Slim's Desert Blues Blog - Random Thoughts and Photos

Flotsam and Jetsam

2009-11-11T17:28:00.000-08:00

The Coronado Bridge meets Coronado...

...right after it takes a hard right turn.

Navy Seals on a morning training exercise. Their base is nearby. One day I saw a boat pull over to shore to pick up a pizza delivery.

On the beach. Mexico is due south and not very far.

Nature's creations.

Coronado dunes.

On and Off the Water

2009-10-26T16:33:00.000-07:00

One of the Dole Banana ships in port. Each year, half a million tons of fruit enter the Port of San Diego. My observation is that one ship a week leaves for the trip back to Central America - each Tuesday evening.

Heading back into the Naval Base.

On the Cabrillo, the ferry between Coronado and San Diego.

The U.S.S. Midway - now a museum.

The Santa Fe passenger depot downtown.

Looking up.

The U.S.S. Makin Island coming into port.

A Foggy Day by the Bay

2009-10-23T08:38:00.001-07:00

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Carl Sandburg

A recent foggy morning settled thickly on San Diego Bay.

Though a few hardy souls didn't seem to mind.

"Any fish bite you got good bait"

Waiting on a sunny day.

The Coronado Bridge is there somewhere.

San Diego Bay From Coronado Island

2009-10-11T14:21:00.001-07:00

The Coronado Bridge, looking South.

They call San Diego America's Best City. Hard to disagree with that assessment from my perspective. Beautiful weather, the Bay, the Ocean, the food. If the Chargers and the Padres got better, who knows - it just might be heaven. I first came to Coronado many years ago and have loved it ever since. I never tire of the view of downtown across the bay.

Lots of sailboats were out on Saturday afternoon.

Making the turn around a buoy.

Not true blue here, but I like the effect.

Sailing away.

The ferry from Coronado to downtown.

Cabot's Old Indian Pueblo

2009-10-02T16:32:00.000-07:00

There are plenty of strange and bizarre things in the California desert. I've lived here for nearly six years and have only scratched its surface.

Cabot's Pueblo Museum is certainly one of them.

It is the work of one rugged and undoubtedly eccentric individual - Cabot Yerxa, who built it, piece by piece, over a period of years in the town of Desert Hot Springs.

Today the property is a museum.

It is protected by great spirits.

The museum's website states: "In 1939 Cabot began the construction of a dream. It was his intention to build a monument to the Indian people he so admired. Without modern equipment he began the construction of what he came to call Cabot's Old Indian Pueblo. With only a pick and a shovel he carved the first room out of the hillside. It was little more than a cave to protect him as he continued with the rambling structure, sans blueprints.

Every portion of the overwhelming building incorporated the Indian's philosophy of life. Since the Indians believe that symmetry retains evil spirits, nothing is symmetrical in the Pueblo. Doorways and floors slant, walls are slightly uneven, and the window form a puzzle of multi-shaped glass. The walls, measuring nine to ten feet in some places were designed to ensure warmth in winter and maintain cool temperatures during the summer months."

It is certainly well worth a visit.

Walking the grounds, one must suspend belief at times.

Looking back at Mr. Yerxa's view of Mt. San Jacinto.

Tales of Republican Hypocrisy - Today's Edition

2009-09-30T18:33:00.000-07:00

Really, I could do this everyday - this one simply speaks for itself.

30 Sep 2009 - NEW ORLEANS — A Washington-based public watchdog group said Tuesday it has asked a Louisiana state agency that reviews lawyer conduct to investigate allegations that U.S. Sen. David Vitter solicited prostitutes.

The bar complaint by Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington (CREW) arises from the Republican's admission of a "serious sin" in 2007 after his phone number appeared in records of a Washington prostitution ring. At the time Vitter stated “This was a very serious sin in my past for which I am, of course, completely responsible.”

Vitter, an attorney, has refused to discuss details or answer questions about the matter. He has denied subsequent allegations of involvement with prostitutes in New Orleans.

A Vitter spokesman accused CREW of trying to shift attention away from Democratic ties to the community organizing group ACORN, and did not address the group's allegations of misconduct by Vitter.

CREW, a nonprofit group with a history of complaints against both parties, notes in its news release that Vitter is among a host of Republicans calling for criminal investigations of ACORN and an end to government funding for its programs. Republican criticisms of the group were energized after employees at some ACORN offices were recorded recently apparently giving advice to a woman posing as a prostitute and to a man posing as her pimp about cheating on taxes and operating a brothel.

