This is a place to share your memories & thoughts of our beloved Dustin. Ever since he left this plane, there have been many stories shared amongst us and they've lifted our spirits and filled tiny pieces of the holes left in our heart's now.....or is it our soul's???? I feel that we are all Dustin's soul mates....can you feel me? Each & every one of us had such a deep connection with him, how amazing it is that he touched SO many lives in such phenomenal ways! So, I ask you now to share with us some of your beautiful experiences or photos with our deeply missed friend, brother, lover, cousin, and most of all, Son ---Dustin J. Matthews--- Stop by every now & then....and spread the word about our site. {Much Love & Light to Everyone}
-----This comes from Max Gimbel (above) AKA Commander Squirrel-----I don’t remember when I first met Dustin. In my mind’s eye, beginning to hike the
Appalachian Trail and becoming close to him were simultaneous occurrences. As it
were, it appears that both the start and end of our friendship in the material world is
somewhat undefined, so I’ve felt the need to flesh out the parts in the middle that I do
know well and that impact me even nearly a decade after the fact.
Most all the thru-hikers on the AT had trail names to represent something that they were,
were not, wanted to be, or were busy avoiding becoming. Through the trail names, many
hikers were able to redefine themselves for a stretch of time and trail. Because of these
living pseudonyms, there was an element of fiction to nearly everyone I encountered
along the 2,175 mile corridor. Greenleaf, Specter, Jetson, Thru-camper; I didn’t really
know who they were. Even now, I can’t recall their given names. There are many others
whose trail names I remember, but have faded off to a more real friendship. Accident-
Waiting-To-Happen is Gina , a new and proud mom, Slap Happy is Felicity Smith, now
Felicity Billings, happily married and about to start a family. Dustin is among the later
group, those that have turned to genuine friendship, and to be honest, I never felt
comfortable calling him Comet Kid, even though it was representative for all of the
reasons it was given.
As I recall, Dustin became Comet Kid because of his speed and grace while hiking. I
also always associated the name with an out-of-this-worldness that represents comets’
rare frequency of appearing only once in a lifetime, every, say, 157 or 439 years. Perhaps
the name was prophetic; perhaps it was given to him long ago for reasons we never could
have understood. But now, the symbolism of the comet, that burns so bright for such a
short period of time, isn’t lost on anyone.
Even though I might understand why he was Comet Kid, he was one of the few thru-
hikers that always made more sense to me by his given name. I didn’t want the fiction,
nor did he want to sell it like the rest of the hikers.
One of Dustin’s amazing abilities was to hitch-hike. While this may seem neither like an
ability nor like something necessary while hiking, its not the case. To get from trail to
town was vital while hiking the AT. On the trail was the first bloom of South Carolina’s
Trillium, the oboe tenor of the loon, the dirt that was granted access to every pore and
piece of equipment, and one’s own stink that followed you around like a gadfly. With all
of its beauty it didn’t have a shower, a post office, Cheetos, a real bed. So to get to town,
one needed to hitch-hike. The problem with hitch-hiking is the x-factor of not knowing
when you’ll get picked up. At least while hiking, depending on pace, you’ll go 2, 3 or
even 4 miles an hour. But hitch-hiking could take all day. And if you are still there by
nightfall, forget about that all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet and those 100 count motel
sheets, cause no one will pick you up by moonlight. Unless, that is, you happen to be
Dustin Matthews.
As he explained it to me, Dustin would project love directly towards oncoming traffic the
way a state trooper would point a radar gun. He would open his chest and heart and actually transmit positive energy. This was the first I had heard of the concept, and had it
come from anyone else, I would have taken it as fiction, as I took so many other things I
picked up on the trail.
There is no better proof of the power of love than trying to get picked-up hitch-hiking as
a stench-emitting hiker with long hair and a beard, and doing so. Most importantly, and
this is why it never worked for me, Dustin did not project love in order to get picked up,
he projected love in a more pure, unattached state. People would trust Dustin at 63 miles
per hour. They would trust their lives, families and vehicles to this young man. I’d seen
a few night falls during my hitch-hiking days, but never when I was with Dustin.
