Camp

Just thought y'all might like to take a gander at the Old Man's camp.  This is a typical shot, the tent still filled with "stuff." 

This photo taken a few days ago, and will soon be dated as I'm planning to move camp a few yards tonight.  Bit more secluded.

You can see that it's a bit of a clearing, fairly level.  No problem getting comfortable of a night.  But mosquitoes all around me when it's warm.

But now I have insect repellent, a good thing to have on hand.

My little home away from home.  Most of it thanks to Madame LaBelle.

Peace, aloha, and safe campsites,

Elijah

Maggie

Maggie is a goddess-in-training.

She just doesn't know it yet.

Wrote about her a few posts back.  She's the one with the cat and butterfly story.

Maggie is always grinning, even when she's not.  Even when she's smiling, she's grinning.  Never seen anything like it.  But it's charming and lovely, and what more could one ask for than to have Beauty all around one?  That's Maggie.

Reminds me a bit of Annie Hall.  Maggie is the kind who could take a gunny sack, grin/smile at it, and sashay down the runway looking like a model from some upscale fashion magazine.

Austin is a beautiful city, and it's all the lovelier for Maggie being a part of it all.

Peace, aloha, and Beauty,

Elijah

Unsung Hero of Lift Cafe

This is Willie.  From what I understand, Willie is the owner of the building Lift Cafe is located in. He's also a man with a big heart.

For those of you who've been reading this blog for awhile, you know that "big heart" translates as "heart of Aloha" is this here neck of the woods.

He strikes me as a humble man, and one who wants, somehow, to do something that will make a difference in this world.  I get the feeling he very much wants to leave this world a better place for his having passed this way.

In my books, he already has.

He's fed me, given me coffee, and didn't drive me away when I was wet and cold, but instead made me feel welcome.

Now...isn't that strange, Austin?  Don't you wish the world had a few more Willies in it?

So...each night when I do my forty mahalos (forty thank-yous), I run down the list.  My little community.  All those who have opened their hearts and arms to me.

Willie is an important part of this little Band of Aloha.

And I salute you, Willie.

Sincerely.

Peace, Aloha, and Warm and Dry Places.

Elijah

Unsung Heros of Austin

Now here we have Jason, an unsung hero of Aloha living right here in Austin, beneath our very noses.  You can find him down at a very magic place known as "Bicycle Sport Shop."  He works back in Service, and I think that's so appropriate, for I know Jason through...service, wouldn't you know. 

He, along with his co-hero, Kris, are on a mission.  There have been no blaring of trumpets, rolling of the drums, or other displays of recognition.

That being so, may I offer up in tribute this humble little posting on the blog?

Today, Jason took my old rear carrier off and put on one that's sturdier, more suited for a long trip by bicycle.  Spent the better part of half an hour putting it on.  And...doing it right.  He took his time to do it right.  How important is that?

I think it's very important. He also had hunted up a pannier bag for me, sort of one-half of a pair of saddle bags, for those of you who aren't up to speed re panniers.

And Ah Luvs It. Mmmmm.

And Jason is not done with me yet.  What he's done, you see, is he has invested part of himself in this trip.  So every day that I'm out there on that highway, Jason will think of me from time to time.  I will be part of an ongoing story that he will tell for perhaps the rest of his life.  "The Old Man I Helped Do His Magical Last Long Ride."

Kris is along for that ride.  Yesterday Kris gifted the Long Ride with a beautiful cool weather coat, rain-proof, and top quality.  Lovely coat, just lovely.  Always wanted one like that.  And today Kris brought a red bicycle helmet to the Long Ride as an offering of Aloha.  And how kewl is that, bruddahs and seestahs?

There are a host of other Heros of Aloha that I intend to pay tribute to before I ride off into that glorious sunset of Destiny.

So...Jason and Kris, thanks for coming along for the ride.

This little...Band of Aloha, right?  This tiny little community of well-wishers who have gone out of their way to demonstrate their own commitment to this old man's adventure.

Tasty.

Lovely.

Peace, aloha, Aloha All Around Us,

Elijah

In Praise of Cardboard

Cardboard isn't something we ordinarily take too much time out of our day to appreciate.  But when the cold starts to develop fangs and claws, cardboard can make the difference between life and death.  Literally.  Especially if you've been drinking.  I had an Eskimo lady friend who moved from Alaska to Honolulu because she was afraid of passing out some night and freezing to death.

Yeah, buddy.  Brrrr.

It serves as insulation from the cold of the ground, you see.

Makes a nice impromptu umbrella for rain or sun.

Several layers make a serviceable mattress.

A big cardboard box will keep the wind off, and it's the windchill factor that can really do a street person in.

You can scrunch cardboard up until it's pliable enough to serve as a blanket.

Makes a great seat when the ground is wet or pebbly.  Helps keep seat of trousers clean.

You can use it to make a sign.  Remember's Smiley's "Good Karma" sign?  Cardboard.

And this really doesn't begin to scratch the surface of the good uses a creative street person can put cardboard to.

It can be a makeshift shanty.  With tarps over?  Mmmmm.  Nice.

So...a thousand kowtows in the direction of whoever it was who first thunk up cardboard.

We people on the street know it can be a lifesaver.  We salute you, O God of Cardboard.

Peace, aloha, cardboard when ya need it,

Elijah

Brief Update

Am having trouble logging on to Lift Cafe, so I'm not able to upload pics on this really s-l-o-w connection.  Not sure what that's all about.

A wet one last night.  The rain started in a sort of tentative way, so I got up and put on the teentsie rainfly.  About 3 or 4 in the morning the rain began in earnest, so up again, put on poncho, shoes, and go out into the rain.  Put the tarp on and that worked until sometime after 9 AM when I noticed water puddling.  Hmmm.  Not good.

So up and about the day.  At least the new sleeping bag is dry.  I didn't try it last night as it was just too hot when I lay down to sleep.  Tonight will be a different story, however.

The bag is courtesy of Charlie, one of the barristas at Lift Cafe.  Good kid, that Charlie.  I'll upload his picture when I get things sorted out.

And yesterday Jason of Bicycle Sport Shop gifted the journey with a little Nikon camera that's just perfect for documenting this Walkabout.  Or Rideabout, as it were.

