If you're out garage sale-ing and you're looking for old Star Trek stuff, chances are that you're going to find it in Lynden. You know Lynden, I've written about it before; it's that little slice of Dutch-themed heaven six miles west of Rancho FirstNations where the folks are white, the politics are crimson, and Jesus owns a gun. That Lynden.
That's what makes finding vintage Star Trek stuff there so weird. It's not exactly the kind of place you think of when you think of science fiction fans, it's the kind of place you think of when you think of cult Christianity and teenage pregnancy. But there you go...right there on the same table with the piles of Mommy porn paperbacks and Crossroads magazines you're likely to find stacks of Star Trek novels, every single bad, unreadably bad, embarrassingly, embarrassingly bad one of them ever printed.
Here's my theory: Lynden is remote. It was even more remote back in the 60's and early 70's. No access to popular culture, everyone up in everyone elses' small-town shit, and little in the way of music or entertainment outside of church. Maybe back in the day, the only way for a rebellious kid to sneak one past the parents was to bring home a boring-looking book filled with seditious ideas (heart-stoppers like embracing diversity, the triumph of Science over Superstition and the Nobility of Man), knowing that Mom wouldn't look because she was raised to think science is icky; and Dad wouldn't look because books are for fags; he got where he is today by prayer and hard work not schooling.
I see this so often it's become expected. Someone's putting mom and dad in the Vander Resthome and raising funds by having a garage sale... purging all the Zimmer frames and raised potty stools, and why the heck not; their teenage stash of space opera. Wouldn't old dad just have a fit if he could see it all lying there next to his copy of 'What The Jews' Plan For America'?
So if you want Trek collectables, particularly full sets of mint Star Trek novels, awful as they are, head North on I-5 until you start to run out of America. About three miles before you hit Canada you'll see a billboard with a picture of a dead fetus lying on an American flag. That'll be Lynden.
And no, I'm not making the thing up about the billboard.