I remember a time just south of the Shenandoah’s in Virginia, south of Rusty’s Hard
Time Hollow, Dustin and I got split up. On the night of summer solstice, the longest
night of the year, I decided to hike through the dark to catch up and find him. The
following noon I caught up with Dustin, we were just a few miles south of Rusty’s Hard
Time Hollow at this point, and there was a group of about 15 of us who were itching to
get there for the barbeque and beer that night. We all took a short cut to the hiker haven,
called blue-blazing as the trailed followed the blue blazes painted on trees that indicates a
spur trail off the purity of the white blazes that demarcate the AT. When we all finally
arrived at the Hollow, the barbeque was lit up, and burgers were starting to grill. While I
had been a vegetarian before the trail, I had a six month hiatus from refraining from meat
consumption while hiking, and both the charred meat and cold beer were like sirens to
walk-weary hikers.
As hikers were starting to settle into the Hollow... picking out bunks, forming an order
for the shower... Dustin and I were unsettled with our decision to take the quicker and
easier route from the AT to the Hollow. It might have been pride, or purity, or rebellion,
but we hiked the four or so miles back to the AT along the blue-blazed trail, picked up
where we had left off and continued along the white blazes of the AT until we arrived in
late afternoon; the good bunks taken, the air too cold for showering. Our bond consisted
of not accepting the path of least resistance. I wouldn’t have gone back without him. He
might have gone back without me. We’ll never know.
Besides teaching me about projecting love, that love moves in waves like particles of
light or particles of energy, Dustin taught me about non-attachment. I had never heard of
the four noble truths before I met Dustin. Dustin and I tried out the Buddhist philosophy
one day while hiking along somewhere in northern Virginia, I believe. We were
practicing non-attachment in a form of walking mediation. We were in the world, but not
of it, or so we thought and hoped.
To prove just how far we were to non-attachment, the trail brought us to a campsite, just
before nightfall, where two beautiful women, mostly undressed, were doing their laundry.
When we arrived and saw the two ladies, Dustin and I just smiled, and laughed at
ourselves, recognizing just how far we really were from non-attachment and absence of
desire. It was a lesson I carry with me always. But the strongest lesson that I carry with me from Dustin and the one that defines all
other memories of him within my hierarchy of Dustin memories is that of the Yellow
Mountain Barn. This is the memory that immediately became legend in my mind. On
hard days, it gives me the strength to keep going, and on harder days it gives me the
strength to keep living. The Yellow Mountain Barn (Overmountain Shelter -
http://www.tehcc.org/images/yellbrn2.jpg) is an abandoned farmhouse just off a spur trail
along the AT, in North Carolina. It’s known for its ample floor space and wide-open
starry views. There was a large group of us that arrived that night, maybe 15 or 20, there
was beer and maybe even some musical instruments. The first order of business was
getting a fire set up, and thus we needed to find firewood. As you could image, we
weren’t the first large group to pass through the Yellow Mountain Barn and we certainly
weren’t the first group to want to have a bon fire. So the scraps of burnable wood nearby
were pretty slim. We went out in waves and in pairs to find wood, the key to the evening
events.
One, two, three, four, and so on groups went off in search of wood. They came back with
a few sticks, twigs really, enough wood to burn while the stars rotated just a degrees, but
certainly not enough to keep us warm and happy for the night. All the pairs had returned,
and we were all a bit despondent with the lack of firewood. And then Dustin appeared
with long tree limbs askew across his body, like a lean cat with giant whiskers. At that
moment, I had an instant realization of what perseverance was. While the rest of us came
back with firewood for a few minutes, Dustin returned, alone, with firewood for half the
night.
As if it weren’t impressive enough (so impressive to me that I took a photo which I later
developed in my darkroom in Philadelphia), Dustin, placed the wood down by the pile
with the rest of the timber: humble, quiet, without ego. To go the extra mile, and to do it
with humility is the lesson that Dustin taught me at the Yellow Mountain Barn. I’m not
always (or even often) able to emulate the lesson, but it really does keep me going. I
keep this photo with me always. When I move, it’s the last to be packed up, and the first
to be displayed.