"Vitter Seeks Investigation of ACORN for Assisting Fake Prostitution Ring; CREW Seeks Investigation of Vitter for Role in Real Prostitution Ring," reads the headline on the CREW news release.

If I were Vitter, I would be afraid, very afraid. When asked in 2000 about the strains a political career can have on a marriage, his wife said “I’m a lot more like Lorena Bobbitt than Hillary...If he does something like that, I’m walking away with one thing, and it’s not alimony, trust me.”

Perhaps such an unforeseen occurrence has already happened to the Senator? His attacks on Acorn might be overcompensation?

Tales of Republican Hypocrisy - Today's Edition

2009-09-17T18:21:00.000-07:00

This is a new periodic feature I'm adding to my blog to highlight the bald hypocrisy that has become a mainstay of the modern Republican Party and soured our national debate. I could probably add a new one every day, but that would probably bore me to death. Personally, I would be quite content to round of the whole bunch of liars, thieves, hypocrites, birthers, racists, and other right-wing scoundrels and send them all to Texas. Then build a very big wall around the place and let them do whatever they want in the name of freedom on their side of the wall.

Today's right-wing nutcase - Rep. Kevin Brady, T-Texas. See my point?

Protesters who attended Saturday’s Tea Party rally in Washington to protest big government are unhappy with the level of service provided by DC's government subsidized subway system (already the irony becomes so appealing).

Rep. Kevin Brady asked for an explanation of why the government-run subway system didn’t adequately prepare for this past weekend’s rally - which took place to protest government spending and expanded government services! So, they were unhappy that they didn't get what they don't want. Seems simple to me.

“These individuals came all the way from Southeast Texas to protest the excessive spending and growing government intrusion by the 111th Congress and the new Obama administration,” Brady wrote (Congressman, do you know what you are saying here? Do you at least see the - well, irony?) Guess not. He went on “these participants, whose tax dollars were used to create and maintain this public transit system, were frustrated and disappointed that our nation’s capital did not make a great effort to simply provide a basic level of transit for them.”

Brady wrote on Twitter “METRO did not prepare for Tea Party March! More stories. People couldn’t get on, missed start of march. I will demand answers from Metro.”

Brady said in his letter to Metro that overcrowding forced an 80-year-old woman and elderly veterans in wheelchairs to pay for cabs (not run by the government, Congressman).

How has this champion of public transportation services voted in the past, you might ask? Surely he voted "yes" on the 2009 stimulus bill, which provided some millions for the DC Metro?

He voted "no."

In July, a Transportation and HUD appropriations bill, came up for a vote. It included $150 million for emergency maintenance funding for the DC Metro. Can you possibly guess how Rep. Brady voted? Need we look at his past votes on such matters?

Congressman, I'd give you the Worst person in the World award, but Keith Olbermann already has that honor. But by any measure of sanity and reason, you are a stupid, wretched hypocrite!

The LA County Fair Vs. Fellini's Satyricon; If Loving Al Green is Wrong, I Don't Wanna Be Right

2009-09-09T08:40:00.000-07:00

Saturday was opening day of the 2009 LA County Fair in Pomoma, about an hour's drive from us. We had no great interest in attending, but The Rev. Al Green was doing a show that night. I've been an Al Green fan since the height of his pop career in the 70s, so it seemed like a good idea to go see him. More on The Good Reverend a bit later.

Avie had the general atmosphere of the Fair right - it was an American version of Fellini's Satyricon. Hunter S. Thompson would have described the scene as one of fear and loathing.

Of course, there were copious amounts of bad food. Lots of barbecue. Lots of sugar. Lots of fat. Lots of alcohol. And a majority of the people wandering around the grounds looked like they'd indulged for quite some time. OK, I admit that some of the barbecue smelled good.

But for me, the whole thing had a bad taste.

Perhaps it was a poor attempt to recreate a part of America that no longer exists.

There was something foul and ugly beneath the surface.

No, this wasn't the town carnival I remember from my youth.

In some of these photos, smoke from the current wildfire on the LA foothills is visible.

Fortunately, we had Al Green to see. First, we were treated to a much-to-long set by The Spinners, who did a good job at recreating their 70s hits, but played way too long. There followed a pretty long set-up period as well.

