The clouds were exceptionally spectacular that day. They drifted along the vast expansion in jumbled candy lumps to pile and stretch out across themselves in glowing grey and white textured herds of heroic heavenly glory...sweet Jesus, it was a good day. The sky, a soft blue that subtly drifted through the azure spectrum without a second thought. Strange memories of other times and places. People lost in a sea of passing lives, but not quite forgotten. The musik brought back the past...it does that...just one of the endless magikal quirks taken for granted in the day to day perpetual flow forward...if that was the direction we were heading in....if there was a direction at all. There’s nothing quite like the sensation of being....what’s more, there’s nothing quite like the sensation of being out on the road. You’re surrounded by vast distances of space, beauty, synchronicity, surreality, quandary, freedom, introspection, and everything under the sun, moon, and cosmos. Flying out on a whim can be one of the purest forms of being there is. You place yourself in the hands of chance, and deal with it all on a spiritual-point marking level that tends to linger for some time. That’s where the true stories come from. “It all happened on a day like today. It couldn’t have happened on any other, at least not like this. 2 boys...a girl...a great green land shark...and enough vigor and soul to blast our way to another dimension.” I had never been to Vegas, but we’d be there soon enough to not know what hit us. Sure, some crazy twisted block of a man did this some 23 years ago with his “attorney” and strange undertones of journalism, and I salute that man. But this was our time to document our travels and our adventures. One can live vicariously through books and movies, but why not do it for real. After all, we are “real” in some respect. We should feed more than just our minds...get the whole body, mind, and soul in on the action!

A tree, some fallen limbs, some geese, and a highway exit void of restrooms...sometimes you just have to ignore the “out of service” signs and take your chances with the porcelain palace of all times sake. The greenery just went by and by, and we were getting closer every second. The great shark propelled forward at speeds beyond our human comprehension. Twisting, twisting, twisting down the main artery between Oregon and California. I’d been down this road so many times before, and the trees always made me feel home. Familiar lush beauty that reaches out through so many different shades of green. We hadn’t hit California yet, but I could feel her near. Even though it’s only an imaginary line between here and there, years and years of proclamation and the energies that magnetize through the diverse state create a certain vibration that’s different than anywhere else. Maybe it’s just because it’s my home land, the source of all my powers, or maybe I’m just crazy, but when I cross that semi-imaginary line, I get a rush of beautifully sweet chaotic joy. I wonder if people from Montana feel that when driving back into Montana....or Utah into Utah...or New York into New York?

There once was a small dream to get a band of minstrels together, dress them up in suits and ties, send them to Vegas, and have them drum in the streets. It would have been an interesting experiment to see how long we could maintain before being moved along by some sort of law enforcement agent, or if that sort of thing would be embraced by the strange dimensional rift.