After the Yellow Mountain Barn, Dustin and I were split up for some time. It wasn’t
until the last week or two of our AT hikes that we saw each other again, somewhere in
central Maine. I remember being so glad to see Dustin and felt fitting, that even though
we passed hundreds of miles separately, that we started and finished the trail together.
Inspired to see Dustin again, and faced with the new challenge of crossing the Kennebec
River in central Maine (http://www.fred.net/kathy/at/kennebec.html), that was dam
controlled. The fact that it was dam controlled means that the dam could let loose at any
moment with a surge of water, raising the water level by a few feet and increasing the
flow enough to sweep a hiker downstream in a deadly way. The dams more often operate
after noon, so the morning is a better time to cross unaided, but still, most hikers opt to
take a small ferry across, or at least pay the ferryman to take his or her backpack across.
Well, Dustin and I one early frosty Maine morning in October, decided, quite foolishly in
hindsight, to cross the river, with packs, without the ferry. It was a slow, cold, slippery
ford. I remember losing my footing many times and losing sensation in parts of my body.
We made it though, and when I am asked today what the most difficult thing I have done
was, crossing the Kennebec is right up on top of the list. That crossing reminds me of all
the positive aspects of the T.S. Elliot quote, "Only those who risk going too far can
possibly find out how far they can go."
Just over a week after the river crossing, Dustin and I finished up the trail together,
exactly six months after leaving from Springer Mountain in Georgia. Knowing that gives
me hope that even though Dustin and I might not be at the same place along life’s trail at
any moment, that in the end, we will find each other again.
With much love, respect and admiration,
Max Gimbel AKA Commander Squirrel
Our second story from the Appalachian Trail is from:
------Gina "Accident Waiting To Happen" Varrichio------I started this letter months ago when Aurora told me of Dustin’s passing. For whatever
reason, my desire to write to you was quite strong, and all of my journaling on the subject
of Dustin was addressed to you. Maybe it is some ethereal connection between mothers
or maybe a distressed friend’s whim, but I am glad to finally be sending this to you.
Nicole has been encouraging me to write to you all, but it wasn’t until reading Max’s
letter that I was able to accept that I didn’t have to have anything amazing or profound to
be able to share my thoughts about the great loss of your son.
Much of the text to follow is unedited, so I apologize for my repeated rambling. I am
crafting this in part based on Max’s model, as the number of Dustin memories I have are
too great to share here without being overwhelming. I have picked a few Appalachian
Trail snippets and inserted all the photos I have of Dustin from that time period. It is a
little disjointed, but I am more concerned with the act of sending it than with its editing at
the present moment.
Let me start by saying that Dustin’s death is a loss I feel deeply. The ache in my knee
reminds me of the callous finger tips that worked each muscle around the injury,
releasing the tension of too many hikes and too long a fall. The heat in the pit of my
stomach reminds me of meditations, enclosed in rooms and tents and cars or out in open
air, me describing each feeling as it came to pass and Dustin, with a smile – always with
a smile – nodding and saying “that’s good†and “ah... that’s the....INSERT Chinese word
here.â€
My child reminds me of children he’ll never meet, babies he’ll never have. The
uncontainable excitement on the other end of the line when I told him I was pregnant and
the “Tibetan Art of Parenting†that showed up in my mailbox a week later.
We met in Addis Gap. Gordo and his friends were out on their annual quest to “feed the
thru hikers.†They’d saved me from an ugly case of hypothermia and I was settling in for
what looked like a long weekend. I watched hikers pass in and out in the pouring rain,
stuffing themselves and looking around at the guitars and giant Coleman tents. Dustin
pulled in late afternoon. He had decided to camp there, I think, especially with the
promise of a hot dinner that didn’t come out of a bag. We hit it off immediately. We were
both in the earliest days of our spiritual searches. It was like a show-and-tell. Dustin
turned me on to Tai Chi, I made him reconsider the bounds of love, he pressured me to
stop smoking, I pressured him to start. On the final day, we said our farewells to Gordo
and his company and set off together.