Stopped in at Bicycle Sport Shop, took Jason's picture.  Kris told me he's bringing me a jacket which is waterproof but breathable.  Should be perfect for the trip.

I've been doing the beads lately, asking for guidance.  And it seems like it's coming in right and left.  The trip seems to be very much supported, so it's starting to look like a go.  Just hope this old body is up to the stress.

Spent the day between Mickey D's and Lift.  My trousers were a bit wet from the tent puddling, but body heat dried them out.  Ditto the neck scarf.

I am hungry, true, but that's part of the deal.  Perhaps I need to get my begging bowl out, saffron robes.

But that's not me.

All is well.  The world turns as it should and all things needed gravitate to me. 


I will leave Lift Cafe and move through the shiny streets to McDonald's and there I will see Cleve.  He'll give me a couple of tacos ("still good," he'll say), gift me with a bit of 420, and I'll move on down the road, the mendicant having been gifted with food and smoke, up those hard-to-climb ridges and over across the tracks.

The dogs will be asleep and I will move through the thickets and low-lying brush, onto the path and to the campsite.

All will be well there.

All is well here.

Peace, aloha, angels all around.

Elijah
Peace, aloha, dry places.

Elijah

In Praise of 'Ohana

'Ohana in Hawaiian means "extended family."  And I suppose that's what I'm in the process of creating here in Austin.

Take last night, for example.

Smokey, the guy who got my computer working again, and his lady, KB, needed a new place to camp and so I invited them down to my neck of the woods.  They'd been staying with an ex-soldier suffering from PTSD, and it was something of a hassle, always fearing he might come home drunk and disorderly, as it were.

The last straw was when he came back recently, drunk, and told Smokey he was going to "try to kill you with my bare hands alone."  Not exactly the welcoming mat, eh?

Ended up Smokey and KB were PAID $200 to move on down the road.

Their first stop was Wal-mart where they bought a new tent and sleeping bags.  Then they ran into me.

They are quite the couple.  Smokey drink his coffee with four creams and ten (not a typo) sugars.  Sweeeet.

KB is the opposite.  I have this major salt addiction, she told me as she sprinkled three packets of salt on an order of medium fries there at Mickey D's.

Sugar and salt.  Opposites attract.

They came to the campsite, set up their tent, then headed out for Sixth Street to make some money, pick up some prime snipes.

KB flies a sign which sez, Free Hugs!  Tips Accepted!

I asked her what kind of money she'd made.

One guy gave me a twenty.  Lots of fives.  Hardly ever pocket change.

I heard them come in around 3 A.M., but I rolled over and went back to sleep.  In the morning they were still sleeping, so I broke camp and went out a different way this time, parallel to the railroad tracks.

And just as I was passing Miguel's little campsite, someone called out to me.  Ahhh.  Miguel and another guy sitting on the tracks, smoking.  I parked the bike and went to join them.

Other guy was Kevin.  Scruffy, of course, this being the street.  When he reached out his hand to shake, I saw his index fingernail looking all browned and shellacked from smoking snipes.  Four day growth of beard, whiskers turning all gray and white.

I sat with them, smoking.

Talk somehow got around to cockroaches.  Miguel pushed up his sleeve.  See this bump? It's a cockroach got under my skin.  Lives in there now.  You can see him?

Well, yes, I said.  Now that you've pointed him out.

He won't leave, Miguel said.  Just lives in there.  Quiet.  But won't leave.

I had seen Miguel around, wearing a ton of clothes even in the hot.  Now that it's cool he's still dressed the same.  A man of indeterminate age.  50s or 60s.  Who can tell?  I asked him if he stayed warm last night.

No.  I had two cans of beer and I couldn't even drink one, it was so cold. But it was good to wake up and have something to drink, y'know?

Of course.

This is how the day began.

T.J.'s Breakdown w/ Allies

When the Spirit of Aloha is dancing, Allies are there where and when you need them.

Case in point:  I'm sitting at the magickal LIFT CAFE, brushing the sleep out of my eyes, when I suddenly spot T.J. pushing his homemade motor bike down the sidewalk.  The bike w/ the chainsaw motor, remember?

What's up w/ that?

Turns out he had a minor accident yesterday, a bit of road rash on his chin and his wrist about as sore as it can be without being broken.

He needs a new rear tire, and this is where this story picks up.  Willie, the owner of this building (and a super-nice guy) comes by, takes a look at the situation, and makes suggestions that are right on, sensible.

Eventually, John (the manager) calls around.  Empire bike shop is a possibility as is Wal-mart.  TJ, being strapped for cash, opts for the latter.  But he's paranoid about losing his stuff, doesn't have any way to lock the bike up.

So here's where I play a part in the story.  I get to be an Ally for a change.  I happen to have a cable lock (thanks to the ever-generous and lovely Madame LaBelle) so I offer to let him use that to secure his ride to the bike racks there at LIFT.

No sooner said than done.

John figured out which bus he needs to take, so as of this writing, TJ is off on a mission.  Find a tire that'll work, get the ride working again, and see what the day brings.

Stay tuned.  Will update as progress occurs.

It's now the next day, update time.

TJ came back with a tire and tube in the late afternoon.  His bike was still safe,all his household goods still there where he'd left them. 

He showed me the box the tire came in, happy that the tire was a "Mongoose," same as his bike. 

Turns out the honcho at BICYCLE SPORT SHOP had given him the okay to change the tire down by the side of the shop, so TJ was in a happy mood.

Well, perhaps the five-liter box of wine had something to do with that, too.  He took the wine out of the box and put it in his backpack.  Packing his passport to Nirvana, Dharma Bum style.  Where's Jack Kerouac when an old wino needs him, eh?

So last I saw TJ he was pushing the bike down the sidewalk towards the bike shop.  I feel sure he got the tire changed.

I have to do this right, he said.  I just can't can't fuck it up.

Let's hope he did it right.  And who knows if we'll ever see him again?  These wondrous characters from CCC (Cosmic Central Casting) keep showing up in my life and they are so over-the-top that I just know they're courtesy of the Universe's twisted and wonderful sense of humor.

Go in peace, TJ.  Blessings.
 

