home/Like a complete unknown/Like a rolling stone" -Bob Dylan
It took a while, but I finally got on the road earlier this week. I'm now in a coffee shop in Duluth while it's pouring outside. Faulkner is sleeping in the front seat of my decked out car parked outside drawing curious looks from these Midwesterners (of which I claim lineage). This is Dylan's hometown (sort of), and having heard "Like a Rolling Stone" yesterday afternoon -- Manchester Palladium live version -- it hit me that the song was no longer a metaphor. Now I know what it feels like to be on your own, with no direction home.
Getting out of New York was an endeavor. I had to move my important stuff in stages to a storage spot (records, books), sell off most of my large possessions, and finally chop up my remaining furniture with an axe (my axe! that I had with me back in the woods of Massachusetts) to fit in the dumpster. Spending a few hours doing this out on Boerum Street was both cathartic and bittersweet.
The first day was anxious, not the least because my car was giving off burnt oil, and I ended up hiking into the Adirondacks during a thunderstorm to finally reach the sanctuary of the lean-tos near Mt. Marcy. Unfortunately, I didn't pack waterproof matches so I went without food that night in the cold rain. Some backwoodsman I'll make. Try to make fire with two f*%&ing sticks. Just try. A shot of JD to whoever can accomplish this at the bar. No cheating.
Got a flat tire in Whitney, Ontario and got attacked by black flies in the 10 minutes it took me to change it. Still dealing with the aftermath, and the required headgear (Red Sox cap) that I must wear to avoid looking like I have a skin disease. These pests put mosquitoes to shame.
While changing the tire, met a motorcycle dude who travelled the Alaska highway in '49, and who skipped US citizenship in the 60s for obvious and unstated reasons. My rim was bent so he banged it back into place at no charge. Tire is holding up so far. Just want to make it to Edmonton where I'll buy a new set of steel belts.
Photo of Faulkner is on the south shore of Lake Superior. I've been blessed with good weather, and awesome camping sites, 2 along the shores of the lakes and 1 deep within the woods of Algonquin Park. Did not hear the wolves that night, though. Maybe in Alaska. The wolves and I have a lot in common.
The other photo of Faulkner is from Marquette, Michigan. The huge structure (it's much bigger than it seems from the perspective) is a former railway platform where iron trains dumped raw iron onto ships bound for Chicago, Gary Indiana, Cleveland, for the steel mills. Marquette (it turns out) is something of a hippe outpost now. They sell Djarum cloves, books on Buddha, and hydroponic supplies. They also have damn good Whitefish.
Until later,
Tom
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