But then Al Green took the stage and all was forgiven. He smiled, he laughed, he rolled on the floor til his suit was dusty. He passed out roses to the ladies in front of the stage. He loved us, and we loved him. He passed out more roses. He gave one woman his "100 dollar silk handkerchief." His band was tight, and his voice was in as good a form as ever. He soared for the high notes and hit them. He did his hits, and did bits from classic R&B songs. He sang like an angel - he is, after all, a messenger from god. Al Green's god is OK with me. Let's stay together.

Chilly Scenes of Winter

2009-09-01T07:53:00.000-07:00

Growing up in upstate New York in the 50s and 60s, I have very clear memories of snow. Lots of snow. Most winters, we would get at least one big blizzard which would dump several feel of snow on us in a very short time. We would have to dig our way out.

These pictures were taken by my father. According to my brother Brian, who scanned these shots from slides, they are of the Blizzard of 1966, which shut down most activities in Rochester for nearly a week - one report I saw online stated that around 100" of snow fell on the Oswego area, east of us.

The big red house is the house I grew up in. At the time it was 100 or so years old, though my parents made a number of improvements and built a large addition in the back. When my parents bought it in 1945, it was a working farm with some 72 acres. They sold it in the early 80s. The one remaining visible vestige of the farm is the old chicken coop, the small building in the left center. We used to climb on up to its roof and jump down into the snowdrifts.

Looking down Slocum Road - Ontario, NY.

Mush of this snow we had to dig by hand, though my father had a small Farmall Cub tractor to plow the driveway. If you like snow, this is a great place for you.

This last photo is much earlier - probably around 1954-55. My sister Liz, brother Tom, Dots the Wonder Dalmatian, and me.

Sunset Scenes - Early August 2009

2009-08-21T08:12:00.001-07:00

Walking along the beach below Del Mar - just before sunset.

Getting ready for the sunset.

We appear briefly from the shadows.

Dudes discussing the events of the day.

Wedding photos. Pre or post? Hope the ceremony is here rather than a church.

...while the sun slowly sinks into the sea.

If the world would have ended that night, it would have been fine.

At The Del Mar Race Track

2009-08-18T08:06:00.001-07:00

Where the turf meets the surf, as Bing Crosby once crooned. After all, he had a financial stake in the Del Mar Turf Club, along with his partner Pat O'Brien - two of my least favorite Hollywood stars of that era. But today, it's one of my favorite getaways.

The track is literally a few hundred yards from the Pacific Ocean, across Highway 101 from the Del Mar dog beach.

From the grandstand, you can watch the blue Pacific as well as the trains.

"And away they go." On this day, lady luck was shining upon us. We hit an exacta and left with a nice profit from the day's endeavors.

The paddock area. We have to watch the horses prior to making our bet. If a horse winks at us, we know he's going to be in the money....

Whatever system works. Ours worked today.

One can even get churros.

Summer Evening - La Jolla

2009-08-12T07:39:00.000-07:00

Evening in La Jolla, California.

As much as we wanted to attend a health care town hall meeting this month and scream as loudly as we could that we want our country back, Avie and I instead went to San Diego for a few days.

We are, after all, under 60, so we have a good many years before President Obama's death panels have us euthanized. We figured, though, that it was time to enjoy our sad lives somewhat before than day arrives. Gosh, if we had known we wouldn't have been such liberal dupes and we certainly would have voted for McCain. Guess we deserve to be put to death.

After dinner, we took a short stroll around downtown La Jolla. It was jumping, as it always does on a beautiful Summer evening.

I have always thought that La Jolla as the most European town I've seen in the U.S.

Last rays of sun over the Pacific.

I want this truck.

The Miami Herald Song Part II

2009-08-11T07:59:00.001-07:00

Rochester Slims website has been inundated in recent weeks in the wake of the recent blog post by Dave Barry about The Miami Herald Song , which turned up on an old cassette in the Herald newsroom after languishing for more than 10 years there. More than 4000 requests for the song, in fact. So, Slim now has the song available on Amazon.com for the bargain price of .99.

Add it to your collection today! And buy a newspaper as well - they are even cheaper!

Alaskan Poetry Sets New High Bar

2009-07-29T07:39:00.000-07:00

As a rule, I have found the best course in dealing with the former Governor of Alaska is to say nothing, but this video opened my eyes to perhaps a larger and more artistic purpose - Jack Kerouac would be proud.....

Let us also not fail to note the philosophic nature of this remarkable woman:

Cogito, ergo sum (I think, therefore I am) Descartes

Huntum Palinus (We eat, therefore we hunt) Palin

I've followed politics for a very long time, but I don't think I've seen anything as remarkable as the two speeches Ms. Palin made this month regarding her resignation as Alaskan Governor. The woman is clearly on drugs.....very powerful ones at that.

