Okay, I am pissed. At whom am I supposed to be pissed: United Airlines who sold the ticket, or US AIR who seem like a pack of lunatic morons?

I bought the ticket through United to fly to New York for a studio session gig. Actually, I didn’t buy the ticket, the agency bought the ticket. I just got the itinerary and showed up to the airport. It was through United.

I got a boarding pass at my little hometown Airport, (who only flies US AIR) I flew to Charlotte, hopped on a United plane to NYC, got in the limo, went to the session, recorded the session, got back in the limo and was on a plane home.

For some reason the flight crew never showed up! So there we sat in Newark for 2 hours while a substitute crew was alerted and brought in.

By the time we reached Charlotte, I missed my US AIR shuttle flight to my little hometown, and immediately upon de-boarding the plane went to the United desk to re-book the next flight out. There was one more flight that night and the helpful lady booked me on it and told me to proceed to the US AIR desk and get a boarding pass. I did. So I sat at the expensive sushi bar and had some dinner.

When my flight was ready to board, I walked to the gate, glad that I had made this last flight out because Hurricane Irene was on her way and heading directly for my little house. Much to my surprise, the lady at the gate told me I could not get on that flight unless I had an actual ticket. I proceeded to show her my itinerary, my previous boarding pass, my new boarding pass and explained the situation to her. The nice calm words turned into glaring and shouting as the plane, which only had a few passengers pulled away from the gate. “Stop that plane! I have to be on that plane!”

The woman, who would not give her name, wrote the 1-800 number for United on a piece of paper and handed it to me. Shut down the gate and said, “Maybe you can get the first flight out in the morning.”

I electric walkwayed/stomped 15 minutes across the airport to the furthest opposite point to talk to the United representative. The terminal was empty except for one guy who appeared to be off duty. I explained the situation. He sighed, “Idiots,” tapped a few keys on his terminal, and printed out a ticket. “Here, take this to US AIR and get another boarding pass. You know, they could have done this from there. Incompetents.”

“Well,” I asked, “do you think you could get me a room for the night. The next flight is 12 hours away and they shut the airport down at 1am?”

“No,” he sighed. “This is US AIR’s mistake.”

I electric walkwayed/stomped all the way back across the airport only to stand in line for 40 minutes at the US AIR help desk to be “helped” by none other than “she who could not previously be named.”

I smirked, “Can you let me on the plane, now?”

“Oh yes, this is fine, now. Next flight out is at 9:40 in the morning.” It was 10 o’clock at night.

“Well,” I asked, “Do you think you could get me a room for the night?” No sorry, its not our problem, it was United’s mistake.”

So there I slept in the lobby of the airport AND I was not alone. Apparently there were hundreds of similar stories. I was exhausted, and I am still pissed!

The good news: I got home just in time to be struck by a hurricane. I hope they maintain the planes better than they maintain customer relations.

Next time, try the train!

UNITED HORROR STORIES

US AIRWAYS HORROR STORIES

I love Austin. Not the SXSW Austin. Just the everyday, working musician Austin. The Austin where musicians hang between touring and every night is a sure hit on the musical roulette wheel. Some of these guys and gals have had a regular night or been in and out of the place for years. There is a camaraderie among musicians, a place where its easy to be a fan as well as a pro. Something  in the air much like I imagine Paris in the 20′s would be. Except of course, more western wear.  A sense that just about anything could happen musically or artistically. At any moment, somebody might break out in song or 4 musicians may decide to make music because they really like each other’s art, and they will listen and explore and everybody will get it.

Tourists come just on the off chance that something like this will happen, just so they can say, “I was there when so and so, jammed with so and so it was amazing and we all danced and then we had to stop because what the musicians were putting out was so beautiful that it captured our full attention and…”  Its all about the music. Even the oldsters who have been here since the 60′s and 70′s, and were only planning on being here to check out the scene, they can’t leave. Its that compelling.

