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Tag Archives: travel

alarm! alarm! and out of a bent sleep the traveler jolts

shuffles to the bathroom while the blear clears

takes the set aside pills flosses brushes shaves

peels t-shirt over his head and off into the hamper

pulls baggy underwear to knees and draws knees together for the underwear to fall to the floor

grabs underwear with toes and drops them into the hamper

steps past the bathroom mirror with an “ugh!” and carefully steps over the bathtub edge and pulls the shower curtain closed and positions his head to shield his body from the initially-cold spray and pulls the faucet lever counterclockwise and pulls the switch-to-shower knob up and cold spray hits his head with a bit of over spray on his belly and he gasp-inhales a little

but the water quickly pleasantly warms and he squeezes shampoo onto his hand and smears it onto his head

then ivory-soaps his body with special attention to armpits genitals and feet (careful! use the corner for support! de-soap left foot then press sole-water firmly away before switching feet!!) and rinses and sways and rinses and lifts and rinses

turns shower off pushes knob down (it sticks) pulls curtain aside and carefully reaches for bath towel and flips towel like a jumprope and unmoistens back and sides and then carefully dries one leg foot perched on bathtub edge and then the other

then (carefully!! delicately!!) lowers a foot onto the bath mat with one hand on toilet-tank lid and the other on the wall

breathes a relief-sigh and steps out of the tub and combs hair dresses grabs backpack locks up goes to lobby calls a lyft cab arrives at airport obtains boarding passes at self-service kiosk walks to security checkpoint hands identification and passes to bluesuited agent places belt and pocket contents in gray bin steps into examination chamber forming the “a” of “ymca” is waved forward repockets rebelts finds the gate..

and here we are!

Every city/Has its limits./Not a pity./Mug has rim. It’s/Wonderful to/Sip that java/One stir full, to/Bank the lava.

Pack a bag and/Rent an auto./That main drag and/Time goes blotto./Mileposts fly right/Trough to crown/Grab that sky right/Out of town.

Afterword: I have just finished packing and am off to California, there to see my sweet and kind Cousin Livia, where we will see Neil Diamond in concert!

In 1975 my parents and I went on a trip up the California coast. We saw Solvang and her tulips, San Simeon and it’s castle of wretched excess, and San Francisco, where Anything can and does Go. But we also paid a visit to a small town famous for Artichokes.

Yesterday I arrived in Castroville and spent the night at the Coastal Inn on Merritt Street. And this morning I ate a Castroville Scramble at the Fabolous Giant Artichoke Restaurant. Now I’m “scrambling” to post this, pack up, and head north. Checkout time is in eight minutes!!

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This post comes to you from the Greyhound bus station in Flagstaff, Arizona. The index card in the image above includes a quick sketch of my phone being charged, my backpack, the man sleeping on the floor next to the chair the backpack is on, and his walker. It’s not a good sketch but I am beat. Tomorrow is another day.

I am on vacation. Three weeks off. Tomorrow through Sunday I’ll visit my friends Steve and Chris Boyle in Henderson, Nevada. During those days I’ll figure out where to go next, hoping eventually to end up in Richland, Washington state, visiting my friend Tom Byrne.

It is interesting going Greyhound again after more than 30 years. In the past there was a sign by the driver endorsing him (it was always a “him” then) as SAFE●RELIABLE●COURTEOUS. Now there’s a sign saying WATCH YOUR STEP and, judging from the discourtesy our driver handed the passenger behind her, who was arguing that we should take a break in Camp Verde, it is meant figuratively as well as literally. (In the driver’s defense, the passenger was even ruder than she was.)

I like being on the road, but the miles wear harder on me than they did last century. That’s Life!

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heading up moving out

relocation
is a chore
toiletries
and much much more
must be plucked
and boxed and loaded
then withal
they’re hit-the-roaded
sighs and tries
and some embraces
one will leave
yet leave his traces

Alas, my Sweetheart and I are parting ways. I load up a few things today and the rest Sunday. It is a time of some vulnerability and much reflection.

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About ten years ago I read John Steinbeck’s TRAVELS WITH CHARLEY IN SEARCH OF AMERICA. Mr. Steinbeck and his dog, a “standard” (tall) French poodle, lived the gypsy life in a beat-up camper, years before Charles Kuralt went “On the Road” for CBS. I remember vividly Mr. Steinbeck’s description of bigotry in a group he called “the cheerleaders;” the rest is a vague blur. But the idea of traveling with a dog appeals to me. I would want to do it on foot, though.

The man and dog in my drawing are not meant to represent Steinbeck and Charley, nor the late great William Doglas Bowers and me. They’re an invented guy and his invented dog, pedestrianing out in the countryside near a highway.

Here are the words to the triple acrostic:

Hit a road with a non-mangy mutt
Arcs & souls & butterfly flutter
Velvet glades & gusto to have
End the angst: the hinterland salve’ll

It’s been almost four years since Bill skipped town (Earth). I so miss him.