A cloud of dust raised up in the chill morning air outside the Tavern A beautiful low-slung Indian, packing a spring frame and heavily skirted fenders, and a rich 750 cubic centimeter in-line 4 cylinder engine making music like a diesel yacht at midnight on the Med, came sliding through 180 degrees to a perfectly balanced stop. Strapped to the back was a Dreadnought hardshell case only slight younger than the bike itself, layered like an archaeological site with travel stickers, old bumper signs, badges and hand-scrawled slogans. "ALL MY LOVE, FOREVER, JANIS..." was half covered with "Dive the Caves of Xel-ha", "San Francisco Cow Palace", "Newport 1962 -- We Were There! Love, Joanie", "Baby, Come Home!, love Cass", "Welcome to the Ruins of Big Sur!", autographs from Neal Cassidy, old LSD cartoons, "Purple Vibes Coffeehouse -- North Beach", "Heartbreak Hotel -- I've Seen the Original!", and "To a Real Road-Buddy! From Yore Pal, Willie!" competed for display space on the cover and sides. The newest of them, carefully placed next to the handle, was a glowing pink neon creation on a sky-blue background reading "Runamuck with The Best!!".

A lanky stranger stretched his long legs over the Indian's ornate fringed saddle and stood slowly, working out the kinks. From the back rim of his seat, a Cappucin monkey untangled itself from the calfskin fringes which he had been gripping for dear life, and nervously scrambled up onto the right shoulder of his dusty raw-leather riding coat, as the Stranger unstrapped the Dreadnought from the rear fender and picked up a large paper sack with strange bulges in it from one of the saddlebags.

He stood for a while in the doorway, smiling enigmatically as he spotted an old Silvertone banjo leaning up against the stone fireplace, and he pulled up a chair at a small table over by the tree. He took off the weatherbeaten bushman's hat, laid it on the table, and opened the top of the bag.

The monkey started to paw and chitter with great interest, and the stranger smiled affectionately and handed him the first of the lumpy objects inside. It was a tree ornament, shaped like a duck, with yellow bristly hair on its head and a gracefully curved body made of what looked like green soapstone. He handed it to the little feller who scrambled up the tree and strung it out on the tip of one of the branches. It was followed by an array of really unusual objects, all equipped with loops for hanging, and one after another, the monkey grabbed them and ran them to various bare areas on the tree -- a potato peeler, a miniature accordion, a miniature set of what looked like rainbow-hued CDs, a plaster gargoyle with his tongue sticking out in the middle of a friendly smile, an autoharp with tiny little miniature strings that hummed when you spanked it -- there were a dozen or more of them.

When the bag was empty, the stranger looked happily at the tree. THere was plenty of room for more!!

He shambled over to the bar, the dust wisping into the air from his tall leather riding boots, ordered a tall mug of Guinness, and sat down ruminating reflectively on the icons that dangled from the branches. The monkey curled up in front of the fireplace and was soon asleep in the welcoming warmth...