As I settle into a corner LAX I pull out my laptop, its wrapped in my old pillow case that Erin gave me. (I had given my laptop case to Goodwill along with most my other belongings) The pillowcase still smells like my old apartment, my old bed, and my old life. It hurts a little and a feeling of loneliness settles in around my heart and eyes.
I start to realize the immensity of the journey I am about to embark on. I am sure there is danger up ahead, but no good adventure would be fully equipped without it.
L.A. was my first stop out of Portland, Eric drove 16 hours straight while I detoxed in the back of his car. It felt like a Volkswagen version of rehab. I drank water, slept in fits and cold sweats, and had enough time to send about a hundred text message amends.
California was a good first stop to test the waters on my own, I had Cherry and her rad one-eyed boyfriend Trevor to give me the highlights of food, drink, and shelter. I jealously listened to their summer tour plans (him with the Horrorpops and her doing production on Warped Tour) as I reflected on what madness lay ahead for me and if I would cope with the same road worn smiles they protruded. I had traveled this country back and forth to every state but Vermont and Maine, toured with Easyrider, Vans, and The Altarboys. But never had I reached out so far on my own into foreign and unknown territory as I was about to. If there was a last chance for me to make sweeping changes in my late 20”s this was it.
Josh Mills had me to Venice Beach and we drank beers in swank office lofts and danced with strangers at password only parties. My sweet moves got me drunken hugs from clothing company owners and pro riders. I don’t know if that was a good or a bad thing.
A beautiful girl named Nicole stole me to a tequila bar where I think I made her laugh so hard she cried on three occasions, one time over my plan to build and commandeer a hot air balloon over the Colombian rebel impasse on the Peruvian border. Afterwards I caught up with an old friend from Portland named Hydges at a bar on the skirts of Echo Park, he filled me glass after glass of Cazadores Repasado tequila which I downed in single gulps that needed no explanation but induced the awe of those in my company. I ended up stranded in Long Beach with an old friend from Montessori School I knew back in New Mexico when I was ten years old. I didn’t realize the distance.
I was freed back into the city and into a pocket north of Hollywood. A land of mustached Italian bartenders and throwback lounge love affairs, a keyboard player with hands like a poets tourettes, The Dresden. The world seemed to suit me for a moment. I blinked and it was gone. I was living in someone else’s dream again and the water tasted badly. I was in Los Angeles and I needed to get the fuck out before the water got above my nose. I was warned about being a mouth breather. I heeded it.
I wait for Tucson tonight. A decadent hotel in the foreground and a reunion with My Mom and her husband. Then the ride into Silver City. Billy the Kid aint got much on me these days. His old stomping grounds have become mine. My name over his.. Geronimo’s Indian bloody battlegrounds have become my sanctuary. For the next week I will soak and revive in the desert and on ranches. Till I get to El Paso, a slight bender awaits me in Austin. I both fear it and long for it. I must be of sound mind for my trip into Mexico City and down into Colombia. My will solidified. I still have a few cards left to play. Until next time. My campaneros. 40 tacos and 4 days later. We ride.
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