INSERT: I randomly found some photos of Dustin and I during this time on a hiker’s
webpage. Check out http://at.waldo.net/journal/422.htm for us the day we met and
http://at.waldo.net/journal/427.htm for a later lunchtime frolic.**
We crossed the GA-NC border together and both did a little dance in Dustin’s homeland.
The next day, Dustin and some other hikers we had met the day before planned to take a
“blue blaze†out to a public campground where some folks were going to pick them up
and take them to Boone for a party. Dustin had convinced me to go with them, but in the morning, when the rest of the crew was ready to head out, I decided to sleep in (generally
a hiker no-no) and told them I’d meet them on the other end. By the time I made it down
to the campground, they were gone. I didn’t see Dustin again until Trail Days. A later rendezvous I remember was in Hanover, NH. I had just finished a weekend hike
with my dad and was getting him squared away to get back to his car when, sure enough,
here comes the Comet Kid. We stayed in a fraternity house in Dartmouth together and
hiked out with friends the following day. Most of that afternoon we spent talking about
massage. Dustin played me songs on his wooden flute. I sang. We hiked together the
following day and then, as trail time often is, I don’t know how many days passed.
Again, Dustin wanted to pull ahead and I stayed back with our other hiking companions
since Hanover, NH. We planned to meet at the infamous Atwell Hilton – an abandoned
house not far off the trail that had been adopted as a thru hiker hangout. As we slid from
steep embankment to steeper embankment and the sky started to dim, it became obvious
that we were not going to make it to the Atwell Hilton that night. Instead, we pulled into
a hay-filled red barn and pitched our tents on the mounds of hay.
After finishing dinner, we had all slipped into our sleeping bags. It was pitch black in the
barn and I was just thinking about sleep when the headlights of an old pickup truck shone
through the screen of my tent. The truck had pulled up just inside the mouth of the barn
and the headlights were blinding in the blackness. Two figures climbed out and a deep
male voice said huskily, “Comet’s been looking for ya’.†I laughed, still not sure what on
earth was going on, but immediately climbed out of my bag and began to pack my things.
As I packed, the people identified themselves as Dizzy Bee – the caretaker of the Atwell
Hilton (read: provider of beer and hotdogs) and her sidekick. They explained that Dustin
had pulled into the Atwell Hilton hours ago and had been anxiously waiting for the rest of us. When it became obvious we were not coming, Dizzy Bee and friend felt compelled to
fetch us so that Dustin would not be drinking alone. Guessing well the appeal of a cushy
old barn to sleepy thru hikers, it didn’t take them long to find us. Though half the group
chose to stay in the barn, 3 of us climbed into the backend of Dizzy Bee’s chariot and
were whisked away to the Atwell Hilton and the Comet Kid. We all spent the night
drinking cheap beer and smoking cigarettes. In the wee hours of the morning, we all
rolled out our bags single-file on the second story and, crossing our fingers that the
floorboards didn’t give way, slept off our food and drink.
The next day, after a miniscule amount of hiking, Dizzy Bee took us all into town to
collect our mail drops and some groceries for a trail feast that evening. We hiked the mile
out to the shelter from a road-crossing and feasted on roasted corn, canned beans, and
other campfire delicacies. Dustin sampled his new bivvy sack (a sort of nylon bag that
you slip your sleeping bag into with a raised area over your face, often used by climbers)
and modeled the pair of Speedos mom had been nice enough to send with his food
supplies. Another hiker free-for-all lasted well into the night and we all slept restlessly,
excited about our entrance into the White Mountains the following morning. When we all woke the next day, not far behind the sun, Dustin was gone. There was
much speculation as to what might have happened to him, but by this point, I was used to
impromptu departures by Dustin. Farewells were to be inferred and I felt certain there
would be a tale to follow the next time we crossed paths, if you will. (As an addendum,
the tale to follow was quintessentially Dustin. He had decided that he wanted to see the
sunrise on Mt. Mthe summit.)I have an endless supply of Dustin trail-tales, many of which were lost to me until these
past few months. Just as we hopscotched in and out of one another’s AT experience, so
too did we spend the next 10 yrs bounding in and out of each other’s day-to-days. We
have met in hotel rooms in strange cities, front porches in more familiar ones,
bunkhouses, campsites, and wherever or whenever the fates conspired. I steal from
Dustin’s friend Nicole when I say that to know Dustin was like meeting someone with
whom you could meet god. And I know that it was definitely Dustin who made my first
introduction.