Peace, aloha, and Allies Galore,

Elijah

Comments are most welcome!

Hey, y'all.

How about a comment now and then?  Let me know I'm not speaking out into some vast wilderness of a vacuum?

Agree, disagree, etc.  All grist for the mill.

And thank you, each of you, for following along.  You're my audience, and if you'll let me know how this is affecting, touching you, it'll fire up my creative juices, such as they are at this late stage of the game.

This is a vision quest, you know.

I am here to learn.  And each of you is a teacher.

Nuff said.

Peace, aloha, and feedback,

Elijah

The Return of...Allison! (Allie)

And here we have the magical Mzzz Allie, recently returned from a two day stay in the hospital.  Her friend Maggie embraces her, unaccountably hiding her face.  Two of my favorite people on the Walkabout, the Vision Quest.  Mentors. Maggie has this incredible natural sense of fashion.  No matter what she wears, it looks great, organic, emerging out of her own personal beauty to simply enhance it.  I tell her that and Allie says, "What a beautiful way to put it.  There was this really creepy guy--remember him, Maggie?  Walks up and leers at Maggie and says, 'I like yer style, Babe.'  Now if he'd said it the way you said it, it would have been kewl.  But..." and she drifts off into silence.

Allie's jaws are wired shut, but she speaks easily.  Of course can't chew a thing, so it's a liquid diet for our Miss Allison.  The food truck came last night, so I had a little container of milk I was able to send her way.

I really do like Allie.  She is truly a free spirit and I have this sense that right now she's going through a transitional time. There may be those who think she drinks too much, smokes too much mota or what have you, but I'm of the opinion that she is negotiating a path that is hers alone, and that she has everything needed to find her way.

This, then, is Allie.  Beautiful, darling Allie.  She, along with the saintly Smiley, are the givers down here at Street Level.

Quick story--or two stories.  We're sitting down by the creek, right at the water's edge, and Allie is sharing some "kine-weed." Maggie says to me, "The first time we talked it was about butterflies."

Ahhhh.  Yes, I remember.  I was at McDonald's and this gorgeous butterfly came down, lit on my napkin, and went up to the rim of the coffee cup and did the "Rim of Fire Walk."  That is, she walked around the rim of that cup filled with steaming hot coffee, wings atilting this way and that as though on a tightrope, and made it.  Flew off into the wild blue yonder.  Happy ending.

Maggie's story:  "Allie and I were together and here came this beautiful butterfly and I said, 'Allie, look!' and just then the cat did one of those leaps and flips in the air or something and caught the butterfly." 

And?

"And ate it."

Jeez.  Maggie is staring off into that vast pool of the interior where memories and what-might-have-beens are stored.

So my butterfly made it.  Theirs didn't.  Same day, different butterflies, different outcomes.

Then Skratch speaks up.

I'm sorry, but I guess I've not introduced him to you as yet.  He's one of those young blond hunky guys who orbits around Maggie.  I have the sense that Allie is a bit leery of him, and perhaps with good reason.

He tells the story of being out in the Green Belt, around a campfire with some homeless person.  The other character is a feral cat who hangs out with the guy, there on the edge of the firelight.

"I don't feed him," the homeless person says.  "He just likes to hang out with me."

Just then an owl swoops down and takes the cat in its claws and flies off into the night.  Skratch all freaked out, Homeless Dude companionless once again.  Cat flying high but definitely not in first-class.  Cargo is more like it.

So this is what emerged from Maggie's memory of our first meeting being about butterflies as we sat there on the banks of Barton Springs Creek.

Skratch.

I really should have his picture, but haven't gotten around to it as yet.  It's a hassle.  Unpack the netbook, boot it up, wait and wait.  Go to the webcam function.  Get the cursor positioned just right.  Then frame the picture.

You see?

But I will put him on the list.

He's interesting in the sense that he began talking about how he came to be called Skratch.  With a "k," he hastens to inform us.

He's says it's the name of an "entity" which possesses him when he goes into a blackout.

How Jungian.  Jung would call that entity "the Shadow."

He says the entity is very creative but sometimes does things which gets him into trouble.  Apparently Skratch emerged the night before and he's been wondering if all is copacetic with his friends.

Was I..inappropriate? he wonders.

He says the entity has been with him since childhood, and that he's now trying to stay "in" Skratch fulltime.  Except the only time Skratch emerges is during blackouts.

Hmmm.  Hamlet said, "Oh, let me not go there. That way lies madness."  Or was that King Lear?  Whatever, you get the idea.

So Maggie hangs out with Skratch, and Skratch...well, who knows where this character is going?

But I would think that the beautiful Maggie might well be a butterfly and the aforementioned Mr. Skratch might well be a cat.  Or Maggie might be the pussy cat and Mr. Skratch the owl?

Puts an entirely new spin on "The Owl and the Pussycat," eh?

Can ya diggit?

Peace, aloha, prudence,

Elijah

Elijah w/ snake

And here we have the poor little snake, lately escaped from the Garden of Eden, all dessicated and, frankly, dead.

Trying to cross the road, apparently there on Barton Springs Road.

I'd passed the poor little critter several times on the bike, and finally decided to give the little fella a fitting send-off to the Great Beyond.  Of all the snakes on the planet, dead or otherwise, this is the only one to have a gig in my blog.

Sorry you got run over, Little Guy.  Next lifetime you get to be one of us.

That kewl enough?

Peace, aloha, and safe crossings,

Elijah

The Obama Stencil

If you take the trail on the south side of the Colorado River and stay on it past the bridge that leads over to the pool, you'll come across this stencil with accompanying graffiti.  I took a picture of it back when the camera was still working--and before the racist scribblings were festering there.

Someone scribbled a Hitler moustache on the stencil.  And "Dead Nigger"??

I noticed it had been Hitlerized in the time since I'd shut-down Walkabout2 and kicked-off Walkabout3.  Meant to take a picture of the change, but the camera was broken, dammit.

Then a few days ago this computer got the virus removed and a new operating system installed, and this ability to take a photograph with the webcam started singing to me and so I've been taking pictures of this and that, as the Spriit has moved me.

As I'm riding by today, I glanced at it, of course, then rode a bit further before stopping.  Photograph the derned thing, I'm thinking.  You're in no hurry.  Just unpack, boot up the netbook, and get a shot of it.

