Off, The Road

I

A long time ago, I reread a book that had long been on my reading list. Actually, I read it many times. But I doubt I’ll ever reread it. It tells the familiar story of a young man on the road, doing the things young men in my generation did on the road—seeking epiphanic revelations, howling at the moon, and misbehaving in classically ego-centric and idiotic ways.

You’ll see why the book appealed to me if you’ve read my posts on my folksinger road bum days. I could relate to the protagonist.

Now, there is no way to chrome plate this. Polish it up, put enough sawdust over the bloodshed stains, or hide the crash landing.

The book’s author ( Richard Fariña ) was a folksinger/author familiar with the off-side parts of life. He died in a motorcycle crash on his way to his publication party. 

Richard Fariña and his book were a significant influence on me. My time in Greenwich Village, my road trips, Folk music, and the death of many Folkie friends from drugs and alcohol, had some profound effects on me. 

II

I was selling my carvings at a folk music festival about twenty years ago. After things wrapped up that day, the headliner passed by my booth. He stopped, looked at me, and then looked again, “I know you…” I replied, ” Yeah, I know you too. In early April of ’65, you played at the Cafe Wha in the Village. I played across the street, in the basement, at the Cafe Why Not.” We spent a few seconds looking at each other, and then he smiled and said, “…yeah, but we both made it out alive…”

Many of our peers did not.

III

So, at some point, I put aside the character in Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me, And found another loose alternative. It was not without tribulation; I almost died by gunshot and spent several weeks hiding in Boston dives. I was armed with a dagger in my boot when I left my hideouts. Survival meant shedding my old habits. I eventually took up a quiet and peaceful life.

So yes, there was a book that I admired, a lifestyle I loved, and a world that has passed. Do I have regret? Certainly, but if you offered me the chance to step back into my old greasy calfskin motorcycle boots, shoulder my pack, and guitar to hit the road, I’d be out of there so fast your head’d be spinning.

No thanks.