Prepaid and the Land Down Under
Here in the middle of the night we’re quite aware of our surroundings. The good men plot and the bad guys sit back and think about having work tomorrow morning, but either way we’re all in bed by Midnight tops on a Sunday evening.
Even if I start climbing the telephone pole right now, I’ll probably never get around to reaching the top, let alone figure out how to actually give myself free cable. Luckily, I have no desire to anyway, so the night still holds promise.
Every now and then things begin to change at a more rapid rate than usual. Usually such massive changes are followed up by a strong rate of stagnance, almost like you’ve snapped back into the smaller version of a rubber (gum?) band. Which, if translated into amusement park terminology, can only call for a good ride.
Speaking of which, I’ve been plotting out the following tale for the last few months, letting it boil and bubble into a more gelled over fluid in the back of my head, always peaking around and poking about trying to get my attention…
Welcome to the Webpad where you see where I and mine may be traveling on our sweet roadster. But perhaps in the foreground you’d like some backend, so here we are…
Imagine the sound of a buzzy with brand new spring morning where a woman like yourself, long hair and dripping with elation finds yourself awoken to the sound of a humming-if-crackling old rust and bones of a motorcyle engine, two wheels whirring in to alarm clock your just-before-noon wake up call and there I am, with a pack of plans and a map you can store in a bank vault.
The motorcycle in question would, over time, become a valiant rocket of a steed, just enough for two and a sac full of ruck (presumably). Hostels in exotic desert cities, fires along the western frontier beaches, and tents root-perched and nestled under the coniferous cone and needle of the oldest trees in the world are to follow…
Day 1. A Portland Sunrise creeps up behind the silhouette of two riders on steel horseback…
Day 2. US 101, along the northern half of the US, leans south all along the Pacific Coast, through over two dozen state parks and beaches.
Day 3. Waking up to a breakfast of tea and bagels of the finest Northwest spices in the Redwood Forests of Northern California.
Day 4. San Francisco, nestled into the aptly named bay, is well known for its hippies, gays, and magickal golden trolleys full of quality rice product.
Day 6. Imagine standing next to the oldest known living organism on Earth, and then open your eyes and look at the Sequoia National Park’s General Sherman as his shade pours all over you, all 275 feet of him.
Day 8. Through Death Valley and into the bowel pits of flashing shining signing Las Vegas Nights.
Day 9. I once met a Hungarian guy who said if the Englishman could make it down to the bottom with 6 liters of water, he could do it in 2.5, maximum. He also said that if the Englishman said that it took him a day down and a day back up, that he could make it the entire way in one day. Either way, Evil Knievel was the guy who jumped over the Grand Canyon.
Day 10. You can have organic granola cereal and an authentic Indian tea in Macy’s, stay in the ranchero cheery welcomes of the Grand Canyon International Hostel, and play Frisbee golf at the top of a mountain, all in Arizona’s Flagstaff.
Day 14. Every summer a holy host of hippies, drippies and slippery-tippies come together to build Black Rock City (pop. nearly 30,000) and burn down a huge wooden guy named The Burning Man.
Day 16. The golden glow of paradise is backlit by the mountain home of crystal blue Lake Tahoe.