Jack Kerouac Dies as Artful Adventure Rolls Homeward

March 24, 2009

 

Return to the mountains

Return to the mountains

Welcome to the next chapter in the Artful RV Adventurers continuing saga… or should I say “Soap Opera.”  Either way, this marks the launch of a new and hopefully more cooperative blog host so you may continue to follow our off-beat dance to a different drum.

After a year and a half on the road, it is time to shift gears, stare reality in it’s face and make a serious attempt to “adjust” to a small town life in western Colorado in a home without wheels. Whether you observe under a cloak of anonymity distance as a “lurker,” or participate by sharing your thoughtful comments is your choice. Just keep in mind, it is your interest and “clicks” that will keep the Artful blog alive. Without feedback, discussion and visitors, what is the point of going to all the expense and effort of keeping it going. Of course I realize it is up to me to meet expectations, thus I am ultimately responsible. But if something rattles your brain or touches you somehow, let readers know what it was and tell your story. It enriches the experience and reduces the isolation. Of course, photographs will continue to play a prominent roll for your viewing pleasure.  

Be it from our new home in what has been so aptly dubbed, “The Switzerland of America,” or from where ever our next adventure might find us, I intend to resume blogging with the same unabashed, unpredictable and reckless abandon style that I left off with. Some will be offended and leave; some will be offended and stay. Again, either way, you’re bound to be offended. But I will try my best to keep that to a minimum. My posts spew from a scrambled egg brain, a handicap that is the result of the intersection of  having been raised in an ultra conservative religious home and overindulgent reaction to said upbringing during the turbulent “6o’s” and early “7o’s.” Some of you know well of what I speak.

The new Artful blog will vacillate between poetry and rants, fiction and fact, acid rock and heart wrenching blues… painting a watercolor and painting a room. In other words, day and night. Cubicle relief will drive the drivel; entertainment fodder for those who are doing time… watching the clock… wait’in on the weekend.  

I look forward to continue writing about the powerful roles passion and dreams can play in our lives. They are the fuels that can mean the difference between surviving or thriving. Now I have too many passions, wonderful things such as photography, watercolor painting, writing, playing music and physical exploration of  the remote west’s most sunning landscapes. The end result is a dilution of time and attention needed to do rise above mediocrity. How do you choose between your children which to keep and which to give away? So it’s not likely that I will ever master even one of my passions. I will settle for a little progress, enjoy a modicum of success and endure the frustrations of being a hack. In other words, I’m not all that different from you. 

Somewhere along the way I hope you can learn something by checking into this blog. I know that I learned much from past readers, and that knowledge now plays a significant part in my evolution as a person. Please, do not underestimate the power of an encouraging, informed, or “different take” comment. The ripple effects on the consciousness of everyone who reads them are important contributions. What you say may be read by someone who needed to hear your words. Some readers comments still resonate in my mind as “truths” and will be called upon to help navigate a coarse through the remainder of my life.

Unfortunately, readers will continue to bare witness to my fumbling attempts at finding “the balance” in life… the curious bipolar tug-of-war between “mountain man” and “desert rat” as they lock horns in a perpetual battle for control over my whereabouts. It will require a number of adventure pilgrimages into the high desert in nearby Utah… with it’s ravishing red rocks and maze of canyonlands… to debrief my spirit from the lure of endless wandering. These jaunts will serve as a sort of  “methadone” to ween a wanderlust stricken junkie like myself from highly addictive nature of spontaneous roadtrips. I’m a male, and thus a fool for Kerouac’s romantic depictions of free spirited adventures in On The Road. Job hopping,  poetry jam sessions, roaming free… coast to coast… it would be tough to sustain such a life. But so too, is a cog and sprocket job that pins your soul to the dirt for 50 weeks a year. And it is my biggest fear that somewhere in, or near lovely Ouray, Colorado, that bell “tolls for me.”

Readjusting to “town life,” even is a small village like Ouray, might be interesting after living in the “country” for so long, and followed by 18 months on the road. In summer I imagine my salvation will come from wandering through alpine meadows of Lupine, Blue bells and Columbine that proliferate in nearby mountain valleys not all that far from our doorstep. A photographers paradise.

Throughout the long six months of winter (gulp), I will seek refuge in Ouray’s hot spring mineral pools, a mere stones throw down the hill from our house… near the river. What better way to break an icy chill after snowshoeing through sparkling diamond mounds of sunlit snow, or to soak away a “mood” brought on by an unrelenting four day blizzard… and the associated back pain of shoveling out from under six feet of snow that has long lost it’s glitter.

It’s about then that Siren Madera will no doubt beckon me, to her canyon deep in the Saguaro strewn desert of southern Arizona.  Cursed with gypsy blood and a growing intolerance for cold, I envision resigning my “job de jour” on a whim in order migrate like a fool from wind driven snows to a land of flip flops and sunshine.

2 Responses to “Jack Kerouac Dies as Artful Adventure Rolls Homeward”

  1. artfulrvadventures said

    test comment

  2. artfulrvadventures said

    test two

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