The Mysteries of Jupiter

For two years I published a little weekly newspaper at the snowline of the Sierra Mountains. It was community of rich old white fogies and toothless meth cookers, By the end of the two years, I had gone missing, driving around the Pacific Northwest in an old Jeep named Spike, broken-hearted and suicidal.

I wrote many of the columns and even letters-to-the-editor in the newspaper, inspired by Benjamin Franklin. One weekly column of pure weirdness was called The Mysteries of Jupiter--named not after the planet, but after the lawless trailer folk who lived out at the end of an 8 mile rutted road without water, sewer or electricity. Just like this book. It's not what you'd expect...