I walked into the Saxon Pub before our show the other night. Its a little hole in the wall. It could be the bar at the Holiday Inn in Lancaster, PA or some such place.  2 guys with acoustic guitars and a bass player up front, a drummer in back. I had never seen or heard these guys before, but the place was packed. The groove was solid and the musicianship was well right on. They were just playing their regular Sunday night gig, singing each others songs and making jokes, much to the audience’s delight. Dancing, beer drinking and eager applause accompanied each tune. A note to the circumspect musicians who have want to make it, these guys have been playing this hole in the wall, every Sunday night for the past 10 years. They owned that hour.

They were even so nice as to give The Lipbone Orchestra a fine verbal review in between songs and admonished the audience to stick around for our set. Many left, it was Sunday night after all, but some stayed and at 10:30 at night, some new listeners came through the door.

Clubs like the Saxon Pub in Austin are a mainstay for music fans worldwide.

It was just another gig at a little bar in Texas, but somehow it was a solo in the church choir, a reverential moment. I can’t say the show was any better or worse that night,  but it was a night that nobody minded playing in a half full bar room in Texas.  I was believe it or not, honored.

I had the same feeling Monday night at the Continental when drummer Don Harvey asked me to sit in on his cinematic boogaloo aural soundscape session with his band  “A IS RED.”

He just put up a mic and said, “If you feel it, go for it.” I did. We did. I listened for a while, held back long as possible and just when I was about to come in, the whole band looked at each other for a brief second. Looked as in, telepathically looked at one another, the music, the landscape, our place in space/time and knew why we were here and the music happened. I was suddenly part of something greater and I just went. I had a sense of beauty and wonder connected to the larger music mind. The feeling was of great satisfaction and that everything is alright with the world.

More later. Gotta check out of this weekly motel. Heading to Fort Stockton and Phoenix…

Feeling like a kid again at the local swimming hole just a few blocks from my house.

My home is on the Tar River in Pitt County in Eastern North Carolina. Swampy flood plains fill up with river water every few years, tumultuously rejuvenating the soil and then as quickly as it comes, the water recedes, leaving a calm and peaceful wetland in its wake. Just a few miles downriver in Chocowinity Bay, the water becomes brackish. The River here is a tidal estuary, home to spawning sea creatures and is now called the Tar/Pamlico River. Heading east, the river widens to several miles and becomes even more salty until its no longer the Pamlico River, but the Pamlico Sound. Eventually the sound meets the barrier islands known as The Outer Banks and then the Atlantic Ocean.  I have always felt connected to the ocean. I watch the water from a thunderstorm overflowing the gutters on my house and coursing through the driveway into the street and I know where its going. I feel that I always have.

I waited all winter for them to finish the bike path. Them being the City. Its more like a bike highway. It extends all the way along the Tar River about 2 miles to the Town Commons and at its origin it loops back through the park across the street for another 2 miles. There are plans to extend it for at least another 5 miles. I had only walked along the water where the bike path runs when I was a kid. That was a time when the adventure of following the Green Mill Run creek into the Tar River was the journey of a life time. I recall the stone of fear and excitement in my throat, tromping through the lush undergrowth and vines, even to the point of  not knowing which way was home.  Once I reached the river, I knew exactly where I was. The forest was all old growth back then. The Oak and Cypress trees were so wide, it would take 2 or 3 grown men to wrap their arms around one. They are mostly gone now. But there are still a few old vines as thick as a man’s leg hanging from branches 50 feet or so above the forest floor and there are murky log riddled ponds where the pre-historic snapping turtles are 3 feet from snout to tail. The bike path runs right through it. It reminds me of  the path in Ray Bradbury’s story, “A Sound Of Thunder” the one in which time travelers tread a futuristic sidewalk hovering above and winding through that Jurassic swamp so as not to disturb a single organism. There are no signs of civilization other than the occasional pedestrian or cyclist coming from the opposite direction, only the river, the birds, the turtles, and the trees. In only a few well worn places leading down to the river, does anyone feel compelled to leave the path. The Cicadas are loud in the trees now. Their humming is as an Indian tanpura, steadily plucking the sympathetic background noise of creation.