As a hiker, Dustin has always outpaced me. And as a seeker of the true nature of reality,
he has done the same. For many years we have followed divergent paths, both physical
and spiritual. My dearest friend, it is my deepest wish that when my own time begins to
wane, our trails will again converge.
With the deepest compassion and wish for your renewed harmony,
Gina “The Accident Waiting to Happen†Varrichio----FROM MELISSA----Once in Raleigh, I saw a fire pouring out of the windows of one of those old NC houses. I ran to see what, if anything I could do. In the distance came these blond dreadlocks bouncing towards me. It was Dustin. We met and ran to the nearest firehouse where the firemen were sitting around watching TV in their underwear. We told them about the fire then Dustin and I ran in the middle of the street leading the firetruck to the house. That was how we became brother and sister. I went online the other day to look him up...I always hoped I'd find him and get him out here in brooklyn with me.....i always needed him. So when I first saw his name online I got so excited I didn,t even read the page. I instantly emailed him my info....then I kept reading and now I know he is no longer here with us. Dustin always said that this planet was so claustrophobic and that his physical body was too small for him. Once sitting on top of a hill in Pullen Park, our backs to each other sitting indian style our arms interlocked backwards he taught me to feel what energy was and how much I had inside me waiting to be used. He then stood up and tried his damndest to flip his body inside out so he could roll down the hill and up another like a pinball. I think I peed my pants laughing and watching him try so hard to accomplish this all night. I think about dancing with him for countless hours even when there was no music. But really as we all know with Dustin, there was always music. Tonight I dug out all the mix tapes and postcards he ever sent me when we were apart. All that insence has been burned, my sweet soul brother, cosmik traveler. I LOVE YOU....and like you taught me i'll always be "dancing towards the source".
i can feel your warmth now.
FROM CHRIS BARKER - I still remember that day with you me and bryan ended up in Quintico. I traded my plan b hat for yellow sun and we found the bone in the woods. (which Dustin had displayed in the Groover:)
Myspace EditorFROM: STAYSEE - Hi, I knew Dustin from way back in 92 where I worked with him at Second City Grill. I have rendezvoused with him many times over the years and mourn his passing. He was, and is, one of the great ones.FROM HOLLI SHULER: I remember Dustin from back in the day, I was very crushed to hear what happened to him. I am deeply sorry. -HolliFROM ATEN/STRAND: Dustin, thank you for being the mystic brother creature I shall have in my heart forever. I think of you playing a native flute at Christy Tozzo's apt. so long ago - so very Zen.You are now and forever will be loved wherever your spirit soars...FROM JAMES: When I first met Dustin, I knew I had met him before. He definitely made you believe in past lives. We were instantaneously joined at the hip and so began our long journey together. I remember when we heard house music for the first time....Park Elevator, in Charlotte....Kimbell Collins was on the decks and we were hooked! Dustin was my dancing partner, we could tap into something out of this world on the dance floor. Music meant the world to us, and that bond will never be broken....we still connect through it, thank God. I love you D.FROM CHRIS BARKER: Your brother is having a daughter. She will be called Chloe Isabella and she will know all about you Mr. Matthews.......... Mr. Barker
FROM BRETT: I can't even look at this site without tears streaming steadily. This site is amazing, and I'm truly thankful to have the opportunity to read all of the stories people are sharing. Unfortunately, I don't feel I can read them yet, still. I see a picture of his beaming reality and my wall crumbles to the ground... My knees meet the floor.. My head tilts skyward, my palms up, open and earthward. With closed eyes I quietly cry. Maybe this is how I try to feel him here.. with me.. again.Thank you for the creation of this siteFROM WALDO JAQUITH'S BLOG ON JUNE 18TH 2008: Yesterday I stumbled across the MySpace page of Dustin Matthews, with whom I hiked more than a few miles