This week, I am making a personal American journey.
I’m in a coffee shop (where else?) in the Tulsa Arts District. My Chevrolet is parked across the street from the Bob Dylan Center, which is in a large vintage red brick building that it shares with the Woody Guthrie Center.
Somewhat weirdly, but also completely apropos, there is a special exhibit featured on a window of the center screaming “The Subterranean History of Disco”. Quite possibly the last thing I expected to see, but I’m beginning to expect the unexpected constantly now.
As Dylan has written, “Beyond here lies nothin’” and he is right. Beyond here lies nothing and there is nothing we can depend on except whatever happens next.
And whatever that is could be anything.
Journey Seeger, motordrome speedster and narrator of Journey, American, never witnessed an of this - the stylish and hard-working young people filling the tables of this cafe or run down areas that have become new.
As you will see, Journey witnessed plenty in the tawdry story of America. He can best be described as an unwilling witness to the best and worst of the American story.
My own story lacks the Zelig luck of being at the right - or wrong - place at the right or wrong time.
At 63 I feel like my life has been, and still is, a series of unintended consequences from decisions good and bad.
I’ve developed an unfortunate issue with sleeping over the past few months. All of us have gone without sleep, but this has gone on and on and nothing I’ve tried has solved it. Not even driving 10 hours in 100 degree heat exhausted me enough for a good night’s sleep.
Perhaps it was the loud hotel AC. Or the traffic of I-44. Or the surprise hard early morning rain.
After this I am headed for Northwest Arkansas to try and salvage part of my own past.
I’ve got miles to go before I sleep. I think. I hope. I think I hope I do.