Even though its off limits after sunset, I went out riding the bike highway the other night. I found that I could see quite clearly the path by moonlight, except for some very dark curves, but suprisingly I trusted my instincts and was able to navigate via some extra sense.  My next door neighbor and I, who works the 3rd shift and is always up at night like myself, decided we should rescue some green apples from an orchard on the nearby college campus. Our reasoning was that they would simply rot and bring yellow jackets. Better they become apple cider that we can drink in winter. His trusty Chesapeake retriever, Molly, joined us. She is old and likes to sleep all day, but once he took the electric invisible fence collar off, she became another creature, a wolf in the night, running with the pack, sniffing in the bushes, never losing pace with our cycles. Off we road into the night. At some point in the darkness, I recognized a place from my childhood. It was the spot along the bank where we had hung a rope swing from a tree arching over the river. In the moonlight I could see that someone, most likely the parks department, had built a little pier and yes…wait a minute…someone had tied a rope swing to a gracefully overhanging Water Oak. We paused for a break as Molly chased sticks into the river.

We got the apples returned home safely and this afternoon I happened to be going past that same spot. About 6 people were on the little pier and kids were swinging out over the river in glee. There is no sound like kids swinging on and splashing into a river.  I watched for a while, stripped down to my bathing suit and gave it a try. I stood up on the piling of the pier, grabbed the rope and in an instant I was suspended above the lazy flowing dark river. SPLASH! I was 11 years old again. The water was deep and cool, refreshing and had a clean sweet earthy smell to it.  It was wonderful.  The kids’ parents were actually egging them on, “You going again? Come on! One more time!”  No life guard, no rules, no one saying “No” and everyone was happy. I was soaking wet and had to put my phone and wallet in my shoes and strap them on the back of my bike. It was perfect. Just makes me thankful for the little things.

Back in the 90′s I was part of the More Gardens! movement in NYC. It finally became a concrete organization around 1999 but the years leading up to it were founded on simply a strong ideal. I went to rallies, helped to organize live music fundraising and awareness-raising events, and generally spent my spare time taking over the streets of NYC.  I was making my living playing in the subway at that time and I would take the opportunity to write music about what was happening and sing songs to the straphangers about the movement. I was young and idealistic.

Esperanza Garden being destroyed by bulldozers.

People like Harry Bubbins and Aresh Javadi were instrumental in making the movement effective by turning a defensive “Save Our Gardens” campaign into a positive, pro-active campaign which is one of the most important lessons I learned at that time. What had been a squatter movement in the 80′s had turned into a healthy lifestyle land and community reclamation imperative of the 90′s and by the early 20th century, it had a name, More Gardens!

During that time in NYC, Rudy Giuliani was “cleaning up” the poor neighborhoods like The Lower East Side, by giving vacant lots to developers for a very cheap price. What the Mayor and developers hadn’t counted on were the tenants in the neighborhood had already began to reclaim their forgotten landscape. Vacant lots seemingly abandoned by landlords became dumps and havens for drug users and sellers. The locals got tired of seeing their children assaulted by the ugliness and in an act of what I would call synchronized desperation, at once began reclaiming these eyesores by planting vegetables and making playgrounds for the children.

Quietly and over time, the reclaimed lots brought the neighborhood real estate values up and when the economy and the property values reached a crescendo, the forgotten landlords suddenly found money to pay off back taxes or the city silently auctioned off the land to developers.

In a firestorm of reaction, the tenants took to the streets. Spurred on by action groups like Reclaim The Streets, Times Up, even Rainforest Action Network, not to mention the countless local community organizations, ordinairy folk lined up around city hall and called the mayor to task. In a battle that lasted nearly 3 years, most of the gardens were not only saved but, even more greenspace has been alotted since.  More Gardens!

The lesson: don’t ask for what you don’t want, Ask for what you really, really do want.

Lately, I have been very concerned with sustainability. The thought of it, the act of it and the impact of it.  It doesn’t come from an eschatological or apocalyptic outlook. (I don’t think God is coming any day to kill us all. He may but…) My concern stems from the opposite. The fact that if I or We are not responsible for our actions, well then who is?  Somehow the End Of The Worlders always appear  to be shirking responsibility. “Oh, we are all fucked. Lets not worry about the future, lets just use what we can and get ready for the end.” I am really not buying it.

