No More Bad Days

As I write this it's late on the night before the birthday that will see me entering my 61st year on this planet. No small feat, considering some of the things I've done, places I've been and predicaments I've gotten myself in to. Not to mention some dangerously crazy, wild, far out characters I've run with. Magnificent bastards every one of them. Not necessarily these guys...but the time is about right so maybe these guys -

But through it all...the teenage break-ups, car wrecks, sad days (even despair a time or two), some hard days and long nights, several broken bones and one heart attack...I'm still here. That makes me one lucky guy. And one very grateful guy. So I've made a decision to not have any more bad days. Now you may ask, "How's he gonna' do that? Everybody has a bad day now and then."  But I've realized it must surely be possible to find some good even in what might be considered a bad day. The day my heart attacked me was not a good day, but it caused me to give up some bad habits, appreciate life more and become much more active. The truth is I had become sort of lazy prior to that event. Not lazy about work. Just kind of lazy about life. Then there was the day my dad died. Certainly not a good day. But it was a good thing that his suffering was over and he could truly now rest in peace. Those are extreme examples to be sure. A bad day can simply mean you lost your keys, or your boss yelled at you at work, or your kids did something dumb. Or you did something dumb. Those are days when you can easily redirect your energy to make it a good day. You have spare keys or can have new ones made, you have a job, your kids are normal, and you have learned a lesson. See? It's not that hard. It's really just about being positive and gathering up good energy. I've been doing that for some time already. Turning 61 isn't going to make me stop. And I promise you will never hear me complain about having a bad day. I'm sure there will be days that aren't much fun, or that will test my resolve. But I believe we have the responsibility for making our own days. There should be no reason we can't make each one good in some way. I'm going to do it. Care to join me?

 

Roger O'Dea     12/17/2015

 

High and Dry

Yes, I'm a little late with a new entry. But I have a good excuse. The lack of snow and warm temperatures have made it seem more like September than November and I was very busy squeezing every little last bit of outdoor activity into these final days of beautiful weather before winter wakes up and realizes it is way behind schedule. For example, last weekend's 60 degree temperatures allowed me to do something I can't usually do in November - go for a mountain bike ride and enjoy a slow meandering 19 mile drive on the backroads in the Bearlodge area of Wyoming.

 

Across the highway from the campground is a seldom used Black Hills National Forest trail. I'm surprised more hikers and bikers don't take advantage of it. The views overlooking the steep cliffs are awesome. Also, less than a mile down the trail there is an area where you will find a group of split rocks. The cracks are so smooth it's like someone took a giant axe and sliced the rocks almost evenly right down the middle. 

              

Nature offers up a lot of interesting shapes along this trail. Some of the old tree stumps have decayed into strange poses.

   

Having come this way, I found myself near enough to that strange little town of Alva to warrant another look for any proof that humans actually live there. If you've read my past comments you know that I have long suspected that no one really does live there, and the town is just a cover for some secret government underground installation. My evidence is that I can't recall ever seeing any people out and about in the many times I have driven through this "town." This is the scene that once again greeted me on my most recent visit - 

I don't remember that camper being there the last time I drove by, but it could just be a new prop. I did, however, notice something even more strange than usual this time. I pulled in to the Post Office parking lot and noticed a light on in a window. Upon closer examination I could see a popular dish washing product and a wind chime in the window as if it was someone's apartment. This was on a Sunday. So, why is there a light on in the Post Office on a Sunday? And why those other items? Who lives in a Post Office anyway? The mystery deepens.

        

It was getting late in the afternoon and I certainly did not want to get caught in that place after dark, so I headed back toward home. But wait. There was one more detour. I decided to take the back roads that meandered through the forest past an old favorite location from my younger days... Cook Lake. The campground is closed now due to mudslides and washouts, but I was filled with fun memories of camping there with friends all those years ago. One old road sign is still standing, although it looks like something you would see in one of those 80s horror movies with a title along the lines of "The Skinny Dip Massacre." 

If anybody is planning on making one of those movies I would grant permission to use the photo. Just let me know and I'll provide a high resolution copy. Photo credits would not be required if it's a low budget independent project. But if you get Jennifer Lawrence to star in it, well, then I might insist on at least a mention in those credits that roll at the end. Have your people call my people. Maybe we'll do lunch and work out the details.

