Wednesday, 4 February 2009
What a Dream I had last night
We'd just ridden through Joshua Tree National Park where we'd been serenaded by "Love Hurts", being gently sung by Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris. I was filling up the bike at a service station in the California town of Twentynine Palms, where you really can feel the heat of it's desert heart. As we rolled out of the gas station two kids in an old Camaro waved a peace salute at us and shouted, "Hey, Harley fuckin' Davidson"! I returned the gesture with a salute, military style. I turned down a dusty track and then turned left onto Ironage Road to cross the desert land toward Route 66. Now it was Jethro Tull playing on the bike's CD player, "Life's A Long Song". Dust devils were rising up from the moonscape scenery and tumbleweed tumbled as we passed a few Native Indian homes, with old Ford trucks and various old V8 engines in their yard, before we were finally swallowed up by the landscape. An hour later and we entered Amboy, Pop. 19. The air temparature gauge on the Electra Glide was way off the clock, which finished at 120F. At the one service station, opposite the post office, we rode under the canopy, switched off the motor and stuck our heads in the huge barrel of water with cans of drink floating in it. We went inside and bought some, at outrageous prices, but in the land of the parched, the solitary convenience store owner is King. Then I woke up in my bed, at home in England. I pulled back the curtain and looked out. It was snowing.