As I was unpacking, this couple stopped and the lady asked, "You gonna cover that up?"  Good idea, but, no.

So we talked a bit.  I told her I blogged and she asked for the addy and I gave it to her, one word at a time.  "I can remember that," she said.

Then I took the picture.  As I was waving the netbook in the air, trying to get a shot without me being too much in the frame--you can see just my shoulder--a couple of bicycle cops swooshed by.  Ahhhhh.  Headed for the Spillway to bust 420ers and Open Container folks.  Sigh.

Packed her up, rode up to the ramp that goes topside, stopped to catch my breath.  And there below me were the cops doing their thing.  A guitar was strumming, trying for nonchalance.  I heard one of the cops say, "You know you've got warrants" and this homeless person protesting, "Yeah, but I'm fixin' to take care of 'em."

I didn't stick around to see how that little episode played out.  Rode up topside and informed the street people that the cops were downstairs on their bikes.  A heads-up.

Then back down the hill by another route to LIFT CAFE and a much needed coffee.

The food truck is not scheduled to come tonight, so dinner will have to be courtesy of the Spirit.

Peace, aloha, and confusion to the ticket-writers.

Elijah de las calles

Moved Camp

I've made another move, this one deep into the woods where I'm much more out of sight of people moving by on the trails.  And they do move by.  Walking.  Ambling.  Being pulled along by this dog or that.  You know, just...walking...going by.

Anyway, I went back to the site while it was still daylight yesterday evening.  I was feeling a bit worn-out from the usual routine and more than a bit uneasy about where I'd been camping.  Along the way I stopped to cut off some particularly nasty thorny branches whose sole purpose seems to be to grab at me or the bike.

Tough little suckers.  Man!

I rolled the bike to the new site, then went and got my tent and blankets from the stash.  Still there.  Very good.  Not to have been there?  Not good.  That would have meant tarp and poncho, wrapped in every thread I've got.  Definitely not good.

But they were there.  At the site, I looked for stones and bumpitees which might disturb my rest.  This is not the Princess and the Pea type of thingie.  The carpet underlayment does a good job of smoothing the little things out.

Tent up, bed made, pillow inflated.  Ahhhhh, that pillow.  The wine bladder hobo pillow really did the trick.  An elegant solution.

 In the morning I'm sitting there smoking when I spot movement down at the last campsite.  Then I see two guys way off on the path, walking along, mismatched hard hats.  Hmmmm.  What's going on here?

They move on and I don't have a clue.  Do they represent a threat to the integrity of my camp?  I'm not thinking that.

Eventually I pack, leaving everything there.  The tent...gasp...UP.

See, there's so much condensation in the morning from my breathing during the night that to leave the blanket rolled up in the tent would pretty well dampen it out.  Uncomfortable.  Don't want that.

So the agreement is that I'll get a couple a plastic bags for from-now-on.  Hoping the Dancer aqrees.

I have only the backpack, loaded up with that which I simply cannot afford to lose along with layers of clothing in case it turns cool.

On my way out I run into one of the guys who'd passed by.  They've been maintaining the trail, apparently.  The movement I'd seen was a pickaxe being swung up and down.  Raking spoor everywhere.  Mystery solved.  Community Service?

The bike is light.  Amazingly so.  I hop on shortly after the dogs begin having a collective meltdown and ride down that bumpity rutted lane, dodging the bigger rocks and keeping the speed old-man-reasonable.

The day rubs the sleep out of its eyes now, and McDonald's is just ahead there on the right.  I'm rolling downhill now and the bike is just a-humming.  I feel just a bit of that thrill I felt as a child when I'd first really gained the skills to ride the bike.  Nearly sixty years ago.

So the day is beautiful.  Ahead of me, at both sides of me, to the rear of me. Beauty all around me.

Which is just another way of talking about...

You.


Peace, aloha, great campsites,

E.

Get Yer Motor Runnin'....

Enter, Stage Right, T.J., pushing a monstrously heavy bicycle equipped with chainsaw motor.  It was an old Mongoose Project X bike, one of those Wal-mart sells to those of us who can't afford the lightweight ones.

Only this one was just right for T.J.'s purposes.  Cheap, strong, heavy and stable.

So he's thinking:  I wanna put on motor on this thang.  What I got?

Looks around the shop and sees the old chain saw.  Hmmm...I wonder if...?

I didn't get a good pic of the bike, but it's a piece of work. Looks like it was designed and put together by a committee of schizophrenics, each one with his own inner blueprint.

But that chainsaw motor works.  "Tore up that highway with mah chainsaw,"he drawls.

He rode this thang all the way from Sturgis, South Dakota to Austin.  Started on the 4th of August and just got here a day or two ago.

You can see that he's in one helluva hurry, eh?

"I'm always on schedule," he says.  "Even when I'm not."

Words of wisdom.  Sometimes I'm so focused on getting somewhere by a certain grouping of hands on a clock that I forget that when you're in the Magick, you're always on schedule.

And he brought me a gift.  He's talking about his hobo pillow, which, I'm led to believe, he invented.

He likes wine, you see. Wine in those boxes with the polyethelene bladders?

"What you do," he says.  "is get this 5-liter wine bladder.  All ya gotta do is open the valve, blow enough air in there to where ya like it, and put a towel or something over it.  Instant pillow."

I was wondering where I could find such a golden fleece of a bladder when he said, "Matter of fact, there's one in the garbage can over behind P.Terry's.

And nothing would do but we go over there and retrieve it.

Sure enough, it seems just the ticket for a DharmaStreetMonk's head.

How lovely life is, filled with all these characters from Central Casting.

More later on this one.

Peace, aloha, magical pillows,

Elijah

Kris: Aloha and the Art of Bicycle Maintenance

Kris is not your usual bicycle mechanic.

You don't walk in the shop wanting to borrow a tool so you can lower your bike seat an inch, and then have Kris listen to your story and just...take over.

He lowers the seat.  Finds another set of handlebars...installs them...adjusts the brake cables...lubricates the cables...adusts, well, EVERYTHING.

And then doesn't charge.

Gulp.  Thudding sound as jaw hits the floor.

