I'm counting down the very few days before the bus leaves Portland for a thirty-day tour of the seamy underbelly of the USA. I have a Discovery Pass. I'm retired. I'm bored. I miss my buddy Jane, who lives way on the other side of the continent, and I'm getting older so I might not get another chance.
Way back in the late 80s I was a roadie on a reggae music tour of the west coast. It was a sublime nightmare, riding in a bluebird equipment bus with a bad clutch and a worse muffler, loading in every afternoon, loading out in the wee wee hours, and sleeping on a bug infested lumpy mattress draped on top of the wall-to-wall equipment while we rolled, or in the empty bus while the show rocked on without me.
Now I'm going on my own tour, with no amps to carry, no tour director trying to weasel my credit card number, and no lazy drummers to bum my last cigarette.
The itinerary is all set and everybody down the line has been given fair warning.
I have an ex spouse in New Orleans whom I am still friends with but I haven't seen in more than thirty years, and I have a pal way down in Florida whom I have never met. I'm gonna roll.
They say the modern Greyhound has wi-fi and plugins for my laptop so I should be able to give a running commentary. I don't believe it but that's what they say, bless their little hearts, I know they mean well. I will post when I can, copypasta stylee, like a microburst transmission.
Right now I'm just setting this up.
Newbie.
More later
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