Last Putt for History; End of an Era for Television News

2009-07-19T17:23:00.001-07:00

Oh so close....I rooted for Tom Watson today to win the British Open more than I think I have ever rooted for anyone. As his last put in regulation on the 18th hole left his putter I knew that it simply could not go in. No matter how much everyone wanted it to. A man of 59 simply does not win such championships, and it was clear in the epilogue of the playoff that his tank was empty.

But I think that he made it cool to me old again. It gives me great hope since he is a year older than me. Perhaps next year I will win the British Open. Or maybe Tom and I will party at Woodstock.

Meanwhile, Michael Jackson is still dead.....

With the passing of Walter Cronkite, I truly feel the end of an era. he was called "the most trusted man in America" but I always was comforted by watching Walter. I always felt that it was going to be alright, no matter what kind of insanity was going down. Surely nothing truly hideous could happen to our nation while men such as Cronkite were watching over us. Now we are left with Rupert Murdoch, Clear Channel, and Larry King. So long boys, it's been good to know you.

A SoCal Forth of July

2009-07-14T15:01:00.000-07:00

I've lived in California long enough to know that heading for the beach on the July 4th weekend can be a recipe for disaster. Nevertheless, to the beach we did go. Parking was hard to find, traffic was at times horrific, and throngs of people milled about Huntington Beach, aka "Surf City USA."

But luckily, kettle corn was in good supply.

Beach volleyball near the pier at Surf City USA.

One could get away from the masses and have a pleasant walk along the back streets. The day and the air were fine.

The Balboa Island grand old flag waved proudly.

Contrary to what many Easterners might think, Californians are quite patriotic. Even those "San Francisco liberals."

And so our day draws to a close...

The Miami Herald Song

2009-07-09T09:58:00.000-07:00

Rochester Slim has, in the past few days, received quite a bit of attention from an old song he did in the mid 90s titled The Miami Herald Song . Apparently a cassette tape that sent to my sister, who worked at The Herald at the time, turned up during a recent office move. Then it started spreading via email and blogs. I'm kind of amazed, amused, and pleased at the same time.

Dave Barry blogged about it and received a number of comments - a mixture of admiration, perplexion, derision - just what any hard-working artist would love to get.

"ow"

"Oh. My. God. The Rock Bottom Remainders have got to cover this (Dave Barry's band)."

"Oh dear Lord. Who is this???... punctures eardrums with sharpened pencils"

"Does Gerald deliver the Herald to NC? I thought it was kind of catchy but when I started playing it my lab got up and left the room. Everybody's a critic." (ain't it the truth!)

"From the inaugural and (as it happened) last episode of "Everglades Home Companion."

"Who pronounces Herald as "Hear-ald?"

"Someone should force Barry Manilow to listen to that over and over, so he'd know how it feels to suffer like that."

"I knew they were getting desperate for sales in the newspaper industry, but I never knew it was THIS bad."

"It would have been a darned shame to have inadvertantly thrown that one out, huh? What was that originally produced for? It actually is pretty good, except for the fact that newspapers aren't usually big on jingle-type audio promotions."

Greg Cote did another blog about it today. He said: ".... the oddest song you have ever heard or ever will ... I believe it actually is an unearthed demo from a 1970s promotional campaign that never aired. And with good reason...The song probably is not Top 40 or dance-floor material. If only we could have found this in time to have Michael Jackson overdub a hiccup or a hee-hee. Nevertheless, remember that, although times may be dark for our industry and this song sounds oddly and perhaps presciently funereal, always, for God's sake always remember, no matter what: The Herald is your friend!"

Well. My late sister Liz Donovan who worked at The Herald for many years. I wrote and recorded the song for her amusement I think around 1996. Liz was my favorite person in the world. It was meant to be funny, but I guess it had a point about newspapers that now in 2009 is all too evident.

I was in the early stages of figuring our recording technology and used a small, cheap 4 Track cassette recorder. I did it quickly, warts and all, and sent her the crude copy of the cassette. I know she found it funny enough to play it for then-publisher Dave Lawrence, who actually wrote me a letter telling me that "it made my day."

I always though that The Herald should use the song for a TV spot - a gospel choir in the Orange Bowl singing the chorus to a packed crowd at a Dolphins game. People would have thought that The Herald was hip and circulation would have grown accordingly.

