Southbound

Six inches of snow in March and I’ve had enough. This long, Midwest winter seems endless. If Spring won’t come to me, I’m going to Spring. I loaded up the swift and merciful Japanese Galaxy Traveler and I’m outa’ here. Don’t know where, but South.

I may get as far as the Kentucky border and turn back, or I might keep going right on to Central America to drink tequila with Mexican drug dealers or snort cocaine off the back of Juan Valdez’s donkey. (probably not.)

I may get as far as Tennessee and breathe in the fragrance of fresh-mown grass and return home satisfied, or head to the Gulf Coast and wiggle my toes on a sandy beach under pleasant skies and favorable tropical breezes. Maybe Florida where, in a few days, I could be drinking body shots off the supple bellies of Spring-Break Coeds. (doubt it)

But, damn it I’m going!

I hate interstates and motels, and prefer state roads and campgrounds, but I may have to relax my standards and make a bonsai run down I-65, sleeping in bed bug-infested dumps until I hit fair weather and open campgrounds, for as long as $472.00 hold out.

I’ll thumb out periodic dispatches from the open road in the course of my journey.

Adios!