-
For my friend
The snow was pounding outside showing a blanket of enormous flakes cascading down upon the roof of our vessel. The youth and inexperience was forging ahead while the wily old veteran sat in the back expounding upon the wisdom of sleep and recenently inhaled plant life.
It was a luck of the draw voyage, a togetherness of coincedence due to friends, snow and the available time. Waves of snow crashing into the headlights, a veritable tidle pool of truckers, headlamps, sliding cars... bam to rememberance of loud music. Fueled on caffine, dancing thoughts of powder fueled tangos, take the lead and bow. Ramble on, with music as our guide, the interplay of guitars and the stacatto rhythm of the drunk guides on I-80. All piled into a rustbucket, a truck that mirrored the man, functional, working, but sometimes tied together by bailing wire and bondo.
A goal in the distance, something unacheivable and yet we ran one mile closer. Obscured truck stops forming ghost towns sped by upon the left and the right. The darkness appeared to surround and comfort our truck as the spedometer inched over the "allowed" and "recommened" paramaters (as defined by our wise friend, passed out asleep in the back). There it was ahead of us, another blind turn into a rocky canyon, another field of stars decending from heaven, slightly flicking their cold points against the dashboard and the dancing away into the darkness. Now the lights begin to show, now the bend the reveals the town below, to descend back into the graces of civilization and 24 hr gas stations manned by a woman named flo.
Forward towards the sweet reward of driving, into to the fellowship of like minded men, women and ptarmigan who believe in the company of snow. Into the deepening fold of white snow and upon the pass there will be a loud laugh, and a swishing sound of waxed skis. Moments of pause "follow me to the good stuff" and we are off.
Away away away
-
-
-
-
-
