small town boy in the big city

chicago took advantage of me...
she plied me with strong drink and wooed me with gastronomical delights.
she whispered softly in my ear and dazzled me with her knowledge of culture.
she spun me in circles dancing all night long
then i woke up...
poor and hungover...
and decided i need to get the hell into indiana.
ohh chicago....
hurts so good...

How can I possibly be expected to handle school on a day like this?

hebrews 13:2

des moines... doesn't count.

nor does sacramento.

cheyenne, laramie, flagstaff...

no no no

sedona, moab, scotts bluff.

no no no.

no cities,

no great cities.

no great cultural cities since i left the bay area quite some time ago.

chicago.

traffic! trains! people!

beautiful people!

great food! great drink! great beautiful interesting people!

art! music! beautiful people admiring art and listening to music!

and

oh how great is my thanks towards kevin and kaitlyn,

towards siobhan and her crew,

and towards the family McGarry.

almost three months on the road before chicago

and when i arrived

filthy, smelling like garbage, and skinny as a waif

i was treated like royalty...

thank you all.

the mississippi!

riding alone...
it's not so bad.
you move at your own pace,
stop when you want to stop,
talk to who you want to talk to.
you can create fake names,
fake stories,
a fake existence.
500 miles from anyone who knows anything about you.
out in the middle of the middle.
alone.
the mornings and the evenings are the worst.
no one to talk story with...
no one to break bread with...
no one to consult about where to pitch camp for the evening.
but,
when i saw my pal kevin waiting for me on the banks of that river...
the empty corn fields, the dodging thunderstorms, the torrential down pours and the sketchy campsites all melted away in a fit of joy...
four year old on christmas morning joy.
the greatest thing about saying goodbye is getting to say hello again.

and

my deepest gratitude to dave and family feeding us and giving us a place to sleep in rock island, illinois. riding all day in the pouring rain is quite enjoyable when the prospect of friendly faces, a warm dinner and a soft pillow lies ahead.

thanks.

(dave,

i am really bad with names and there is a good prospect i have misplaced yours and i know i have forgotten your wife's, any clarification would be helpful)

uhm, well, uh, hmmm, uh, yeah...

iowa.
there simply isn't much to say.
it's not flat, but there are no big hills to describe- no gut wrenching ascents or white knuckled hill bombing.
the landscape isn't boring,
not really at least,
but there was no beautiful mountain vistas, no deep canyons, no gushing rivers.
it isn't strip mall hell, or urban celebration,
it isn't desert solitude or forest primeval.
it's just iowa,
and it has a lot of thunderstorms,
and that's about all i can say about it.

look at kurt go!

go kurt go!
http://pocket-thunder.blogspot.com/

iowa

slept on the missouri.
cargill fireworks across the way...
a truck every 15 minutes, 24 hours a day,
said rurup.
he was right,
i had never met some one with a name like that name before.
humidity.
monstrous lushness.
bucolic,
at the very the least.
rolling hills,
that don't roll so well.
scattered farm houses,
corn,
feed trucks
hauling feed
off to feed the pigs.
ditch weed!
gives nothing but belly aches when chewing it like tobacco.