Imagine this if you will:
A Zen Master entering America with all her possessions. A straw hat and her bamboo staff and silvery robe. Two gourds over her shoulder, one for rice and one for water. Flowing black hair and as brilliant as the Sun inside. A cricket tells her of a protected glade where she can rest for the night. A spring sparrow lands on her shoulder in the morning. Work to be done. He leads her to the forest where she finds the wounded deer that you almost killed coming home last night. Spends six weeks nurturing it back to strength. Moves around for years performing other such healing miracles for us and those we have nearly destroyed. Going where she is needed and getting everything she needs from the Earth.

But wait just a minute here.
She has no charge cards and no credit history. No mortgage and no bank accounts that can be traced. No white leather couch or fast car or widescreen television. Face it folks, she is beyond lower class. In America you might call her a bum or a drop out or homeless. Words that we have invented to denote (and none too kindly) the lowest of classes. She is arrested for vagrancy in Pensylvania and cannot post bail. End of anecdote.

So anyway, despite the existence of social and corporate ladders, I believe it's best to have inner simplicity. And I believe that the road reduces you. Or rather it can reduce you if you let it. Like the Sun can give you color. If you let it. The road keeps you away from the things you never needed in the first place and brings you face to face with good ol' necessity. Food and water and shelter. And a few days of this and the bad habits you have left untouched lie sleeping like fat dogs. Not only do I believe that this is a healthy process to endure, I count on it.

The inner quiet and calm I experience after long road trips is a Gift. A prize I work for. Reduce me from a Storm of confusion to a single Clear Ray of Light. I had watched this process work on Trevor over the past four thousand miles. He had lined himself up for it. Asked for it and let it happen. He looks ten years younger than when we left though this is only a by product of the overall effect. Another by product is the ability to eat efficiently. Of this I have previously spoken. The list goes on and on. Improved sleeping. Clarity of thought. Increased Memory. A Feeling of Completeness. The electric feeling that Life is Mysterious and Great. All the Good Things your Credit will Never Buy. So there. And this is a Gift I had hoped to see Jim Dove Receive, having never really been on the road.

I awoke at about nine o'clock. Sometime in the middle of the night I recall there being two Siamese cats in the room. Our nameless host had brought a companion to see here sleeping people on the floor. Perhaps it was a dream.

Jim Dove was gone.

His sleeping bag rolled neatly and a little note pinned on it said "walked to store". Three miles or so. I never even heard him go.

I am smiling into my coffee steam. Jim up until now had been always the last one to awaken. His form groaning to life hesitantly. And an immediate cigarette. But somehow this morning he had managed not to disturb my slumber. Even rolled his bag. The road is having it's effect. And I am too charged this morning to leave him alone.

Quick start the car and after him.

There he is on the bridge. Standing and watching a pine that would become my favorite, sway in the morning wind. Honk honk I have no horn and hey hop in. Jim looks just about six years younger this morning. Smile good morning like tribesmen who I once read smile at each other for greeting. Nice roll to the store for a huge coffee to go thanks. Then cross over route one into a dusty lot. Crumbling dirt road runs down to the swimming hole. A pullout path wends in deep shade beneath three Redwoods. Back in. The hillside before us is on fire with yellow flowers. Like forsythia back home. Sit on the hood and our coffee is scalding hot. Jimmy is quiet but not brooding. Wordless is the best way to describe him.

"I've been thinking" says I. "you probably oughta head home."

"Yep." He nods as if this was in the script. I am surprised.

"I figure" he goes "I just don't – aint gonna make it go out here. I don't know. Until last night I haven't felt weird about being so far from home."

Glad to hear his honesty. I have planned all along to make a stand out here. Find a place to stay and get a job. This is the only way I can really Know a place. Get right in there and dig with everyone else. In theory Jim was going to try to do the same. Eek it out with me here. We had talked about restaurant jobs – washing dishes – all across America. But all along we had assured each other that this needn't specifically be the case. If it wasn't going to work he could just go home. I had told him I'd help him get back. Bus or something though the thought horrified me. The morning Sun is hot already. The fire flowers yawn sleepily.

