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home…. after 10 weeks of slogging and driving and constant forward motion… having someplace to be every night that tastes right and real and can fill you up… like any blue collar, assembly line worker… or dairy farmer… or deep sea fisherman… getting a junkie’s fix out of an honest, hard day’s work… a steady fill with a healthy sense of purpose and duty and rightness…

the same feeling as the 9-to-5 construction worker, who comes home to crack open a beer and sit in front of the tv to unwind at the end of his day… same as ever, my first immediate ritual when i get home, the second i step out of my car, is to race out to the edge of the world, where the waves never stop beating down on the same holy sand… exactly where i left her… so i just sit and stare into the sunset and let the symphony of the water erase my cluttered head…. i’m home…

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You totally rocked it tonight, little Dallas….. the perfect ending of the tour… everything was in wondrous order… the stars and planets all aligning… something was definitely in the air… every song I sang, a golden star… every word I spoke, received like a hero’s welcome-home parade… then an aftershow party with new and old friends… so many beautiful people taking extraordinary care of me…. followed by the all-night diner… all unwinding me and undoing me until my body could not last another breath… literally, giving out like an engine spending its last fumes…. on the last road…. of the last hill… oh, little Dallas…

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A very late night… as if I had nowhere else to be… just letting conversations live their own lives, free and unfettered… I think every night should be Friday night, without clocks, without Saturday morning rules, without any reminders that time is moving on…. being okay with hours slipping around or time getting lost in a vacuum… sometimes it is not meant to be counted or held down or watched… the sun will still rise, the earth will keep spinning, I will wake up eventually…

After tonight’s show and all the campfire chats finished themselves, I just got in the car and drove… didn’t know where I would be sleeping… I didn’t really care… thought I would just go until I started getting tired…. so I drove for a few hours, eventually found a cheap hotel, and crashed into bed around 5am…

The entire day today was the same…. I just floated in my head and didn’t pay much attention to when or where…. I did not turn the radio on all day… no music… no radio chatter… only silence…. the entire day….. sort of a media fast… 6 hours of driving in complete silence… with only my own thoughts and voice to keep me company or entertained… it’s good to have a life soundtrack, but sometimes, the sound of the wind, or moving wheels on pavement, or the thump and squeaks of passing big wheelers, or the rhythm of the turn signal, or your own loose cannon imagination… is plenty and full…

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On my way to Charlottesville, Virginia, I saw a sign for “Miller School” and urgently exited the freeway to check it out. It became a, sort of, treasure-map egg-hunt, and I kept getting further off the beaten path, following my own made-up detour compass and getting lost in the countryside. I finally found it… Miller School… pulled through the gates and up the winding road and the hill that led to the school… just a tiny, private school, buried in the quiet forest, tucked in amongst the tall trees.

In a clearing further up the hill, it seemed like bolts of sunlight were cutting through the clouds and shooting down a double rainbow… there it was… a proud and majestic row of busses, all lined up next to each other… a fleet of “Miller School” busses… short busses…. eureka!!

I got out of my car and just stood there with a giant grin on my face… I had found the Holy Grail…. I imagined an entire tour on one of those busses….. rolling into each town like the Partridge Family…. people applauding along the roadsides, waving and holding baskets of fruit and freshly baked food. An unrehearsed, all-volunteer Legion band (with horns and tuba) would be playing a hero’s homecoming theme song… everyone would be cheering and welcoming and throwing ticker tape confetti at the slow moving spectacle, like the circus was coming to town…

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West Virginia
As I pulled in to Oakland, WV (a small town next to Thomas), I was coasting down a long hill, and a tiny Volvo pulled out into the road, going about half my speed…. I couldn’t believe the nerve and rude disregard, and I almost smashed her from behind… I slammed a heavy-handed, California-righteous-indignation-horn-blast as I swerved and dodged to the right, narrowly missing her…

After a couple minutes of therapeutic green-tree driving, my nerves had calmed down and I had forgiven her of all her trespasses. I was letting bygones be bygones, enjoying the free nature, when I saw the flashing red and blue lights in my rearview mirror… ugh… I wasn’t sure why I was getting pulled over, but all the soon-to-be ramifications and outcomes were racing through my head…. how much money was this ticket going to cost…. how would this effect the bottom line of the tour… how many albums would I have to sell to make up for the loss…

While I was doing the math, the police officer approached my window…

Officer: “Do you realize you passed that car back there on the right side?”

Michael: “Yes, sir. I did not want to crash into the oncoming traffic, sir.”

Officer: “If you hadn’t been SPEEDING, you wouldn’t have had to worry about that. You were going 50 in a 40 mph zone.” and he walked back to his car with my license and registration….

I could see in my mirror, another police car had come up behind, and the second officer got out and joined him at his car.

10 minutes later he came back to my window.