I have never liked authority. I can’t stand for someone to tell me what to do, wear, buy, eat, smoke, drink, not unless I ask for an opinion. And even then, I reserve the right to do what I want anyway. I have been making my own music for years. Music that is what I want to play and sing and write. Well, this is the year I planted a garden and made my own wine. It feels good.

Whenever I land a while from the road, I am amazed at how big my vegetables have gotten. There are sweet white peaches falling off of the tree. The most delicious I have ever eaten. I have red juicy beets, carrots, shallots and the tomatoes are out of control. And I only used my own compost as fertilizer. The girls in the house thought I was crazy when I made them throw all of their food scraps into a bucket every night. They were amazed to learn that it all turns back into black dirt, perfect for growing things.

The Mighty Beet. Eat them greens and all!

The wine was another story. My first batch was Dandelion wine in the early spring. That was a giant FAIL not due to any part on the wine maker. Rich and Martha had a tickle tussle that ended with a busted glass jug and a tidal wave of fermented dandelion juice.

The second batch was made from about 12 pounds of fresh organic local Pitt County strawberries. Yum. The whole process was fun and simple. I couldn’t have done it without help from Jack Keller’s Winemaking Home Page.

Who doesn't like to pick/eat/pick/eat strawberries?!

After about 2 months the result is a tasty dry blush wine with hints of strawberry. I think it still has about 6 months of aging in my basement before its actually drinkable. Hell, I might even give it a year.

Peaches from the tree, Strawberry wine from the field

Strawberry Loveletter 2011: Dry Strawberry Wine made by yours truly!

The fastest and easiest thing that I made was Kimchee. I didn’t have such a great radish crop this year. I think I planted them too close together and not deep enough. I will try daikon rather than the american red variety next year, but hey, I got some mighty fine Kimchee out of it.

Spicy Radishes

Red Radishes make fantastic Kimchee

The whole process took less than 24 hours and I used radishes, cabbage, green onions, garlic, a little anchovy, red chili powder and salt. I declare it to be the best kimchee I have ever eaten.

What might be seen as some back to the land hippy thing is even more simple: Food from the grocery store is expensive, not to mention over-processed. I can not express the satisfaction I am feeling with growing and making my own food. Food prices are climbing every day because of the high price of fuel to transport the food from far flung farms to the local FoodLion. In my book every bit counts.

The neighbors and I have even gone so far as to start our own community garden. Stay tuned for updates. Cucumbers are coming in. My only regret is that I will be out on the road playing music when my Okra is ready to be picked.

Getting Ready for the Summer Arts Festival in Omaha

Rolling past the floodlands along the Missouri River. I can tell that only a few weeks ago this was all under water. Driving from Sioux City to Omaha, the roads are diverted and under construction from being washed away. But the tour presses on.

I keep thinking about being home quite a bit. I’ve got strawberry wine fermenting away in my studio. When I get back it will have to be bottled.

I pass the time listening to my newest philosophical inspiration, Terence McKenna (The Psychonaut, not the film director). Lorenzo from Psychedelic Salon is the Podmaster spinning hour long talks of bardic lore by the late great McKenna. Donors send in money and tapes from their private collections of talks by McKenna, Tim Leary, Alan Watts, Aldous Huxley, and many others. Terence’s speaking reminds me of a Mister Rogers who has eaten mushrooms and boarded a time traveling intergalactic spacecraft which has traveled the universe and returned in an instant to recall his tales of wonder to the awestruck little kiddies.

I have managed to maintain a mostly vegan diet this trip. One of my favorite new things to make is a bean salad made with 1 can Garbanzos, 1 fresh lemon, 1/2 bunch of chopped cilantro, 3 cloves fresh garlic, handful of sliced grapes and crumbled walnuts. A little olive oil and a dash of Chipotle Tabasco sauce and WOW! This keeps all day in the A/C in a tupperware.