Now dig on this:  I walk into his shop this afternoon, got a few bucks in my pocket, and want to do something to further the LONG RIDE.  What's this?  Set of pedals for five bucks?

I walk over and ask Kris to check my pedals, see if they need to be replaced.

Yep, he sez, but those you got won't work.  They're really small, for kids.

(Fantasy of new pedals instantly vanishes.)

But wait, he ain't done yet.This guy is Deep in the Heart of...Aloha. He sez, "I got some for ya in the back room."

And so he goes and gets them, takes the old pedals off, installs the new ones--and lets me walk out with the cash I need so badly.  I mean, like, just how to-tal-ly k-e-wl is that, Grasshoppah?

I have been blessed here in Austin to come across so many people who are being vessels and vehicles for Aloha to manifest right down here where the zen rubber meets the road.

Kris, thank you.   You're an Ally.  And an Ally is a very special person who is of assistance as we tapdance down that road of happy destiny.

Kinda blows my mind sometimes,in a very good way.

Peace, aloha, safe riding,

Elijah

Clean-up Along the Trail

A few days ago John asked me if I could help out Saturday morning.  Seems there was to be a trail clean-up and he wanted me to help keep an eye on things.

Good enough, I thought.  Yep, I'll be there, I told him.

But I don't have an alarm.  And this new Ubuntu has the clock set an hour ahead and I can't seem to figure out how to get it set to CST.

So I go to bed last night thinking, well, just gonna have to check the computer when I wake up.  And the chill of the ground seeps up enough at night to awaken me several times.

Here's what I did: Put the netbook within easy reach and drifted of to la-la land.  Woke several times.  The last time it said 7-something, so I realized it was really 6-something and that I had plenty of time.  So did my usual pack-up, and made my way past the yelping dogs to McDonald's.  Got a cuppa joe and Vannessa sez, It's 7:45.

Yeah?  Not 6:45????


OMG, supposed to be there at 8, so it's lid the coffee and jump on the bike and get my okole up to LIFT CAFE.

But the timing was fine. 

LIFT CAFE provided coffee and gift card prizes to the volunteers over at the trail head, and I just sort of wandered around and talked to people.

Great guy named Dale was overseeing the show, and it was really good to chat with him.  Very compassionate individual, excellent people skills.

And sometime latter the volunteers began to straggle back laden with bags stuffed with rubbish.  One lady came pushing a grocery cart she'd found.  A square of carpet insulation all folded up in the bottom.

And the kids?  They were right in there, doing their part.

It's a good thing to expose kids to volunteer service.  They learn to connect.  When you've cleaned a trail you're not likely to litter it.  And you're waaay more likely to pick up after someone else.

I suppose it's because you've built some kind of relationship.  You've picked up the rubbish and the trail rewards you by looking so nice, lovely, and beautiful.

So yesterday was my 65th birthday, right?  So John ends up giving me a $10 gift card to LIFT CAFE and twenty for my time.  Awwwww, dammit!  I wasn't doing it for the money, but...you know how hard it is to turn down cash when you're out on the streets trying to create some magick?  Hard, mon.

So I accepted the gifts of Aloha.

See the kind of guy John is? I'll post his picture soon.

And Jamie?  Jamie and John are together, and a picture-perfect couple they are.  Both are physically blessed.  Translation: magazine cover material.

But more than that, for whatever reason, the Spirit of Aloha (which I call "the Dancer") seems to flow, move through them.

And I also know that it's impossible to do good without good coming back to you in some form or another.  And the magick couldn't happen to a finer couple.

Which leads me to my next post:  Kris, the bicycle mechanic.

Peace, aloha, magick,

Elijah

P.S.  In the afternoon, I rode back over to the grocery cart of rubbish.  The carpet underlayment was still there, so I unfolded it and cut out a piece long and wide enough for me to sleep on.  That should take care of the ground chill.

See how the Dancer works?

My Magickal Beads

And here we have the Old Man's Magickal Beads.  Somewhat beat up, battered.  Been around the block a time or two.  They've found a home, and now they begin to sing.

There are forty of them on the string.  Found them lying forlorn in the street, all abandoned and unwanted, and they were so beat and tired and discouraged that about all they could do was this pathetic little whisper:  "Eee-LIIIII-Jaaaah."

Which of course got my attention.  I stopped the bike, got down and picked them up.  They felt just right there in my hands, like they were just waiting for some old Dharma Bum to come along who needed some japa beads and...well, forty, for goodness sakes, eh?  Forty is a sacred number.

So they found a home in the inner left hand pocket of the jacket.  Their job is to keep track of my mahalos.

Mahalo means "thank you" in Hawaiian, and it's a lovely thing of an evening when you're out in the middle of the deep dark forest to pull the beads out and go for forty things you're grateful for this day.

I find it's a lovely way to reconnect to the Spirit.  And being grateful is such a sacrament in and of itself.

I am grateful for you, you know.

Just ask my beads.

Peace, aloha, and grandma's cookies,

Elijah

A Birthday Gift From Alex and Erica

And here the old man is on the morning of his 65th birthday.  A bit chilly, hence the scarf wrapped about his neck.  McDonald's.

Last night I was at McDonald's, counting out the handful of pennies that the saintly Smiley had gifted me with earlier in the day, when a lady walked up to me and handed me three one dollar bills, folded.  Unsolicited, I might add.

I was of course touched by the gesture.  "Tomorrow," I told her, "is my 65th birthday and I'm going to regard this as my birthday present."

I went inside, ordered a coffee, and when I came out she walked over and handed me a $20 bill.

Folks, when the Spirit of Aloha begins to touch the hearts and lives of people, strange and wondrous and amazing things begin to happen.  You'll be sitting at a table counting out the crumbs, the pennies, trying to put together a cup of coffee when quite suddenly, out of nowhere, the hand of the Spirit of Aloha reaches across that vast abyss of indifference and...makes contact.  And you realize that, like the Navajo, there is Beauty in the front of you, Beauty behind you, Beauty to the left of you, Beauty to the right of you.

Beauty all about you.

This is what happens when an Erica, an Alex, a Jamie or a John open up and become the *means* of Aloha manifesting down where the shoe leather meets the street.

And this day is not yet over!

