“One Less Corpse”
Now that I’m home I can reveal the forbidden thought I set out with (shared by my loved ones with overactive imaginations ): that I might not make it back to Fairfax.
In 4200 miles, I might be clipped by a car, mushed by a truck, or impale myself on a bit of rebar on a mountainous descent.
To keep this from happening, I clung to riders with really good judgement (plus an i-phone). To them I owe my life (not exaggerating here, truly!).
For sixty dreamlike days I rode, got lost, got found, got dragged, got peppy, got depressed, got happy and ate foods both real and pretend.
My poops were prodigious, my hiccups sonorous, my sleeps seldom and the rest you can just imagine. There were times I was commanded to write, the results are here.
When I wasn’t singing (either with Breakfast Crew or by myself) or daydreaming, I was actively un-imagining the freeways, phone poles, silos and roadways, trying to picture the terrain, right down to the flora and fauna (so much of it flattened alongside the road under me) as it was before “discovery”.
Our country and Europe’s culture and technology robbed the first dwellers of their homes, their lives and their culture.
Later, scholars and artists have attempted to give them their posthumous due….There are so many tribes, but the California coastal Esselen were the latest on my mind…
Will we ever wise up and copy the stewardship, reverence and light livin’ of those innocent earthlings? Will we ever learn? Will we take our head out of cyberspace and give it a nice ride around the block, around the town, around the county of those people?
Why oh why oh did God not give them bicycles to combat the Spanish?