Bonneville...Send me on my way.

Suitcase packed, IPOD carefully loaded, a few bucks in my pocket and J is driving me to the train station. (have i mentioned that I love trains) I fight back tears. Check in at the train station, more tears. Good-byes are hard on a girl when she is saying them to the one she loves. I am on my my to the Bonneville Salt Flats. The Holy Ground of Speed. It is motorcycle speed week and I am catching up to my friend Tara in southern Oregon and traveling with her family.
I board the train and desperately try to find a seat facing forward. Sitting backwards is not good for me when motion is involved. The only seat left is part of a foursome of seats that I will be sharing with an elderly couple. I sit and we argue about which way is forward and which way is north, south, east and west. They sit facing me and assume they are going forward. Apparently I won and they were in the wrong car and Mister Conductor made them move. They were replaced with a mother and son couple. She was a bartender and he a student in his twenties. They had the look that life had never been easy but excepted it and were none the less happy.
The son, a very cool young man was messing with the group next to us. A group of young teens and a mom coming back from a gamer convention in Seattle. Yep, Geeks. They so wanted to be excepted by this hipster stanger on the train and enjoyed any kind of shit he was feeding them. It was very fun to watch. I stared out the window and laughed and talked and drank a smuggled beer my seat mates shared with me and before I wanted it to end it did and I was getting off the train in Eugene.
I was met by Tara and we hugged and laughed and stuffed my suitcase into her little yellow Mini Cooper. After a mad dash through the grocery store (we needed some road snacks) we drove on to Roseburg. I slept fast, only about 45 minutes. We had to meet her family at 2:00am. That was departure time. Wide awake with the excitement of a road trip in front of us we arrived at her parents house. We threw our suitcases in the back of a big ass mother f*cking bright red king cab pick-up truck towing a trailered Turbo Hayabusa that driven correctly could reach speeds close to 200 mph. It was dark and cold and once situated in the back seat of the truck surrounded by pillows and blankets I immediately fell asleep. I woke up just long enough to watch the sun come up over the Eastern Southern Oregon mountains. Brian drove in silence and everyone else was asleep. I was careful not wake anyone and selfishly enjoyed the sunrise to myself while I listened to Jesse DeNatale on my IPOD. I drifted back to sleep happy knowing this day was ahead of me.
We drove I-5 through Grants Pass and cut over to Medford and Klamath Falls. Somewhere in there we stopped at a Black Bear Diner and started my day with a bowl of oatmeal. Heading east we left Klamath Falls towards Lake City. Klamath Falls is an "end of the world as we know it" kind of town. Everything to the east from here is desolate and odd. Leaving Lake City (the Labor Day Rodeo was going on) there are miles and miles of two lane highways. The land is hilly and brown and empty. We see an occasional group of buildings and homes, not big enough to call a town, maybe a gas station, wild burros, antelope, wild horses and blue sky. Lots of blue sky. We drive through hours of this with pleasant conversation, good music and occasional cat naps. In the truck is Tara and myself, her dad and mom- Brian and Debbie and Tara's cousin Ron. An occasional stop to stretch, outside the truck it is windy, empty and warm.
We get to I-80 in Nevada still experiencing the same. There are some larger towns and even though they have more people and buildings and businesses they still seem empty. I am not sure why they are here. Maybe it was a spring of fresh water or a creek crossing or perhaps a wagon broke down and they decided to make a town. The people we encounter seem empty and wind blown. I am not sure why they stay, maybe they are trapped or perhaps they don't understand that they can leave and there are other options. We on the other hand are not trapped, awake and alive and just trying to get to Wendover Nevada/Bonneville Salt Flats.
Along I-80 ahead of us we see a bunch of lit up police cars with a truck pulled over. Getting closer we see the cops have their guns pulled on two men with their arms in the air. Brian said that guy is going to run!!! "No way" we say...but he did. He ran. Shots were fired and that man darted right into traffic. He ran into a van that was driving slightly behind us, jumped back up and kept running. All traffic came to a stop and we were the last vehicle to get past for I am sure several hours because now they have a crime scene on their hands. We watched for as long as we could see and made up stories about what we thought really happened. Made it to Wendover Nevada around 7:00pm that night.

Joe Strummer

I have a dog. He is really a puppy but has become the size of a dog. This is difficult for both of us. He is in a dogs body but does not know what is expected of a dog, and only understands how to be a puppy. As a result he can't figure out why he is not always making me happy. This can get a little frustrating for both of us.
He was named after the late great Joe Strummer of the Clash and the Mescaleros. I think it is important to give a dog a name they have to live up to. Dogs need inspiration. I also appreciate and respect the positive side of a bit of rebellion and I am sure this Joe Strummer will live up to that. The original Joe Strummer played a 1966 Fender Telecaster that originally came in a three color sunburst with a white pickguard. After joining the Clash the guitars body and pickguard was refinished in black auto primer, by 1979 the word NOISE was stenciled on the upper part of the body. I am sure if my Joe Strummer had thumbs he would also play this same style Telecaster.
Strummer is a happy dog, Oh so happy, devoted to his family and full of kisses. His feelings are easily hurt when he doesn't get it right but Strummer bounces back quickly, he is curious but fearful of things he does not understand. He is growing, tall and skinny, loosing baby teeth and has an amazing irresistible coat. Long and lean I am sure some day he will have the moves of a graceful ninja but right now he is very clumsy, tripping, slipping and falling and getting tangled in things.
We have a morning routine Strummer and I. He goes from room to room and wakes the house. People have places to be. We get everyone out the door and take and extended walk around the block to make sure all is right in the neighborhood. Strummer pulls, I correct...Strummer pulls I correct...Strummer pulls I correct. This goes on. We run a little. Eventually he gets tired of pulling and decides he wants to carry his own leash. This is fun except it is taking its tole on our leashes. He likes to walk with things in his mouth. Joe strummer will pick up a leaf and carry it. One morning he picked up an apple half way through our walk and carried it home.
To save the leashes I started walking with his rope toy in my pocket. I decided it would be good to bring something for him to carry. On our morning walk Strummer started playing and leaping and looking for a good spot on the lead to grab hold. When he thought my hand was the place I decided to break out his toy. He carried it for awhile and dropped it. I looked down to pick up the rope and woke up a little when I realized it was covered in blood. I reached down to pick it up and was even more surprised when I saw that my hand was covered in blood. Not just a few smudges but full on covered in blood slasher movie style. I checked the dog. The dog was fine. I assumed he lost a tooth (they can bleed a lot from that) or bit his tongue and when he had his mouth around my hand it came off on me.
It would not have been a big deal only that I was left with the dilemma of what to do with a bloody hand. Dog blood none the less. I did not want to wipe it on my clothes. I had no choice but to continue on and hope I did not cross paths with anyone. I am sure it would have at the very least raised a few eyebrows.
I love him dearly but dogs are gross.