Alex and Erica, if you read this please send me your email addy.  I could just kick myself for not getting a picture of the two of you last night, but rest assured that you brought a world of cheer into my life!

Mahalo again and again!

And a special tip of my hat to my friend Lorin, of LIFT CAFE, who has started reading my blog.

Ah luvs all you meeces to peeces!

Smiley: A Legend on the Street

And here we have Smiley.

If there is a truly holy man that I know of on the streets of Austin, Smiley would be the one I'd nominate and vote for.

He's a giver, a sharer, one who looks out more for the other person oftentimes than for himself.

And I just realized that I know so little of his personal history, what brought him to the street, his hopes, dreams.  So this is just the very beginning of a post about Smiley which I will add to in the days to come as I learn more about what moves him about the mean and not-so-mean streets of Austin.

Here he holds his sign, his mendicant-monk sign.  He asks for so little.  Fifty cents.  And his sign says so much about him and what he believes.  He does believe in karma.  He does know that it comes back to you.

Guess that's why we all care about him so much.

I consider him to be one of my teachers here in Austin.  Mahalo, Smiley.  You da real deal, dawg.

Allie's Wreck

Allie (Allison), one of the truest of free spirits here in Austin, had a major bicycle wreck the other night.

Apparently it was raining and she was coming downhill waaay too fast,was waaay too drunk, and the physics of wet and speed and turning all combined to morph into a major nightmare for her--and for those of us who love her.

Her jaw was broken.  In addition, the place where the jaw connects to the skull was broken, which ended up injuring her inner ear.  Chin broken.  Road rash galore.

So she's in the hospital, and I can't visit as I don't have ID.

Plastic surgery scheduled for yesterday or today.  I deal with the news of the street which may or may not be accurate. A very sad thing, but at least she's alive, will recover, and will learn something from all of this.

I'd post her picture but she has this thing about photographs.  She won't pose for one but if you can catch her in a candid, that's kewl.  But my camera is broken and all I have to work with is this little webcam.  I'll try to get one once she's back with us.

I asked her how old she was once, as she looks about 14, and there she was swigging on a bottle of Knob-something-or-other bourbon.

"Twenty-one," she said.  "And a half."

She could have slipped right off the pages of Tolkein.  She's elfin, sprite-like, a faerie creature.  And although she could be inside, she lives in the Green Belt.

"Allergies," she said when I asked her why.  "It's just so much easier in the Green Belt."  Ahhhhh.
 
In the meantime, send best wishes.  She's a Sweetie, with a capital "S."

 A world of aloha wafting its way to our Precious One.


E.

Housekeeping Chores...Preparing for the Long Ride

So here we have Elijah posing in front of his trusty steed, the Peugeot.  This is how the bike is loaded today.  Plastic bag covering the seat will be discarded as it's no longer needed now that the rain has stopped.  The little kickstand was taken from an abandoned bicycle up near Barton Springs.  Want to get that wire water bottle carrier, too.  I could use an extra one, especially if the Long Ride becomes a reality.

The yellow roll is the poncho, which I spread out on the floor of the tent at night.  Blue is the tarp which serves yeoman duty as a rain fly.  Very important piece of equipment.  The sports jacket is folded and lies atop the rest of the gear.  Tent is neatly rolled and attached out of sight to the rear carrier.  Water bottle is over at the table where I'm typing this.

Now ordinarily I'm wearing the jacket. Makes me look a bit less "street" and a whole lot more respectable.  John and Jamie of LIFT CAFE were effusive in their praise of my "new look."  Smile.  (And of course I loved hearing that.)

But today is just so bloody hot! So here I am in denim shorts, looking a bit scruffy, but passable.

Earlier I rode up to the Barton Springs area to dry things out.  Turned the tent inside-out.  A lot of moisture was in there.  Didn't take long to dry in this heat.  Did some washing of clothing by hand there in the sink of the rest room. Spread the damp clothing out on the concrete which had been washed clean by the recent rains.

Twas lovely.  Donned a still damp undershirt and let it dry on my body.  The polo shirt is decent looking, so that's my uniform for the day.

I looked up the food truck, and they're not scheduled to come up to the Sunken Gardens where we always wait for them.  I spread the word it wasn't coming, so at least the people wouldn't stand around for an hour and a half hoping.  Don't know how many times I've done that myself.

See how empowering it is to have access to the internet?

I did see that the truck will be at Waterloo Park this evening, so I'm tentatively planning to ride up there.  Two sandwiches, milk or juice, Oreo cookies, chips, a boiled egg--doesn't sound like much, but it's a real life-saver when you're out here facing the elements.  Very, very grateful for Mobile Loaves and Fishes.

They have a website, and it's a terrific place to make a donation.  These people are actually out there doing something real, making a difference.

***

Now I don't know if the Long Ride is gonna happen or not, but I do have some thoughts and considerations.  First, if I'm ever gonna do it, I need to do it NOW.  My breathing isn't getting any better, so there's this window of opportunity which will not be open for too many more years.  As noted, 65 day after tomorrow.  And unsafe at any speed, btw.

So what I'm thinking is...I would like for the Long Ride to be something we all participate in, have a stake, an interest in.  Obviously I'll be blogging along the way.  And I'm thinking I would like about 250 to 500 business cards printed up to solicit readership for this blog.  And of course I'm gonna ask for help.  I wouldn't be much of a StreetMonk doing Walkabout 3 otherwise, now would I?  Smile.

I'm putting together a list of what I absolutely must have to start out on the trip.  Sleeping bag...yep.  Don't have that yet, and of course I want one that'll stuff into a fairly smallish bag.  I don't want to be rolling down that highway looking like some third world farmer on his way to market.

I'm hoping to look fairly, well, respectable.  Which means it would truly be lovely to have a pair of cheapish saddle bags for the back and a decent looking basket/bag for the front.

But I'll get to all that when I do the "wish-list" post.

There seems to be a decent and direct route west to Phoenix, so that's where I'm hanging out in my head.

That's where the Long Ride is just now.  In my head.  I've mentioned it to John, and he seems very supportive.  But we'll see.

If a van or trailer or something opens up here in Austin, I just might spend the winter.

