After ten thousand miles and change—Greg, the single participant who can claim to have been with the expedition from Santa Cruz to Sarasota, still had another eighty to go—I returned home at dusk yesterday and passed the night in my own bed, sleepily enfolded by my beloved, for the first time in centuries. Life is good.
Today, sundry errands. In late afternoon I note that the air is dry, and that it’s pleasantly warm in the sun and pleasantly cool in the shade. I've lived in Oakland for a third of a century, and while I have my issues with the 12% - 18% of the population that comprises its permanent criminal underclass (where “I have my issues with” means “I wouldn’t piss down their throats if their hearts were on fire” — the white liberal guilt I had in my baggage back in 1977 was stolen a long time ago), I am still prepared to forgive much in exchange for what I believe to be, most days of the year, the best weather in North America. That I return to a particularly “blue” region of a blue state after overhearing so many hotel conversations from knuckle-dragging Palinista fuckwits—o, do not get me started, my auditors and only friends.
A shout-out here to my brother Greg. This entire undertaking might not have begun had it not been for an idle remark of mine on Facebook a year ago, but it most definitely would not have begun if Greg had not picked up the idea and run with it. Friends, I couldn’t organize a two-car funeral procession. Greg put this entire undertaking together and made it happen. If any of you are still following this blog as it prepares to fold up its tent tonight, I encourage you to vouchsafe him some recognition either on Facebook or in the comments below for the sheer brute competence it required to bring about this ambitious and implausible project.
Above: Greg at Kennebunkport
Heere endyth the Travell Blogge.
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