All 36 entries tagged Travel
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August 11, 2010
The need to be born again, a fierce need to reinvent the self, is what drew me to America. For me that is the promise of this country, a promise, crossed with blood. (Meena Alexander, Poetics of Dislocation, p. 134)
Winter Park, Colorado
Gunnison, Colorado: Cowmen Parade
August 09, 2010
August 02, 2010
I’ve been back from my roadtrip for just over a week now, but one thing that stays with me are small acts of kindness from random people.
Like when we were driving through Kansas and our beat-up old Subaru Forrester started making some very strange noises. We pulled off the freeway at one of those junctions without a shop in sight, just long rolling plains as far as the eye can see. The car coasted on down the road and the only building was a run-down old garage.
A mechanic came out and briskly looked over the car. He told us that all we needed was a bolt and he probably had one inside. When he came out again, he had a box of tools and the bolt and he proceded to fix our car for the price of the bolt: 10 cents.
We filled up on gas and glass bottles of coke from a rusty freezer in the dusty shop. I said thank you many times, but the mechanic never looked at me or acknowledged what I said. I wondered whether he was used to being thanked.
We drove all the way to California from there and then back again to Pennsylvania. The 10 cent bolt held all that time.
July 27, 2010
Los Angeles, Griffith Park
The days: morning light opening the streets
like a huge hand, then the bruised fist
of evening, that incredible pink and blue
bleeding into night, and the homeless
in Pershing Square claiming their benches again.
-B.H. Fairchild, A Model of Downtown Los Angeles, 1940
is bright but noncommittal
Nature needs tending, of course
Every few years the plates shift
the photogenic councilman is arrested
and someone takes a fall
-Lauren Ann Bogen, from Hollywood Hills Noir
California, Route 5
Las Vegas Desert
History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of ‘history’ it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened . . . There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning . . . And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave . . . So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back. – Hunter S. Thompson
California, Route 15