Listening to Nora Jones sing, Why Can’t He Be You, part of her Patsy Cline tribute. Probably no coincidence that it was the first song to come up, when I looked at the blank screen to write about my day, which would not rank at the top. I am referring to the mood of...
You’ll never guess where I am at this very moment, which would be Thursday evening a little after eight. Get ready; I am sitting at a picnic table, right next to the tent Michael and I, mostly Michael, set up at the state park in Detroit. Other than a beautiful moon,...
I must be in heaven; at least that’s how it feels right now. I am in warm, little #2 cottage at the Bend-Sunriver RV Campground. This is my second attempt at writing tonight. When I checked in, I was told there was WiFi available in the “family room.” First, I rode...
Let’s see, where were we when we spoke last? I was signing off from Susanville, falling asleep in between sentences. It’s funny, each day is so full and even though I skipped one day of writing, it seems like a week since I have written. Actually, I had to write my...
When you have been riding a motorcycle for at least six hours in stifling heat, often going at least 80 mph and then come to a sudden stop at a Super 8, you are still flying, like an astronaut hurling through space, abruptly falling to earth. Now, that is how my day...
