INTRODUCTION
STORIES FROM THE ROAD
Christmas in Bromsgrove
Rambling in Colorado
TRAVELOGS
SOUTH OF PAGOSA SPRINGS: torrential rain that drives me off the road. It was a conscious choice, don’t worry. The wipers are no match for the water slamming us. So used to driving in sunshine I find I’ve become timid behind the wheel. This truck is perfect for times like these, I listen to Bob Dylan and reassure my pup from the warm and dry cab. The bed is set up in the back if ever we need to crash. I can even make myself a cup of tea back there. What more could I wish for?
I don’t want a marriage like my parents. Oh, they are good enough friends, but where is the passion? I’ve never seen neither hide nor hair of any passion. I’m not even talking purely of sexual desire but just that spontaneity in the joy of living, the magic, the wonderment of all these treasures…that energy wakes me up, keeps me there in a heightened awareness of the tastes and touches around me. The mundane, the paying of bills, the workweek, these all kill my spirit. To find the balance is my next challenge. To be fearless, to stay open to magic, this is my aim.
THE RAIN is lessening. Relatively. It’s till more rain then I have seen in the last year and a half in northern New Mexico.
Could it be possible to find a lover who loves to explore with no agenda, no plans? Is there anyone out there who loves a reckless life, on the edge, a pack of macaroni and cheese in the pack, a cup of coffee in the mornings and a passionate delight in each other?
Until I find such a one I will feed my self. Today I head into the mountains to the north of Pagosa to find a place to park, camp, eat, and explore. I have no idea where I will end up. This is just what I needed to do. Unlimited adventure please!
TREASURE FALLS: constantly wet.
What? Who? Me?
Why yes that too, but the very air around me is fairly dripping. The waterfall crashes down hundreds of feet. Daisy gets to run ahead of me, off leash. (What a rebel.) The other walkers exclaim, what a pretty dog.
I have to wonder about this. Why is an ugly person called a dog? How then can we turn it into a complement for my pup?
WEST FORK CAMPGROUND: I drove past the campsite and followed the national forest road a little further, taking the left fork at the the bridge. Having no idea where this would lead me I looked for inspiration instead. Next the to creek was a clearing under the tall trees, a wide variety of deciduous and evergreens. The water was high and fast. Daisy was whining, I’m not sure why. It’ s beautiful place to stay the night if you ask me. I spread a blanket to lie, snack and read upon. Daisy splashes in the water half-heartedly. She then comes and sits to my right, leaning into me. The clean blanket no longer appeals to me.
By the way there is a thrift store in Pagosa on the high street that I strongly recommend. The temperature dropped drastically after the downpour. I opened my backpack to discover I had no trousers. In the humane society thrift store I found a pair of Dickies bibs for $4! (Damn cute.)
Some years ago I was deported. Whilst stuck in London, I had a night of fame. Well, almost…one Friday night Lisa and I were at the local Dyke bar when she pointed out this notice of a competition. Why not, eh?
Lisa spread the word and the next week the place was packed with friends I’d lost touch with over the many years spent in the States.
It was strip show. Now if you knew me well, you would understand how unlike me this is…yet in a suit of many layers, 70’s style, I did a fire breathing strip show to Rod Stewarts song ‘do you think I’m sexy?’
I think I won because of the novelty factor. A butch beer-drinking gal, not the average lithe young feminine lass they expected…$70 thank you very much.
A month or two later I biked over to my friends house, she was going to let me stay there for a while since I was homeless as I waited for immigration to let me back to the States. Fiona was in the kitchen preparing the dinner. I helped, with the wine and the meal. By the time we were all tired it was an unspoken agreement that I would stay in Fiona’s room with her. Yet we didn’t have sex. The next day she joined me at a birthday party nearby. “Are you two…?” was the question of the hour.
I stayed within that household for a few months. It drove Fiona crazy. I drove Fiona crazy. A stalker she said. A stalker? I hesitate to write about those days. I stayed there. Sometimes Fiona invited me into her bed. Other times I slept in the living room. I fixed up the house. I painted the bathroom. Mended door handles. I cooked meals. When Fiona’s parents came to stay, she was proud of me. When her sister needed carpentry help, she recommended me. When she came home from work she was mean to me.
On her 35th birthday I took us the opera. Neither of us had ever been. All dressed up we were on the number 38 bus downtown. She held my hand in public. At the end of Madame Butterfly she cried. We walked home through the silent city. I stayed in her bed that night. Still no sex!
When time came for me to fly back to the US she drove me to the station for my train to Gatwick airport. Despite the meanness, the sleeping together, the “stalking” she held onto me as we had been in love for years…
Lisa spread the word and the next week the place was packed with friends I’d lost touch with over the many years spent in the States.
It was strip show. Now if you knew me well, you would understand how unlike me this is…yet in a suit of many layers, 70’s style, I did a fire breathing strip show to Rod Stewarts song ‘do you think I’m sexy?’
I think I won because of the novelty factor. A butch beer-drinking gal, not the average lithe young feminine lass they expected…$70 thank you very much.
A month or two later I biked over to my friends house, she was going to let me stay there for a while since I was homeless as I waited for immigration to let me back to the States. Fiona was in the kitchen preparing the dinner. I helped, with the wine and the meal. By the time we were all tired it was an unspoken agreement that I would stay in Fiona’s room with her. Yet we didn’t have sex. The next day she joined me at a birthday party nearby. “Are you two…?” was the question of the hour.
I stayed within that household for a few months. It drove Fiona crazy. I drove Fiona crazy. A stalker she said. A stalker? I hesitate to write about those days. I stayed there. Sometimes Fiona invited me into her bed. Other times I slept in the living room. I fixed up the house. I painted the bathroom. Mended door handles. I cooked meals. When Fiona’s parents came to stay, she was proud of me. When her sister needed carpentry help, she recommended me. When she came home from work she was mean to me.
On her 35th birthday I took us the opera. Neither of us had ever been. All dressed up we were on the number 38 bus downtown. She held my hand in public. At the end of Madame Butterfly she cried. We walked home through the silent city. I stayed in her bed that night. Still no sex!
When time came for me to fly back to the US she drove me to the station for my train to Gatwick airport. Despite the meanness, the sleeping together, the “stalking” she held onto me as we had been in love for years…
The mosquitoes have woken up in the chill evening air. I forgot to bring the wonderful toxic crap from home. (Of course)
Bi dyke with fag tendencies was my answer to you. Do all friends start this way, asking after how we identify within the queer community? Or is it only when on a pre-date? Not that this is what this is, since you have a girlfriend. But I must admit I sense a mutual attraction. Have I fucked it up already though? By my heart shining through my eyes the last time I saw you?
