A Brain, A book, and A Ballpoint Stage One "Destination Nawlins"

Ah yes, stage one complete in the journey of a brain, book, and a ballpoint. One wonders why a perfectly good human being would stuff a portion of his belongings into a backpack hop into his car, drive to a random street in Madison WI, park, walk down to the union with a rather heavy pack on his back, and jump on a bus that arrives at a train station in Chicago that in turn has a train slated to leave said former city and arrive and the later city of New Orleans, LA or hereafter referred to as NAWLINS.

One might take into account the possibilities that

a) He packed to much shit and his shoulders will be aching for the next week or two.

b) Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he had brought a small paperback instead of the hardback book in scripted with the words "don’t panic".

c) Maybe if I just drink all this rum down the bag will be lighter, the shoulders won’t feel pain, and a shitload of obscene jester’s will come out on the written page.

Oh yes, then there is that final and absolute point of

d) Which indicates that once in Nawlins I will be bombarded with so much music, that points a) b) and c) won’t hold much weight.

The agenda is getting thick; so far I drove my car to Madison, partied all night in a room full of friends. Taking part in the suitable substances and the drinkable legal addiction:

"Uncle Sam is a stick in the mud! He says that we cannot smoke, drink, or fight over the seats,"

Sorry the Bus driver interrupted my story which didn’t concluded with more than a buzz and a conversation of data junkies talking about the torrents that they had downloaded. Both collections had included a 2 DVD set of Hunter S. Thompson interviews.

When I passed out I found myself waking up in the middle of the night to pizza and a Michel Moore film. Odd it was few days after a six year anniversary of Columbine. After passing out again I woke up to the final time with a view of Monona Lake out the window unobstructed by anything but a tree that made it even more scenic. Then came the moment of truth, I got in my car, went to get the proper diet for a man trying to save all his cash for an art-if-I-shall-e induced week of music: PB and J with a loaf of bread. Next I found the perfect street to abandon my vehicle. Luckily they don’t enforce the "NO Parking" on "this side" of the road on "Fridays" "May 1st – Nov. 1" with my travels ending on May 3rd that gave me plenty of time in which to reclaim my vehicle.

I grabbed all my belongings and headed towards downtown Madison. This is when the moment of realization kicked in and all the weight currently resting on my shoulders rang in and said,

"We’re part of your being for the next week and a half, for it is now too late to turn back."

I have exactly 15 minutes to get to the bus that will lead me to Chicago and not enough time to tread back and leave any unnecessary items in the car.

Note to self: buy a lighter tent and sleeping bag for the next expedition.

I reached the bus in time as everyone was lining up to get on, but not before getting the first of what I assume will not be the last of strange looks in my way as an urban explorer makes his way across the country with a load of shit on his back.

I paid for my ticket and settled in the middle of the bus. It was somewhat closer to the back but experience has lead me to stear clear of my school boy urge of sitting in the back few rows, due to heavy traffic and sometimes the unwanted smell of human waste lurking its way out of the bathroom.

What is it about a moving vehicle that brings on the irresistible urge to sleep? Every time I look up I get a glimpse of a partially opened mouth, a nose, and two eyelids shielding two eyes form the outside world and doubling as a movie screen for her dreams. That PB and J is calling my name.