One Last Day on the Road; One Last Photo

2009-06-29T09:46:00.000-07:00

West of Flagstaff I got off of the interstate and took old 66 for 100 miles or so to Kingman, Arizona. A storm passed over and for awhile it was quite dark and threatening. But I got this last picture looking West on Route 66. Times have passed it by, but it's still a marvelous road.

From Kingman, I headed down to Lake Havasu, then across the nearly completely empty desert highway 62 to 29 Palms, Joshua Tree, and home. I could have taken scores of pictures there, but I was near the end of a 13 hour drive that day and enough was enough.

Out With the Truckers and the Kickers and The Cowboy Angels

2009-06-28T17:53:00.000-07:00

After a night in Amarillo, I hit the road early and passed into New Mexico - my first blue state since Virginia. I was getting off I-40 for the first time and headed for Chimayo to visit my favorite cousin and artist extraordinaire George Zarolinski.

South of Santa Fe, looking northeast.

I would have liked spending some time in Santa Fe, but I had one more long day on the road and home was calling loudly to me.

Chimayo is a quiet place, except for the nearly constant barking of dogs in the distance.

And while I was there, another dog was added to its population. George rescued the dog on the right (Shorty) from the local shelter and he came home with her that day, joining Buster (on the left) who was clearly very excited about the new addition to his pack.

Buster and Shorty - kinda sound like a couple of tw0-bit gangsters from Prohibition days....

Following the Ghost of Tom Joad

2009-06-22T19:47:00.001-07:00

"The bank is something more than men, I tell you. It's the monster. Men made it, but they can't control it." - John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

"Yes as through this life I've wandered I've seen lots of funny men
some will rob you with a six-gun and some with a fountain pen"
- Woody Guthrie, Pretty Boy Floyd

Leaving Little Rock early in the morning, I rambled West through the Ozarks and then into Oklahoma. I passed through Woody Guthrie country and then Oklahoma City, where I caught up to the old Route 66. From there, I followed the route taken by many before me - in the Dust Bowl times particularly - on the way to the Garden of Eden called California. I simply had to get off the interstate several times to check out some of the few still existing sections.

Although the historic highway more or less remains only in memory, there remain sections of the old road here and there all the way to California, with one particularly long section in western Arizona. In other places, one can see glimpses of the old road bed in the median strip of I-40.

Pushing ever West.

It was very quiet.

They called it "The Mother Road."

The West Texas Panhandle.

Along part of old 66 in Santa Rosa, New Mexico. Happy Motoring!

One can see a long way off.

The La Mesa Motel in Santa Rosa.

The precursor of the Visa card.

Little Rock

2009-06-21T10:24:00.001-07:00

After leaving Memphis, I crossed the Mississippi heading for Little Rock, where I planned to check in early and take a nap. After that, I had some time in the afternoon to wander around downtown. Little Rock seemed southern, friendly, and (for me) surprisingly hip. I kinda wished I had some more time to spend there.

I had an excellent fish dinner at Flying Fish. I felt the spirit of Bill Clinton. I watched the Arkansas River flow. I slept well, and dreamed of the 90s.

The market area along the river.

The ghosts of old Little Rock.

Down by the river.

The Clinton Library.

"Just a Half a Mile from the Mississippi Bridge"

2009-06-15T07:03:00.000-07:00

Hitting the road around 3am, I left Knoxville and headed West on I40 determined to get at least as far as Little Rock. It had rained most of the night, the cable was out on my hotel, dinner options had been few, so I wanted to get some miles behind me. I blew through Nashville at predawn and missed the traffic. Memphis was a few hours away.

My IPod shuffle mode was remarkably in sync with my travels as if some hidden microchip was in touch with higher beings. As I drove past the Manassas battlefield in Virginia it chose Wilco's version of When the Roses Bloom Again with its Civil War theme. In the Shenandoah, it played Bill Frisell's instrumental of - Shenandoah. Just outside of Memphis, home to Al Green, it played - Al Green. As I drove past Woody Guthrie's hometown on Oklahoma, it spit out - you guessed it. Entering California, it remarkably chose Wilco again, bookmarking the trip with their version of California Stars.

Having never been to Memphis before, I had to pull off just short of the Mississippi Bridge to explore, albeit briefly. I wandered around downtown for awhile. The general mood of the day was sleepy. So was I, but I was wired after six hours of driving.

Beale Street was nearby - an easy stroll. Few folks were on the streets.

Clean up from the revels of the previous evening were proceeding.

Elvis had left the room.

