Journal 2 52
53
ACT II
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
Journal 4
GOLD NAGGAHIDE - WHITE HIGHWAY
Day 59 Santa Rosa to Saddle Back Mesa
today: 26 miles cumulative: 1142

I can’t believe that breakfast is $10. I didn’t even get juice and my waitress has a mean face and huge painted on eyebrows. I got up at sunrise for the first time in weeks because I was excited about breakfast and here I am with a mean waitress and toast that tastes like communion wafers at church when I was boy and used to have to go to that place with the altar. That is not what I want to think about. The worst toast I have ever eaten. Why are you complaining? For lack of something to say? Truly bad toast, but I am not so bad off because the bacon is good. Why are all the people in here so old? The booths are made of gold glitter nagga-hide. The locals speak Spanish but have that every other word is english thing going so I don’t understand anything but I cant help but listen because it is like a puzzle. Someone died. Found him in the lake. Order more hamburger. Interest rates going up. A community dance over Easter weekend.

And the longer I stay the more I see that the mean waitress is not so mean, she is just not happy, what she does in her life does not make her happy. And people will say how do you know and I will say maybe I don’t know, maybe shes just having a bad day. Adventurers have bad days too with a mean face and maybe someone has seen me on this trip on a mean face day and said to someone that I am not happy with my life. We all have our struggles, waitresses just have more than most.

A hill out of town…. A big hill. WIND. Plains. Beautiful plains. This is the place where I can fly. This is where I do not believe in Physics. 3 men drinking beer and driving into nowhere, driving towards the white highway. Stop and give me beers for the road, I love the people who give me beer. Animals are following us again. Why do they follow us? Like Cosmo is some great white Shiva. I should be careful to treat her well if is she is a walking god, and how lucky am I to have her pulling my cart?

People stop to talk to me and one car unloads all the food it has in it, and now I have food strapped all over the outside of my cart. Eating chocolate chip cookies on this long straight road into the Texas Mojave. No towns for 3 days.

But there will be ranches and places to find water without having to cut open palm trees. I can see far ahead, a white road, where the pavement ends. Coming down the last hill there is the end and the white is exaggerated because the sun has set and the illuminated clouds light it up with a light different from the hard day. Soft white highway out there. But first I will stop and talk to the people where the sidewalk ends. Earl and Anna live right at the end of the pavement.

They both tell me how much they "thoroughly enjoy watching pelicans dive for food in Mexico." We also talk about college basketball, their children and grandchildren, high school track and field, cattle drives in the 40’s, the great snow of 1977 which came in the month of may, and other, more current weather. Anna is a very intelligent woman, I can tell from her mannerisms and her vocabulary. She speaks Spanish to the dog. Her father P.M. Armstrong immigrated from Ireland, the homestead was est-ablished in 1906, Earl and Anna have 8,000 acres. On the green flowered table cloth there is a romance novel: My Darling Duke. A plate collection on the wall, a home sweet home sign, cow bells. Anna calls ahead to see if I can camp on some private property below the Mesa. Green light. Giddyup. Thanks for the tea y’all.

White highway. Perfect highway. Not a highway tonight. No cars, just a gypsy and his dog under the moon, dancing like an eagle because I saw it in a movie once, but also because it just seems to be the right dance for this moon lit road. Eagle dancing with arms spread out moonbeams and all that other magic tonight, I wish I had that headpiece made of feathers. I will have to start looking for feathers. Some for my wings and some for my headpiece. No war dance, just the eagle in the desert and the scene from some movie, my movie, where the man is looking for a vision. Down a canyon on the white rock, and coyotes howling, and I am howling back. Cosmo will not howl, I have tried to teach her in these deserts. So it is just me and the coyotes, totally surrounded by coyotes, but I am not afraid of them. Now I am one of them. It is too cold to sit out and enjoy this still night and stars, too cold to drink the beer that was given to me on the road, too cold to write. Its always too cold to write. But the moon is shining, replacing the sun that lingers in my mind. The moon will replace her tonight. The sound that silence makes without her.