Another staple is apples and raw almond butter. Very energizing. Cut the apples and smear the almond butter on the slices. Enjoy.

FRUGAL TIP: Going to grocery stores is much cheaper and healthier than stopping at McDonald’s and Subway all the time. Coffee and Tea are also very expensive if you stop at Starbucks. I drink tea mostly. If I bring my own cup into Starbucks, one tea bag in hot water costs over $2.00. This to me is simply unacceptable. So I go to a grocery store, buy a box of the most expensive and delicious Earl Grey Tea for about $4.00, that’s 20 Bags. Whenever we stop for gas, I go inside with my own cup and ask If I can get hot water from the coffee machine. They don’t charge for that. If you like sugar or milk, simply take a few packs of sugar everytime one of your less frugal bandmates goes into starbucks. Milk or creamer is also a giveaway item at most starbucks. Just grab a couple when you buy something else at the truckstop. Nobody ever seems to mind. Also you can just buy the powdered milk. or get the little individual soymilk drink boxes. I usually carry a little powdered milk as a back up if I can’t find the soymilk. Enjoy your cup!

Next Post: Fun With Ramen Noodles!

My Suitcase is a Harmonica Stand

Driving. Lots of driving. There dies the glamour of the tour. Gas is expensive and so are the hotels. The white Chrysler Town & Country barreled into the night sucking up fuel and emitting a halogen death ray from the headlights and an L.E.D. glow from inside the cockpit.

I am the only one who would fit in the backseat, so I leave it to Jeff and Rich to fight it out over who drives and who’s bright idea it was to drive all night, anyways.

I feel it significant to mention that the Chrysler runs on FlexiFuel, a corn based ethanol better known as E85. Its a dollar less at the pump and several dollars more expensive in the field which makes me feel like a person that is paying a mortgage with a credit card. Perhaps its endemic to our culture at this point. The E85 pump at Meijer seems like a methadone clinic for a nation of heroin addicted gas guzzlers.

I close my eyes as the highway unwinds beneath us and imagine the day that tours like ours are powered by solar rays and low voltage. I had always hoped that I would live long enough to tour the galaxy, stopping at space stations and planetary outposts to put on a show of exquisite music, lights and storytelling, reeling past the stars and through interstellar space with an ion sail, my fellow musicians and I buffeting through the stars like luminescent plankton

Just then I awoke to the harsh neon of a Pilot Truck stop, somewhere in Western Pennsylvania. A giant Luna Moth was flopping around on the ground beside a trash can. I couldn’t figure out if it was trying to fly for the first time, or if it had flown all night, attracted by the lights and pheromone scent of other moths and the neon glow of the truck stop, miscalculated somehow and had flown into the window and was now attempting to regain his senses.

I got settled into my backseat nest with a bottle of water, a hoodie, some apples and my headphones. The drivers switched and we pulled back on to the highway heading to Grand Rapids. I slept as the Chrysler guzzled its corn liquor and the black smoke diesel trucks roared past. I once again driftedf into the greater reality of dreams, my spaceship traversing the gulf of stars and endless possibilities.

I’ve been spending the past week in NYC reassessing my cultural designation. Formerly Nomadic, I have reassigned myself as a Modern Hunter/Gatherer, on a trial basis. My nights are filled with shows and music, travelling within a 100 mile radius of, in and around NYC, but what to do with the days?I go out in the morning about 9, move the car. Then its off on a quest of some type or another.

(FYI:  Alternate side parking is suspended today because of Veterans’ Day.)

Over the years, I have learned to live very cheaply in the Big Apple.  A couple of days ago, I went down to my favorite dumpling shop on Eldridge St. This is the same place that was around the corner from my favorite free veggie divin’ dumpster. Back in the day, the dumpster would be full by 8pm every other night with very only-slightly-spoiled produce. Usually my roomates and I would just peel a few leaves back and BEHOLD!…Nature’s Bounty.  A quick trip around the block to pick up 10 dumplings and 2 sesame pancackes with beef, and we would eat like kings and pass out with our bellies full. Our hunting and gathering instincts satisfied.