But I'm a person who lives by signs and wonders, by little miracles that tapdance into my life, take a deep bow, and deliver whatever it is they've brought.

I live by miracles, sleight-of-hand of the Dancer, smoke and mirrors.

And who is that Masked One behind the curtain?

And I see that John V. of LIFT CAFE has signed on as a follower. K-e-w-l!!

Peace, love, dancing.

Elijah

Lift Cafe with Geezer Mugging for Camera

"Still Life With Geezer."

A month or so ago I inadvertently broke my digital camera screen so I've been at a loss to take photographs.  At least with this webcam function in the netbook, I can document somewhat my life.

I'll try to take one of the camp soon.  I'm sure you're all looking forward to that.

Meanwhile...off to McDonald's.  Don't want to wear out my welcome here at LIFT.

Peace.

E.

Wreck

I just witnessed a two-car collision at the turn-in to Lift Cafe.  The driver of the car "in the wrong" doesn't even own the car, so he's looking very bummed-out. Their airbags went off and the woman was somewhat shaken up, leaning on my arm as I helped her away.

John was right on it.  He actually saw it happen and came out quickly.  After getting everyone out and about, he and I picked up wreckage debris.

Jamie called 911 and the fire truck and EMS were here briefly--gone now--and the police are filling out the usual forms.

So...both drivers will be telling the story again and again down through time until it becomes threadbare with the telling. And years from now when the topic of car wrecks come up, this one too will join the queue.

Without airbags this could have been tragic.

Peace.

Hungry

Ok, ok, so I'm hungry.  It's a wonderful thing to experience now and then, and it's a rare thing for me.  Puts me in touch with much of the rest of the world where hunger is an unwelcome guest who rarely goes away.

It has been raining off and on since early this morning.  I set the tent up last night with the blue tarp over it as a rain fly.  The musician Blue said recently, "Ain't no tent gonna keep the rain out unless it's got a tarp over it."

Well...ok.  I've had tents that are quality and which DO keep the wet at bay, but when dealing with a $20 (new) children's tent from Wal-mart, it's best to err on the side of caution.  (This is not to say that I'm not deeply grateful for this little tent--I am--but I have to deal with the little tent's limitations.)

So I got up and started putting my day together.  All the contents of pockets shoved back in.  Hard to lie on one's side when this and that in the pocket is trying to gouge a hole in one's thigh.  All that put back in.

The big blanket which smells of wet and mustiness...folded.  Rolled inside the tarp.  All of that rolled inside the tent and placed in my little hiding place.  The water bottle shoved into the wire frame on the bicycle.  Yellow poncho donned over backpack.

Pushing off.  Moving carefully.  The trail is muddy, rock-strewn, treacherous, and a fall would not be a thing I'd welcome.  I move like an old man--surprise, surprise.

I could hear the dogs not so far away.  There's a kenneling service alongside the tracks and the dogs are out during the day, so it's a madhouse of yelping and baying and barking once I'm spotted crossing over the tracks.

Today I don't cross directly to the dogs even though that's the easier descent.  I push the bike bumpity-bump along the railroad ties, noting how many of the spikes that hold the rails down are loosened.  Hmmm.  Not good.

And cross over.  The dogs are still barking but that's just what dogs do,  especially dogs that are confined with no chance to run free. 

At the bottom of the slope a woman standing beneath an awning, her little chihuahua barking at me, all David and Goliath-ish.  She's laughing so hard...dang, haven't heard anyone belly laugh like that in ages.  At least I'm doing someone some good.  And that little dog must feel like Popeye after he's downed a case of spinach.  Grin.

Breathing hard.  At the street I stop to catch my breath.  Rain coming down pretty good hickory, as Grandpa used to say.  I push off and no sooner am I riding along than I hear someone yelling.  Some guy across the street, waving at me to come over.

So I do.  A case of mistaken identity.  "Sorry, man," he says.  "I thought you were Cleve."  Cleve.  I've written about him.  Rides a bike, has a rear carrier.  Easy mistake to make when I'm wrapped in the anonymity of a rain poncho.

I ride off, cross to the BS Saloon, and there's a guy with crutches there out of the rain, his stump of a leg dwindling to loose denim.  We exchange the minimal street greetings and I find a few--very few--snipes.  Enough for two smokes.

And as I ride off I'm thinking about this guy who might well have stepped on a land mine in the service of his country.  Serving US.  And here he is, trying to stay dry, trying to make it through another day.  I say a quick little prayer for him:  SEND BLESSINGS HIS WAY.

At LIFT CAFE, I plug the netbook in, check Huffington Post, Google News, and get myself oriented to what's happened since I was last online.  I try to contact Madame LaBelle, but looks like she's off to work.

Hungry.  I rummage through the backpack and find the one orange from last night I'd forgotten about.  Chomp, chomp.  Mmmmm.  Sticky fingers.

Smoke, smoke.  Still hungry.  A bag of hard candy to take the edge off. Peppermints.  Jeez.  Sure getting tired of them.

John, the manager, strides by.  He's a great guy.  "Sure getting tired of this weather," he says.

Um, uh, AMEN TO THAT!

I am so hungry.

So it's 1:09 and I have options.  The first is to pack up and ride UP the hill to the Drag where Veggie Heaven will no doubt give me some rice and veggies.  That would be good, but the ride is so long and so exhausting.

The other is just to tough it out here and wait for the food truck at 6 PM. It almost always comes on a Tuesday.  Wait!!  I just remembered I can look it up online and they'll say if they're coming or not.

Outta here.

Things to do.

Lives to touch, transform.

Dogs to entertain.

Arf.

Elijah, your man on the street.

What I Have In Common With Picasso

Well, didn't Picasso have his little "Blue Period"?  Hmm?  And can I not have one, too?  So cold I've turned blue.

Actually, I'm just trying to figure out how to upload photographs and suchlike.  I want to make this blog exciting and wet and wild and wonderful.  Got the wet pretty well down, thanks to that recent cold front.  Now to get on with the wild and wonderful parts.

Cater-corner across the street the BS Saloon is hopping.  Sorta.  A few voices lift themselves above the crowd to let us know that, yes, they're having a great time at the friendly neighborhood bar where cheap beer flows abundantly.

