics I was wearing. However, as if I were wearing some kind of magical elven cloak, my sweating body was barely fazed by the winter havoc around us. My non-human companions, donning thick nylon webbing harnesses, joined me in the final trudge to where our buffeted transport sat patiently for my command to come to life and extract us from the impending storm gathering behind us.
We had spent the greater part of a day exploring a long-winding chasm that delivers a creek into the Snake River, passing through multiple locations that would have been perfectly suitable scene locations for any number of science fiction shows. Stratified quartz smashed between plates of sandstone and coarse lava flow. Stark, desolate slopes covered by sun-bleached grasses slanted against a blue gemstone sky. Both the joy and fear that comes with the knowledge that we were witnessing these marvels alone made the experience all that more exhilarating.
Then, as we climbed into the rig, fired up the engine and engaged the four-wheel drive, it hit me: we had just devoted a considerable amount of time to accomplish nothing. We had just invested time and resources to achieve one thing: Escape.
Game Master: Playing a full campaign in a role-playing world is a major commitment that requires those engaged to make themselves available for hours on end, often the larger portion of a day or entire evenings. This dedication is even greater for the game master, the guide that pulls the players through their adventure.
To say that much of my youth was wasted by hundreds of hours devoted to planning for something that would provide a slightly untethered escape from suburban, adolescent purgatory would not be an exaggeration. It would also be disingenuous to say that like all forms of dedication or devotion, the emotional risk could be just as high as physical risk.
Game Master: Your ship makes its final approach to the orbiting United Planetary Federation docking station. An emergency crew has assembled in your designated landing bay…
The lifeless carapace of T’klixatl or “Klix” was sprawled in the center of the cramped, shared freight deck of the Moon Hawk, most of his spacesuit and equipment stripped off of him, exposing where pirate ballistics had punched holes through his body, nearly severed two of his eight legs and obliterating one of his double-hinged arms. Marx and Shawna, the only two party members with medical training both sat in defeated fetal positions, staring at the deck with dazed expressions.
Game Master: You reach the summit of the butte along a long cliff face rim overlooking a wide valley. To the south, you can see the Owyhee front, which still has snowcaps…
It was early March in 2018 and the two male Akitas that had been my hiking partners for nearly a decade wanted to rest at the summit of the butte. Banzai’s breathing was labored and his progress slow. We sat in the delicious blend of pure sunshine and cool breeze and gazed out at the Snake River below winding its way eternally into Oregon. Suddenly, I felt my throat tighten and felt tears spill from my eyes with the realization that this would be Banzai’s last excursion. Somehow, I sensed that he knew it, too. So we sat for a long time and were in no hurry to begin our descent. There was no way for me to know that six months later, both of my friends would be gone and I would be speeding to an emergency vet with their replacements after exploring the same butte.
Game Master: Curiously, both outdoor recreation and fantasy role-playing game systems share a point of origin that can be traced back to the counter culture of the late 1960s. The compelling desire for escape, whether real or imagined, came from disenchanted youth desperately seeking escape from their pre-decided plastic existence pushed on them in the decades following the Second World War.
There was an ad for Dungeons & Dragons that ran in comic books and magazines in the early 80s that both appealed to me as much as it confused me. It featured a confident, somewhat athletic teen boy who is walking with a D&D set under his arm. Behind him was a circle of boys playing the game on a table, having a great time. The tagline read: “Who needs to hang around? I’ve got Dungeons & Dragons.” While wanting very much to be as cool as the boy appeared, the ad never really made sense because playing D&D was hanging around. By the time I reached college, I would find myself saying,” Who needs Dungeons & Dragons? I’ve got the outside world.”
Game Master: Congratulations on completing another mission! Your party stops and takes stock in the most recent events you have shared and to begin planning your next adventure…
I pause at the summit and look out toward southwest Boise. Through the thin smog that hugs the valley floor in winter, I can identify the exact subdivision where, over three decades ago and only a few dozen miles removed, I lived as a latchkey child and would spend my days exploring imaginary worlds for lack of opportunity to expand the one immediately around me.
My current canine companions stand poised on the edge of the butte, contentedly scanning the high desert plain below. There’s a whole world waiting for us to explore, their eyes tell me, and none of it is imaginary. So, with the familiar anticipation that once came with imagined battles with space pirates and exploring new, previously unknown worlds, my decidedly non-human crew clambers up the rig ramp, I strap myself into the driver’s seat, hit the road and roll the dice.