on the Appalachian Trail in 1996 (trail name “Comet Kidâ€), and was surprised to read that he died a couple of years ago. He was only a few years older than me. From what I can piece together, he committed suicide. Comet Kid had an unusual mixture of a mischievous zest for life and a Buddhist calm about him. He was unpredictable, but in a good way — his spontaneity made people want to go along with him for the adventure.We first met on my third day on the trail, at the Walasi-Yi Inn in Georgia, and hiked more or less together for a few weeks. We met up again in October, just south of Maine’s Baxter State Park. We summited Mt. Katahdin on the same day, October 20th, though he characteristically started shortly after midnight in order to reach the peak at dawn — making him the first person in the country to see the sun rise — planning to take the Knife Edge down the north face of the mountain. The night of October 19 was the last time that I saw him. I’ve often wondered since what became of him, but never tracked him down. I should have tried harder.FROM JILL MATTHEWS, DUSTIN'S AUNT:The very first time I met Dustin he was somewhere around 6 or 7 years old. He was absolutely the cutest little fellow I had ever seen. What a smile! We were in Ft. Walton, Florida. My brother and sister-in-law (Audie & Janis) met me there as it was a good half way point. I was trying to hold a conversation with them but, I couldn't take my eyes off this little guy, BREAK DANCING on the motel sign. He was almost on his head, then on his back and spinning all around on his back with his feet in the air! Quite a showman! The next time I saw him he was 13 or 14. I had left at 7:00pm out of Huntsville and pulled in to Raleigh about 5:00a.m. When I arrived at the house, he was shooting some hoops and the first thing Dustin told me was, "I heard you wanted a water bed, you can sleep in mine tonight to see if you like it." Such a sweetheart. I missed a lot of his growing years but, the few times we were face to face I could FEEL his love. I will always remember him with a heart full of love and happiness and I will NEVER forget that smile! FROM DANIELLE BROOME: It's been ten years since I have seen Dustin. And I have missed him every day. But today I found out that he is gone and my heart is broken. The first time I met Dustin, Brian brought him over because he didn't have a place to go. So I let him stay on my floor ( I only had a room in a house). In a short time Dustin and I became friends. All of the girls wanted Dustin probably because he was the most beautiful person-inside and out- that you will ever meet. I moved away. But when I moved back Dustin offered me a place to stay in his home. Where I met the best people I have ever met in my life. I learned so much. I have never forgotten what I learned there.
I just wanted to thank him (I don't know that I ever did). NEW From Danielle: One day, back when I was living in Raleigh, I was walking home from work and I experienced a burst of pure joy. I don't know what brought it on but I had never experienced anything like it before. Once I got home I was talking to Dustin and trying to explain what I felt. He gave a name to it. Instant Enlightenment. Those bursts come less frequently now but when they do I immediately think of Dustin.FROM NIKAL KLEINSTREUER: Dustin was my first boyfriend. I was so very young, we met in our karate dojo, and fell in love while sparring. For the year that we were in a relationship, he was everything to me, my teacher, my best friend, my love, my soulmate. Though we ended our romantic connection, every time I saw him in the years that followed was incredibly special. It was a beautiful source of consistency for me that as I traveled around the world, for years and years I could come home and count on him being there, in the basement of the same house where he first opened my eyes to the magic of his spirit and his love. Today, having just come back a few days ago from living in New Zealand for four years, I went to that basement apartment to be confronted with the shock of being told that he is no longer on this earth. Even as I willed myself not to break down on the drive home, even as I wished for it not to be true, I felt his spirit wrap itself around me almost as warmly as his arms used to. I will miss him so desperately, but I keep him so close within my heart.
Nikal Kleinstreuer