"If you take a bus I'll pay your ticket you know" I say. Which I will though it may drain me. After all it is the least I can do after dragging him four thousand miles.

He nods with certainty. Calm as can be. As though he were waiting for all of this. Inside him new gears click and spin. He knows now exactly where he is. Halfway Home.

"So let's call today make arrangements."

I too am oddly calm. We have just appropriately crossed a genuine bridge upon coming to it. Gold Star for our Souls. Now we can relax. How about a smoke. Jesus Christ we are in California.

Jim and I spend another hour in our sunny Redwood shade. Killing our coffees and unfolding in dialogue. Acting like we are home. Bullshitting and pitching stones into the sunny dust. Look at them flowers. Ok. Jim looks about six years younger. Trevor probably thinks we went home.

Trevor nods when we tell him that Jim will be leaving in a few days. He smiles with relief. He Knew it Too. And his plane leaves San Fransisco for home in a few more days. This whole Journey comprising ten of the longest days anyone ever took off from work. So in less than I week I shall be alone in the Great Sunshine State. Unable to return the way I came for lack of funds and fire and Destination. And what will happen then? Hey, there are two siamese cats. One just a little meatier than the other and somewhat cross~eyed. Look but don't touch he says. Not just yet.

Resolved to our fortunes we packed a lunch for the day. Few days left of adventure or so I think. Shorts and oil and a cowboy book Trevor has been reading. Crackers and sure another coffee and stop at the store for apples. Where is that swimming hole? Long haired local boy tells us. Down past that dirt pullout the road is as steep as a cliff. We inch down in spurts of dust all the way to the river.

The Eel River is small and green and cold. The water flows sweet and fast and across it a great hill jumps up. There are small perches on it's face to dive from. Pressed pebbles show where four by fours have parked at the waters edge. But it is Monday and we are alone. A cluster of ravens caw at us from the cliff. Let's park the car and head upstream. Little lizards skitter for shade at our approach. Maybe they are just shadows. Ahead a deep pool gathers below an outcropping of stone. Look how blue that is. I can not resist the chance to high dive. Watch me fall headlong hair flying into the ice cold spring river. Man, is it cold down there. Swim across the water and look at those trees back there sneaking around.

A little bit about Redwoods.

Redwood trees have an unusual reproductive system. Small offshoots will grow right from the base of the tree. Sometimes they come from burls. Remember? This causes them to do the damndest thing. They grow Groves in perfect rings. A Mother tree will die or be burned or be hacked away by man. The surviving stump offers the sky babies around her base. They in turn grow around the nurse stump in often perfect circles. So you may find a bunch of Redwoods growing in a perfect circle within which the old and great Mother stump decays. I once found one so old that the in the center were the stumps of two trees from the first generation circle. The Grandmother stump long gone the center was flat and smooth with years of brown needles. Fifty feet in diameter. Black creosote from a fire a hundred years burned out lined the inside. And there I slept for over a month. But this all happened later.

There is a great stump here by the river big enough to pitch a tent on. I wondered if I might get around to this. I never did but close enough.

Back at the river Jim and Trevor are hunting stones. I pick my way to the water and swim it's icy breadth to help. Look at these rocks all green and white swirled. There are pieces of Jade here. Stones flecked with real gold. Too many marvels to keep though so we start tossing the green stones into an old trout nest. A perfect circle just inside the cusp of water. Soon it fills with green gems and the faeries are pleased. Or maybe furious. Hard to tell with them. Eat a little read a little and a little Sun. The miles are finally unwinding in my legs. The ravens caw away. Trevor wades a little searching for shadowy natives in the shallows. The local kids begin to appear in small numbers. We watch them climb the cliffs to expert diving positions. My shoulders are pink and freckled and we've had almost enough Sun. So we rumble back up the steep hill and to the cottage.

The day slips sweetly away from us. Prescription for an afternoon like this? Drink five glasses of sunshine. A nap and more coffee. Cook something up and rent a movie. Amber dusk and a sudden starry darkness.

We are still behind on sleep though. I wonder where Kathryn is? The sun in my skin says to turn in early. Twinkling stars and a chain of white Christmas lights. The floor for us all tonight. Ghost cats across the floor or was it a dream? Still unfolding.

Back To Contents