Officer: “What are you doing here in town, where are you headed?”

Michael: “I am going to Thomas, sir… to play a concert.”
motioning with my hands, like I was strumming guitar…

Officer: “Oh, you’re playing at the Purple Fiddle?”

Michael: “Yes, sir.”

Officer: “Ah, are you a folk singer?”

In that split second, I had a flash of a dilemma…. and wondered what the correct answer was supposed to be…. Am I a folk singer? “Hell NO! How dare you!” Am I a folk singer? “Hell, yes! Now kiss my pinky ring.”

But then it hit me… right there… right in that moment… a personal revelation like a bright light, Pualine conversion. It didn’t matter what he wanted to hear… I thought, “Hmm, I guess, I am… I am a vagabond, troubadour folk singer…” and with the inspired conviction of a first-time visitor at an AA meeting, I decided to go all in, own it, and let the chips fall where they may…

Michael: “Yes, sir…. I *AM* a folk singer…”

He paused… kept chewing the inside of his cheek… and slowly looked back towards his car… then leaned in a little closer and peaked up over his sunglasses…

Officer: “Well, I’m going to give you a warning this time.” He scribbled a little on his pad, and handed me a “warning” ticket. “You have yourself a good show tonight, and watch your speed.”

I might have been a little delirious from the sudden release of all the bottled up, steam-pressure stress, combined with a day’s worth of driving… but as I drove off, all my turrets syndrome happiness exploded and I sang with giddy glee the entire rest of the way to the show…

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I become more aware and sensitive when I am traveling for such lengthy periods… more introspective… more contemplative… the steady isolation of driving such long stretches, day after day, far away from home, gives you plenty of time to think about the littlest things…. I’ve been out for nearly 8 weeks now… and I can feel the constant weight on my heart.

Being transitory is hard work… every place I leave behind is a fresh heavy heartache… making new friends or hanging out with old friends…. there’s always an urgent and accelerated, deep soul mining because you know you don’t have much time together… then you have to abruptly cut off and leave… like ripping off a band-aid, over and over… the heart aches and begs for something longer lasting, more permanent, more stationary… only to keep getting interrupted and uprooted and shaken and pushed on… perhaps it’s just the downside or casualty of being an astronaut explorer…

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New York City
Today I walked. and walked. and walked.
got about two week’s worth of cardio in one day… after playing 13 days straight with no break, it was fantastic just to not be in the car driving somewhere… I hiked all the way down to Central Park to find Joe and his easel and brushes, capturing real life in Sheep Meadow…. it’s inspiring to see Joe so devoted and driven, he comes out here to paint with a couple artists each week…

After they decided they were finished, or that the sun and good light was gone for the day, we went to lunch with his painting buddies at a divey diner on 73rd where they chatted and obsessed and exhaled all about their art universe…. I always get a semester’s worth of education hanging out with Joe… his renaissance ways have filled him up with an eternity of life and culture and art… of which he unselfishly and generously pays it forward. trying to explain and answer all my elementary queries that come pouring out of me.

After lunch everyone scattered and went their own way, and I continued on my adventure walk… saw the Dakota House facing the park… pretty uneventful, but I had to see it… I kind of knew it was coming, but I was still pleasantly charmed by the fanaticals playing Beatles songs in Strawberry Fields in the park… I expected, and even hoped, to see sidewalk shrines of candles and flowers for John Lennon, but there was none of that… just a uniformed guard (who was not born yet when Lennon was gunned down) standing watch in front of the metal gates, protecting the building… I felt a little guilty and dirty giving in to my voyeuristic curiosity as I came up on the place…. but at the same time, felt it my duty…. my studious obligation… and spiritual pilgrimage…

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Pittsburgh…. a couple drunken lesbians sat in the front row tonight… they were deeply in love, but they were fighting and by my third song, they broke up… one stormed away… however, by the fifth song, she came back and they made up… and made out… so tender and sweet… getting to be the soundtrack of their lives and to watch the emotional rollercoaster lifespan of their relationship unfold and play itself out… to my songs…
thank you, Pittsburgh…

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Wisconsin… getting to stay with my soul friends, John and Karen… and Rusty the dog… we went on a nature walk through the woods and down dirt roads, past grain silos and shaved corn fields, on golden pond, on up to neighbor Dan’s and into the hills and forest…. everything moves at a slower pace here. Slow enough that every little detail can be noticed. How a particular flower is blooming a week earlier than last year. How different birds sing their songs. Why the giant snapper turtles fight each other (and why you should never stick your finger near them). Knowing the history of the land and how the glaciers pushed through and had their way 10,000 years ago to make the valleys and swamp lowlands. Once we made it to the top of the ridge, we sat on a bench in a clearing where Indians used to hang out thousands of years ago. I could see across the entire valley and let myself get hypnotized.

Wisconsin Trees