Where am I?


Have I told you yet that I just don’t get this place?

Every drive everywhere becomes an experience.  Every person I encounter becomes a character to remember.  As a writer, that definitely has its perks.  But one of these days I’m not going to be able to help myself and an innocent laugh that escapes at the wrong time is going to get me a black eye.

For example… I’ve never before laughed at someone riding their motorcycle.   At least no one riding a real one… Sure, I may have laughed at a few rich boys on their plastic, neon colored Yamaha’s, but they couldn’t hear me over the loud buzzing they were creating as they sped from stop light to stop light.  And they didn’t live around here anyway.  But yesterday… Yesterday I couldn’t help but laugh at a man driving on his Harley.

Of course he was asking for it.  He was wearing camouflage shorts (not rare whatsoever around here), black socks, and bright orange Crocs.  Can you blame me?  Fortunately he was heading one way and I was driving the other. So I was free to let it out without worry as I flipped through the area radio stations for something decent to listen to as I wound through the back roads home.

At the time I was trying to escape from the song ‘Sultans of Swing’ by the Dire Straights.  And that’s because I’d already heard it twice that day.  I don’t think the band members’ children – and their grandchildren- even listen to them that much.  And the other stations are all repetitive and behind, probably sharing the same vinyl records between them.

The Human League (‘Don’t You Want Me’), Huey Lewis and the News (‘The Heart of Rock & Roll) and Steppenwolf (‘Magic Carpet Ride’) had already been heard multiple times throught the week.  I passed by one of the fire ‘n brimstone religious stations and caught Heart’s ‘Barracuda’ for the fourth time this week.  I almost stopped at the next station playing ‘Jack And Diane’, but I’d already heard it the previous two mornings and enough is enough, even of good old songs.

There are Country stations that come in pretty well  as long as you’re not going through the lower curves down by the river (or break up their broadcast power by driving past a tree), and they’re just as repetitive.  And there are a couple of talk radio stations that make the same complaints about the Pirates, Steelers and Penguins week after week.  And probably year after year.  They’re repetitive.  Have I said that yet?  They’re repetitive.

So at least there are unique people to see as I pass through the back roads to keep me entertained  Mr. Croc wearin’ Harley Man is only one of many.  There are yards full of them.  Great for story telling, but…if my car breaks down out there I’m not knocking on any of their doors for help.  I’m walking to Ohio…


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