Boy oh Boy, am I ever aching, all this time I am uninformed as a motherfucker about a well known music rock and roll thing I thought I knew about a guy in a band or two and solo I have always dug,all of them. It's not Clapton or Townsend or Jagger/Richards...it is Graham Nash, Joni's ace deuce, the songs he wrote and sings are beautiful,"Just A Song Before I Go" "Guinnevere" he was the glue dude, he held the fabled asshole Crosbey at bay for a long time, I thought he went to Mill Valley and saved his ass, got him a new liver. Crosbey now says Graham is an asshole and he might be, but he's a hippie. No one can stand us, if you are a square ,we will drive you nuts. It is exactly what one of the functions of being a hippie entails, no getting around it. We really do not give a fuck what you think about us, we really don't. No one else should either but they do so they hate on the hippies for being more free than them.
.....So, after all that
A giant 40 foot long Winna Bay Go, 7'6" wide, two one hundred and twenty-five gallon gas tanks, fill it up, the lady climbs out, she is a small woman, old as me. Very very short, down around 4'2", she has a little dog, a happy little hound by all appearances, and takes the animal over to the grassy dog shitting area we have out there with the pumps and store, yet stationed well away from the door. No one else gets out, no one is rustling around, soon it is clear to me, that this is the driver out here with me and her dog.
" Hey...are you driving this behemoth, you, alone?"..."Yep. Me and my dog. I sold the house and everything in it, got a little car on a trailer to pull along behind me, and we are gone for good."
I have been thinking about this ever since and it has been a couple of months anyway, maybe a week less.
"That is great, I hope. Are you going somewhere or.....???
"No. Not really. We are just hitting the road, sold everything and that's it. We're going to hook up the trailer and that's it."
OK. This probably seventy or so woman is on her own now, she says, she and her dog are on the road, really, they are on the road, maybe even right now.
I, of course, had something to say about all this...or...at least I do now, she wasn't in my purview as she left, I was somewhere else doing something else when she took off. We did not get to chat to my satisfaction.
I mean: the road I knew back when I was on it could be pretty treacherous. In my experience, many of the folks on the road are pirates, they might be cool or they might be Ted Gacy. The dreaded mad dog homosexual murderer of men he hated on for being his mother, well he never got me.
The ploy of the kindly yet desperate gay guys who picked me up hitchhiking was to ask me about my opinions about gayness. I would simply say, "I am straight. I do not want to talk about this with you." and then whatever happened happened. Never once was it unpleasant, I took it as a weird compliment that someone actually "wanted" me but not enough to be understanding if you touch me, it is that simple and communication is the key. I always took the ride and it was always cool., So, there all you think you might get raped by a maniac phobes, maybe you will, but I didn't, not yet anyways.
I wonder where she went first? Where would I go, if I had all that time and the bread to just cruise the highways of America with my little dog Pete, shit, I am all the way in, the climate will just have to go ahead on and change, I'm getting a giant Cummings diesel motherfucking engine because I have driven over the mountains all over the place and you need power up there and dependability means diesel engines for big work.
AND
....I am in a circa 1956 ex-Trailways adventure coach, transformed into a home for a wandering dude that can afford the fuel and has a girlfriend that will drive all night to get to a certain spot for the sunrise...
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| Here She Is |
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| needs curtains |
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