I was very surprised to find my old dumpling shop still there, and with a line half a block long coming out of the front door. They had changed the name too, From “Number 1 Dumpling House” to “Vanessa’s.  The enlarged magazine articles and New York TImes clippings were pasted all over the front door, “5 stars,” “Best dumplings in town….” yadda yadda.

Its true, these were great dumplings, and cheap too. But there is no way I was going to wait in that line. My instincts were tingling…”keep walking, keep walking,” they told me.

I kept walking until I found the next dumpling shop, Prosperity Dumplings. I was impressed by the pork/chive and veggie dumplings, 5 for $1, and Sesame pancake with veggies for $1.75. Just like the old days.

Much smaller than Vanessa’s, with a dining lobby the size of a small closet, I cued up amid the micro chaos. There were about ten of us crammed into that small dining area and the door was opened. In the kitchen, ladies stuffed pastry and the cooks screamed incoherently. The ordering and passing  of dumplings to customers was done in what seemed to be no particular order, as if the owner, a Mr. Cheng, had never had more than 1 customer at a time. If you name a place Prosperity Dumplings, you had better be ready when the prosperity hits. And these were no shabby freezer dumps,and the sesame pancake, a giant pizza sized flatbread, sliced into triangles, was going like…well…hotcakes!

$2.75 later, with a little soy sauce, and a little red hot sauce for dipping, I was in dumpling heaven. soft yet crispy, hot from the pan, yummy goodness. Not only that, there was hardly a wait.  The eating was over all too soon, but I was stuffed and satisfied at my hunter/gatherer prowess, having found such a great meal for so little money.

Renewed and bolstered against the brisk city autmn air, I headed back down Eldridge awash in the glow of cheap neon and tasty pancakes.

“Are you Lipbone Redding?” a young woman with a camera asked me. Yes I am.  It was Cin Holder, from KVNF radio in Paonia Colorado. Cin was far, far from her bountiful home territory. I know Cin because she had interviewed me for her radio show last year and facilitated a children’s interview with some local kids.  Cin was also on a hunter gatherer mission. She was stalking a more subtle and elusive prey, however: Radio Theater. I have to be honest, other than a few projects I have been part of, and Garrison Keeler’s Prairie home companion, I wasn’t aware of to much of that in the city. (If anyone out there knows a good link, please send it…)

We talked for a minute and I told her about my new find. Two wanderers, meeting upon the trail of our quarry. She looked a little hungry, so I pointed her down the block. I, however, hunt alone, so I gave her a hug and we went our separate ways.

Tonight I sit around the Hi-Def campfire, typing this story to my fellow tribesmen and tribeswomen, recounting the details of the hunt, of a friend encountered on the way.

Happy Hunting

LB

Some important things to remember when you are traveling with the band.

Traveling through New Mexico listening to Merle Haggard sing “Momma Tried,” It occurs to me that I need to drink more water. Come to think of it there are quite a few simple things that make life on the road a lot easier.

1. Space is important. A lot of venues will try to give you “A room” or a band house. Its always better to get a room for every member of the band. When The Lipbone Orchestra travels, we always try to get rooms for the 3 of us. Think about it. You spend all day traveling in a mini van together from Albequerque to Flagstaff. When you get where you are going, its really nice to  have a moment to strip off your road clothes, plug in your own music or just have silence,  flip through your own channels on the TV and take a shower without worrying if someone else needs to get into the bathroom.  Bottom line, it makes for better music and a better show.

2. Get plenty of rest. If at all possible, don’t party ad nauseum after the show. A glass of wine or whatever, can be a groovy way to mellow out after being hyped during a big show. We usually leave early in the morning. Hotel check outs are normally by 11 am. The show is usually over at 1 or 2 am.  Wind down and go to sleep. There is plenty of opportunity for being on the computer, emails, facebook, blog etc. during the drive.  The better rested you are, the better the music will be. Remember you can always ask for late check out. The management may say no, but it never hurts to try. On the road, it pays to be courteous, but you must be firm about asking for things you want.

