I keep imagining us all riding this old beat up bus, and Karl is driving.
The bus breaks down often, and the bus driver opens up the hood and almost
disappers into the belly of that beast as he tries to get to that faulty
alternator, broken fan belt, or whatever part is falling apart at the time.

It's not the driver's fault. Actually every time he climbs back into the
driver's seat after declaring that it's fixed, I can't help but smile and
love him even more, even though I know it won't be long before he flips his
cap backwards and goes back at fixing it again. His face smeared with engine
grease, and his hands cut up on all that extracurricular wiring he's done,
he never quits.

We just wait in the bus for his return, so we can resume our journey. And
what a journey it has been so far. I'm just honored to be let on the bus in
the first place.

The exterior of the bus has pumpkin graffiti all over it. Psychedelic
manifestations of the love that the bus riders have for the band and the bus
itself. Slogans in color such as "Rawk on", "I just wanna be me", "could you
take me too", and "I just wanna get there faster". There are SP hearts in
all colors, graffiti in SD and MCIS fonts, and of course...the music is the
fuel, without which we go nowhere.

Amazingly, the bus still makes the trip around the planet twice a day. We
have bus stops in Newfoundland, Australia, Thailand, Turkey, Spain, Brazil,
and Southern California...to name a few. And somehow, this ancient but
beloved vehicle always makes it to the depot back in Canada, every night.

I've made friends on this bus, met new people, and engaged in a little bit
of trading and barter. I've seen the most beautiful in people, and the
ugliest in them too. We've had hooligans drive by the bus and throw flaming
molotov cocktails at us. But that didn't slow us down. 

We have arguments, we sing songs, we shake our fist at the world, we laugh
and we cry.  Through the window we see little kids waive at us, censorship
mongers cuss at us, wars waged, peace declared, towns devastated by natural
disasters, and a planet getting progressively smaller, more overcrowded, and
increasingly hostile. But somehow we keep bussing along, no matter what the
landscape is like outside. What a journey it continues to be.

And at the end of the day, in the north-eastern-most corner of my county,
when the bus finally arrives at my bus stop to let me off, I always look
towards the bus driver and smile. Somtimes I thank him out loud, and
sometimes I just nod at him. But I always try to let him know that I'm
grateful for the ride.

Catfish

"i've journeyed here and there and back again"

PS: This piece is inspired by a ride I took on the "Magic Bus" between
Amsterdam and Paris in 1975. That ride took place a week after a friend and
I attended the 3 day music festival at Reading, England. The band "Traffic"
headlined. That couple of weeks stretch remains one of the major highlights
in my life.

In 1995, the pumpkins played there. I was just 20 years too early <g>. If
only I knew, I wouldv'e taken a job in the town cooking eggs and baked beans
breakfasts for concert goers who've been out in the rain for three days and
three nights, and waited for 20 years for the pumpkins to come to town.