My guess of 7500 miles for my transcontinental trip was a bit off but on the other hand I had a better time than I had even hoped for.

Some might say that the weather was rotten just because I was riding under overcast, sporadic rain, some snow and even fog for much of the trip.. In fact, the sun disappeared to me as I headed eastward through mid-Oklahoma and the temperature did not reach solidly into the seventies again until I was on the way back through Nevada, a period of two weeks. However, I had good rubber on the tires, was well dressed and have a terrific fairing, I was actually more comfortable than if I had been riding in the 100 degree heat that is also a possibility at this time of year. In fact, when I crossed a particularly remote part of the Great Salt Desert in Utah on roads that make "the loneliest road in America" seem like a busy thruway, I was quite pleased with the light rain. The bike just loved the temperatures too. However, enough about bikes, let's get to the music.

Catspaw, I am extremely grateful to you for your suggestion that I stop in at the Appalachian Museum in Norris, Tennessee. It turned out to be the highlight of my trip.

Sitting on the smokehouse porch playing guitar was a fellow named George Brewer and with him on banjo was Linda Gustafson. They encouraged me to join in with them and I did. A local schoolteacher who dropped by with her Autoharp was kind enough to lend it to me and that is what I played most of the time.

At one point, Linda and George got excited. They had seen two friends, Bitt and Junior, coming across the field. They were quick to tell me that those two were a fine pair of musicians, Junior on mandolin and Bitt on fiddle.

As Bitt and Junior approached, I thought the light was playing tricks on me because I could not see an arm coming out of Bitt's right sleeve. When they got closer, I saw that Junior, despite his full head of silver hair was probably in his early fifties but Bitt was considerably older. In fact, he was eighty or so. Another fact was that the light had not been playing tricks, Bitt really did not have a right hand!

It was getting late so we moved out to the parking lot to play for a while. When Bitt got out his instrument, he also strapped a cup to the stump of his wrist. The cup had a slot for the bow. Linda and George were right, he was a good fiddler and Junior, Linda George and I had a fine time playing along with him. There is something so extraordinary about meeting strangers and being able, within minutes, to be creating something jointly. As simple as these moments were, they were jewels that I will hoard and take out when I need to remind myself of the riches I have found in my own life.

Thirty years ago or so, I got a record of Johnny Cash singing with the Carter Family, or at least what was then called the Carter Family. Although the record has long since disappeared (it was never one of my favorites because it didnt even sound like the "real" Carter Family) I had always remembered that Johnny Cash had described in the liner notes the grave of AP Carter and I decided that on this trip I was going to visit it.

The site was much as I imagined it, a "grave on a green hillside". He is buried near his former wife and they each have identical stones, different than any others in the graveyard. Each stone has embedded in it, the replica of a gold record with the caption, "Keep On The Sunny Side". As I stood there in the rain (did I mention that it was raining?) I wanted to do something that would help me participate more fully in the moment, to somehow be more there. I went back to the motorcycle and took out a harmonica. I felt strangley contented to be playing "Keep on the Sunnyside" in a Virginia graveyard in the rain.

In New Haven, I had a chance, despite the rain (did I mention that it was raining?) to attend a reunion of the Yale Hoots. Al Schwartz who is a Mudcatter and whom I remember from 1960 and 1961 playing at the Hoots has kept them alive. They are now nearing fifty years of providing an outlet for traditional music. Back in the late fifties when I used to go on a regular basis, people came from all over the Northeast to participate in the Hoots and there was wonderful music, the sharing of lyrics and technique and the beginnings of many friendships. I was delighted to learn, through Mudcat, that the Hoots were still in existence even though they were reduced to twice a year instead of the every-other-week of their heyday. Through a newsletter and perserverence, Al is keeping the hoots going and helping to reunite frineds who have been separated by the years.

I met another Mudcatter there, "Uncle Frank, the SInging Insurance Guy". Although I did not remember him from my own Hoot days, I enjoyed talking with him and it remeinded me of how many friendships had begun among the fifty or a hundred people that would crowd into the basement of Street Hall every other Saturday night to play, sing or just listen.

John Cohen of the New Lost City Ramblers was also there and I took the opportunity to tell him during one of the breaks how much pleasure I had gotten from the NLCR's music over the years and how when I learned some of the songs that they had resurrected, I took pleasure in sharing that joy with others so that the NLCR's "feel-goodedness" was spread, perhaps a bit more palely, by the people who loved their music - going out in rings like the waves when a stone drps into the water. Ultimately, the ripples reach everywhere in the pond. That evening was another very warm and personal time.

Back to motorcycles:

My friends call me a minimalist biker. I have chosen a bike that does admirably exactly what I want it to do. It is an 800cc BMW. Today, some would call it a small bike but it has cruised easily across death VCalley in 110 degree heat at 75mph, it starts under any conditions I would ever choose to ride in, is dependable and is also very pretty. It is eighteen years old and has nearly a 100,000 miles on it although most of them have been trip miles, not the little hundred mile or less jaunts where the engine barely hearts up so the engine is in terrific condition. In fact, event though it has the original rings, I burned almost no oil during the trip. I suppose though that if the weather had averaged fifteen degrees warmer, that would not have been the case.

I have removed the radio and everything else that does not directly pertain to traveling so that when I get on the bike I am alone. This gives me a wonderful opportunity to delve into myself on a long trip and I get to lose myself in the voyage that is what every one of my long drives seems to become, complete with adventures in strange lands.

Roadsigns flashing by bring up memories of half forgotten songs suggested by the place names. It is amazing how many place names in America have been included in at least one song. I found myself singing constanly as a result of being bombarded by the memories produced by the road markings.

Well, enough for now. I made it home safely for which I am grateful and I have a whole new batch of memories. It was a good trip.

Sourdough

their influence and ability to bring joy to people was