3. Eat well. Being on the road is an opportunity for an endless stream of junk food. Gas stations and truck-stops, McDonalds, etc., etc.  Its always good to plan on eating well and drinking lots of water.  I personally carry my Jack Lalanne juicer, The stainless steel model available online or at Costco for about $100) which I fondly call “Betty.”  My favorite juice, Lipbone’s Keep-It-Loose Juice, I make almost every morning.

Lipbone’s Keep-It-Loose Juice

1 Apple

1 Beet

3 Carrots

1 Piece of Ginger

1 lemon

I often throw in Greens, citrus or Berries, whatever is handy or will go bad the next day.

As far as food, it’s cheaper to stop at grocery stores and buy your food rather than going to restaurants and fast food joints. Although its a pain sometime to prepare, there are some simple things you can make to sustain and enjoy your travels. Even though the fellas laugh at me, I take my miniature food processor with me. Its easy to make hummus and coleslaw. I just carry a basic kit of ingredients incuding: Olive Oil, Vinegar, Braggs or Soy Sauce, Salt, dry spices. Oh, don’t forget utensils, a can opener, and a couple of tupperware items with sealable lids.

Black Bean Hotel Hummus

1 can organic black beans

1 cup shelled sunflower seeds

Juice of 1 lemon

1tbspsp of Olive Oil

1tsp of Braggs

2 pieces of garlic

1 cup of olives

3 tbsps water

Put it in the mini and blend it up.

This is really good with Sesame Blue tortilla chips and it keeps the hungries far, far away.

*To the ladies and gentlemen who clean the hotel rooms:  The mess in the hotel bathroom that looks like the scene of a gruesome murder/disemboweling, is just beet juice and black beans. Deepest apologies.

So today I got up after a short sleep in the Super 8 motor lodge in Colorado Springs and walked to THE GARDEN OF THE GODS. I didn’t know what it was, but there was a big sign on the highway by the hotel. So I drank some juice, got my backpack and started walking.

I really love the dry air out here in Colorado. Its very energizing, as opposed to back East where the mugginess just makes me want to lay down in front of the air conditioner. It was a nice walk once I got past the main Highway of the Gods!

I think the walk from the Super 8 was about 5.5 miles to the gate. But along the way I met a guy who showed me the back foot trail called the Dakota. So I cut across the road and made for the big rock.

Apparently there were bighorn sheep. But I didn’t see any of them. Just a lot of cars and tourists along the highway. I took the Palmer trail around the perimeter of the park and as I came over one of the rocky ledges I heard … Bagpipe Music!  No, not the tires of the highway, for sure, bagpipes. “Aw what the hell.” I thought and followed them down the mountain.

I made my way across the park and got to the red rock ledge high above the masses. There he was with a music stand, pipes blaring, Ryan. “Hey, dude!”  I said.

“Don’t go over the ledge there, two people die every year right in this very spot,” he told me.

I said, “I don’t plan on it.”  I gave him a friendly smile. “I just walked all the way from town.” I told him

“Are you homeless? ” He asked.

“Because I walk, does it mean I have to be homeless?”

“Just kidding.” He said and put the pipes to his lips, filled the bag with air and squeezed out a jaunty tune.

Here is the soundclip of the day. Me, Ryan and his 3 pronged musical beast:

Bagpipes !  LISTEN![display_podcast]

Ryan said he was a street musician that just comes up here to practice every Thursday. I told him to come down to Southside Johnnies and sit in with us for  a song tonight. He asked if he could bring his tip bucket…I smiled. We are cut from the same cloth. I said I would get him some food and drink if he did.

I left the park feeling like I had found something. Gained back a little piece of myself that was stolen during a two day car ride across the plains. I wondered, “Could it be that at birth, the truth shatters into a million pieces, and we spend the rest of our lives going around and finding those little pieces and putting them together like a jigsaw puzzle? Then, if we have enough time, and find enough pieces, we may have some wisdom.”  I really don’t know, but when you are walking, lots of crazy thoughts come in your head.

Just remember that  if you are open to adventure, even the simplest things have monumental implications. Travel on, brothers and sisters.

LB