Most places were still closed at mid-morning.

Drink enuf of dis stuff and yo' ass will be big!

Sun Records - where Sam Philips first recorded Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, and others. A place of worship to those of us who worship at the alter of rock 'n roll. I should go and record there one day.

Down Through The Shenandoah

2009-06-12T10:07:00.001-07:00

The day after Memorial Day I seriously hit the road for the drive back to California. The day was dark and rainy as I headed south down I-81 through the Shenandoah Valley. When I lived in DC, I used to drive out to the Valley and imagine myself living there as a post-hippy farmer of some sort, happily living on a farm. It probably never would have worked.

My mood mirrored the weather. I was anxious to get home, but I longed to get off the Interstate and to have the luxury of taking the back roads and spending some weeks getting to California. So many things to see and people to meet if you have the time.

The Shenandoah still has faint traces of its sad past. It was in the center of the Civil War and suffered mightily.

The three crosses. When I lived in DC I used to see them everywhere when driving around the mid-Atlantic region. They are the work of one man, who erected some 1,800 of them in the 1980s and early 90s.

Wonder why they call it The Blue Ridge....

By the time I got to Abington in southwestern Virginia, the sky brightened somewhat.

The Barter Theater. I took some of my Upward Bound students in eastern Kentucky here in the mid 70s - we saw The Matchmaker.

Washington, DC, Memorial Day - Slim Meets Obama and Roots Round His Past

2009-06-10T20:39:00.000-07:00

As I awoke on Memorial Day in my hotel room outside of Washington - where I lived for nearly 1/2 of my life - Arlington Cemetery seemed the most appropriate place to spend some reflective time to honor those who made the great sacrifice in service to our country. I don't wear my patriotism on my sleeve, but I am a patriot nonetheless. No other comments here are needed.

Before leaving, I ran right into President Obama's motorcade leaving the ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

He of course immediately recognized me in the crowd, got out and shook my hand, told me how much he dug my music, and invited me over the the White House to shoot some hoops. I in turn invited him out to Palm Springs and told him I could get him some free golf. He was immensely pleased....

Eastern Market - still undergoing restoration after the fire.

Tunnicliffs Tavern (center)- where I met my wife Avie.

639 E Street, SE - where Rochester Slim began recording. This building will in time no doubt be added to the National Register of Historic Places.

The Tune Inn - where The David Theis Band - of which I was a member - met for around four years planning our one gig. It was time well spent.

Inside The Hawk and Dove - I first sat at this bar in 1977. My waitress this day funnily enough started working there in 1977 - I likely tried to hit on her at least once.

On The Road

2009-06-09T06:45:00.000-07:00

"They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn..."
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road

The day before Memorial Day I hit the road with a mixture of curiousity and dread as I began the 3,200 mile drive back to my home in California. It's a long trip and I sadly did not have time to travel the back roads at a leisurely pace. I headed south from Ontario, NY towards Washington, DC on that first day, crossing Highway 104 - the highway of my youth and the first road that ever called out to me - and down Route 14 through the Finger Lakes.

I was not dancing like a dingledodie, but had some hopes of finding the occasional Starbucks for strength and speed. Would Kerouac have found some guilty pleasure in using a GPS device, at least for seeking the nearest trendy coffee shop? Perhaps, though I didn't grasp that concept until I was well along on the journey. Nearest Starbucks 50 miles? Keep driving, brother and salvation will be at hand. Indeed.

For there was something grand and wondrous about this trip, full of the mysteries of the journey ahead and true respect for the glorious and tragic history of our country each step of the way. My past was pressing hard on me, coping with the recent death of my beloved sister, seeing family members and some friends I hadn't seen in many years, being alone on the road. I was starting out in the very heart of the Iroquois Nation in New York, then south along the mighty Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania to our nation's capitol, then West past Manassas and Bull Run and South through the Shenandoah Valley and cradle of the Civil War. As I drove West, names and places that literally sing to our collective consciousness came and went - The Blue Ridge, The Cumberland Gap, The Natchez Trace, Davey Crockett, The Trail of Tears, Memphis, The Mississippi, The Ozarks, Oklahoma, The Chisholm Trail, Route 66, California. I tried, in at least some measure, to pay small internal tribute as I drove on with cruise control, coke, coffee, and an IPod. I even stood on a corner in Winslow, Arizona waiting for a fine sight to see.

Seneca Lake, south of Geneva, NY

In the Finger Lakes wine country - southern Seneca Lake near Watkins Glenn