I go there of a morning to pick up snipes.  Snipes.  Dictionary definitions we don't have, dear heart, but snipes are discarded cigarette butts, collected by those with the addiction and little cash.  They are lovingly or not-so-lovingly torn to shreds and pulverized and rolled in paper and lit on fire.

The native americans considered it a sacrament.

So do I.

Back In Austin, Computer Fixed

And now it's nearly 10 PM here at McDonald's.  Matt is sitting a few feet over to my right with his daschund, Rosie, on his lap.  He says, "If I hadn't had that car wreck 15 years ago and had all that brain damage, I'd be riding, too. I got balance problems."

Don't we all.

Last night Smokie was there at Lift Cafe when I rode up, him all smiles and high-fiving.  "Got her fixed," he said, meaning the netbook computer.  Virus banished to VirusHell and now...the blog can at long last be updated.

I was gone for a couple of weeks, there in Houston to relax and rest, recuperate.  Living on the street can be an exhausting enterprise, especially for an old man such as myself.  (I turn 65 this coming Friday, folks!)

The hardest thing is of a night, going back into the woods and the darkness, there to struggle through the mud of the path and the branches that seem to reach out to whip your face, through the tall grass with the droplets of wet to the space.

Camp.

And to the stash, where the tent lies beneath the blue tarp, hoping all is still there, that the blanket hasn't gotten too damp for comfort.

When there are mosquitoes, it's a race against time to get the little tent up.  The two fiberglass poles are contrary critters with well-developed minds of their own--and attitudes from hell.  They test a lifetime of carefully developed patience.  And the mosquitoes are olympic quality in their ability to penetrate my feeble shooing-away defenses.

In the end, with the tent assembled, I hop through the little door and quickly zip the netting shut.  Doesn't matter.  At least one or two always manage to precede me into the tent, so there they are, buzzing away with that high-pitched whine, letting me know that they're HUNGRY and nothing will do but to let them have their drop of blood so as to leave me in peace.  I bare my shoulders and avert my head.  Thus turns my world.

That's what's ahead of me tonight, so I'm sitting here at McDonald's in a world of denial.  Yes, I know I could go right now and do that fun stuff.  But I also know that I can put it off for awhile, that it will be waiting for me at whatever time I return.

I am twenty cents short of a coffee.  Since coffee is just 42 cents, you can deduce that I'm rolling in cash--right?  Smile.  Doesn't matter.  The twenty cents will emerge tomorrow at just the right time, and I will drink the three cups of coffee that will buy.

Having a functioning computer changes everything, of course.  I spent the past week or so thinking about what I would write in the blog once the computer arose from the grave.  Great and noble thoughts I thunk, but I'll be blessed if I can remember a single one of them.

I know that there are people I want to write about.  Allison comes to mind.  Maggie. John and Jamie, of course.

And did I write that William B. Clay was in the hospital in grave jeopardy of having his legs amputated at the knee?

Last I heard he was discharged from the hospital, legs intact, thirst unabated.  But haven't seen him since I got back.

I did run into Cleve.  He's the one who assured me that he didn't drink and didn't care to be around those who did.  Right on, I told him.  So when I returned to Austin there he was sitting in the bleachers all glassy-eyed with a can of some kind of gawd-awful beer in his hand.

Well.  Okay.  So I stayed the minimal amount of time for the sake of courtesy, then headed out.

And I must write about Snail who, last evening, was a flying about treetop level and reached out and touched my arm.  "This guy," he said, meaning me, "is the real deal.  He's already proved himself many times."  That was apropos of something, I'm sure, but can't recall just what.

The food truck didn't come Saturday, didn't come Sunday, and did come today but it came an hour early so when I got there it had already come and gone.  My stomach did one of those agonizing leaps from a very high place and came down smack dab in the middle of some middling hunger.

Hunger.  Yesterday I was so hungry I was faint.  The day before I'd only had two breakfast tacos--cold--courtesy of the Divine Mzzz Jamie, so I was having some serious blood-sugar issues. Nothing to do but hop on the bike and ride up to Veggie Heaven, where I was given a foam container of rice and veggies.

But I've gotten ahead of myself.  On the way I was somewhat irritated (translation:  super-pissed) at my Higher Power.  Like...where's the $?  Where's the food?  You're not holding up your end of the deal, Sweet Thang.

So at this corner I stop to catch my breath and this man is walking along and I (choke, gasp, sputter) ask him to help me out.  He gives me a buck.

At McDonald's I'm still eight cents short of a McDouble, so I ask this Latino bicycle guy.  Turns out he and the two others are in some kind of a race, but he hunts around in his bag and comes up with three energy bars--snacks.  Mmmmm.

And this big ole farm-boy looking type hunts around for eight cents and comes up with a handful of change which turns out to be more than a buck.

So I eat.  And say my contritions to the Dancer (my HP).  Sorry, Babe, I mutter.

I was jist hungry.

Po' thang, she whispers, and dances away.  A bit of Tahitian Hula thrown in there, just to keep me on my toes.

Then I met "Righteous Rebecca" there at the Scientology Building there on the Drag.  She had one kinda beat up orchid which she was trying to sell, and she came over and introduced herself to me.  Blonde, missing some teeth topside, a bit on the heavy side.  That's the appearance thingie.  But the heart simple and trusting and somehow bruised and battered but still beating bravely away.

They took away my food stamps, she said.  Sixty years old and they took away my food stamps.

So there she is trying to sell some wilted orchids with the rain let up now.  A couple of college kids are standing there by the coffee shop smoking, and I try to buy a cigarette.  The girl walks back inside and brings back two.

Somehow we start talking the tower over there where Charles Whitman in 1966 lost it and climbed up there and started shooting people.

A street person, fairly shabby, perks up his head. "I was there!" he said.  "Right here on Guadalupe.  I was fourteen years old and checking out all this free love shit I'd heard about and blam this woman right in front a me got shot and I grabbed her and dragged her into a doorway."

All of which just goes to prove my point: that all lives are works of art.  It's just that they've not been properly edited.

I took some horrific pictures of myself today using this little webcam feature my new operating system--Obuntu--comes with.

Should try to upload one of them.

You've been warned, Pilgrim.

Peace, love, and a cornucopia of fooooood.

E.