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Two Days Outside the Gate
A visit from S.
Lemmy was a good Buddhist
Spin the Bottle
Nobody asked me, so I’m asking you
Falafel stop
Dear Jenny
An Ordinary Disaster
This little hawk
Lost bits
Flying, Flow and Awareness
Entering Romania
I was a teenage boozehound—
until age 48
I used to love shopping
Fear, Flow and Freedom

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Westbound again, I-80 from New York through the co

Westbound again, I-80 from New York through the cold, fleshy thighs of America to the corn belt and tomorrow, to the first thrust of the Rockies, and salvation.

I went east for a dream, and it left me scorched, angry, sad and anxious to drive another few thousand miles. I paid visits to some good men in New York and started to relax a bit by the time I got to Wisconsin, but there will be no cure until I see the land rising in front of me toward the sky.

Tonight I stopped in a sweet little town with a free campground and ate takeout from El Pueblo Viejo. Now the crickets are singing over the horn and steel of the 9:30 freight as I eye my bunk.

I feel a bit like this guy. In the past two weeks

I feel a bit like this guy. In the past two weeks I’ve driven across the country, briefly reunited with a love from long long ago, ridden ancient paths in clean green forest, dipped into New York, and dropped my precious iPhone into the deep Atlantic, along with my ID, credit and ATM card. I never used to lose things, but in the past year I’ve had a few critical lapses. Shows I’m loosening up, right? And letting some things slip.

As a nomad my connection to normal world, to some sense of home and stability is pretty tenuous. I’m out here a long way from anything. I’ve got friends everywhere and I’ve been seeing them along the way—and, at the moment I don’t know quite where I’m going. Back to the mountain west, for sure, and eventually back to California, once the rains come, and then... ?

I know we’re all in the same boat, and the whole damn thing has lost its rudder. We’re all adrift, all wondering where to turn, all looking for home, for a new home, for someone, for hope, for love.

Sometimes, I just want an address of my own again. Sometimes. Like right this moment. I’ll be better after I have some lunch.

Lens of Cape sea fog. Some moments later it reso

Lens of Cape sea fog.

Some moments later it resolved into a subtle bow and then merged back into the southerly breeze.

It might well have been the last day of my season

Sing me a road song

Sing me a road song

I love being back in the van.

I love being back in the van.

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