Roger O'Dea        11/19/2015

Free Games and A Free Spirit - Adventures In Las Vegas

This is not going to be about wild times in Vegas. It is, however, going to be about being in the wild in Vegas. Actually, about thirty minutes outside of Vegas. In Red Rock Canyon. That's where it gets really wild. Wild, as in Wilderness. On our recent trip to meet up with our son and his girlfriend for a last fling before winter sets in I took a morning off from the craziness of "the strip" and met up with my friend Sara who is from the Black Hills but now lives in a Las Vegas suburb. During all of my previous visits I had never been outside of the city. Not even to Hoover Dam, which is okay because I've never really wanted to go to Hoover Dam. I don't think they allow fishing from the observation areas, so there just isn't much to hold my interest. Standing on 3.25 million cubic yards of concrete is not my idea of a good time. Standing on red dirt in the desert is, and I have wanted to do that for some time but never made the effort. I had a feeling it would be great. It was. It was even better than great. Awesome, mystical, inspiring, calming. These are all words that come to mind. And it was more than that, but words can't do it justice. Certain feelings can't be described in words, especially when you're not accustomed to looking at a landscape like this -

My first clue that it was going to be a special hike came when, instead of following the wide well-groomed main trail, Sara climbed over the cable marking the boundary of the parking area and motioned me to follow her down a less traveled trail. It was an alternate take on the advantages of knowing a Las Vegas "insider." We hiked down into a draw and came upon a beautiful spring. The water was incredibly clear and the red dirt and rocks enhanced the visual experience. Around this time it started raining. Not a common occurrence in that area. Instead of running for cover we welcomed it with open arms and continued on ... across a formation Sara called "Jabba." You would understand completely if you were to see it. (I didn't take a lot of pictures because I had decided to look at everything mostly with my eyes rather than through a lens).  Then we wandered into a stand of small trees where we took cover and talked about things friends talk about. From there we climbed up into a small grotto for a brief rest, then as the rain let up we continued back down the trail, stopping for a moment to walk a large labyrinth, and finally we were back at the car. It was a good walk. I needed something like that, and left feeling better physically, mentally and spiritually. I plan on doing something like this again when we go back. It's a nice change from the lights and sounds and excitement of the city. Not that I don't enjoy that also. I do. It's fun, as long as you have the right mindset and stay in control. I mean, after all, they have Flintstones slot machines!

"BIG WIN" is overstating it slightly. In this case, anyway. But it's still kind of exciting. Especially when you win free games. 8 free games to be precise -

I've won more than 8 free games on other machines, but this one sure made a big deal out of it.  

There's also art and culture. The Conservatory at Bellagio has some incredible seasonal displays, some of which include giant scarecrows -

 

There are also museums and art galleries. The Museum of Fine Art, also at Bellagio, is where several years ago I first saw and was inspired by those famous Andy Warhol Polaroid photographs. 

And don't forget people watching. No better place to do that than on Las Vegas Boulevard. Of course, sometimes the people are also watching you. Some may even be on a mustache-themed scavenger hunt looking for someone with a mustache who is willing to pose for a picture. Someone like...me! 

Yes. Out of thousands of people in that area on that night they picked me. They never said if they were looking for the best, worst or most unusual mustache. So, I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or insulted. No matter. They were having fun, and brought me into it so I guess that's what counts. And mine is better than those fake ones. It is better...right?

It was a good trip. But it's always nice to come home. Especially when your home is someplace like this. Where there are still quiet places to hike, and clean clear streams to sit by and be still. And where it rains, sometimes even in late October. Oh. I should mention that right now on this night in late October...as I'm finishing this story...outside my open window...it's raining.  

Roger O'Dea        10/22/2015

Feel The Change

The Autumnal Equinox has passed and days are getting shorter now. A change is in the air. I can feel it. It's time to face the stark reality that summer is over. Some people rejoice in that, but not me. Summer is my season. Winter is my adversary. It is a thief who steals my fun, even my health in some ways. And in the past I have not been terribly fond of fall. That is changing. I am beginning to see so much more beauty in this season, and learning to notice so many more details. As I become more mindful and aware I can see details and even hear sounds that escaped me previously. This leaf is an example -

I was on a walk during my semi-annual pilgrimage to Pathways Spiritual Sanctuary in the Black Hills (South Dakota) and happened to see it on the ground just off the trail. There was a time not too long ago when I'm sure I wouldn't have noticed it intermingled with so many other fallen leaves, pine cones and fairly thick brush. Or maybe I would have. It definitely stood out as one of a kind amidst the mostly pale yellow leaves covering the ground in that particular area. I'm just glad I saw it. The unusual and varied colors, lines, cracks and wrinkles make it unique, to say the least. It's tucked safely between the pages of a book at home now. Maybe I'll forget about it and many months or years from now I'll open that book to rediscover it and remember the day in September when it found me.

The Sanctuary is an amazing place. I make it a point to visit at least twice a year, generally in the  late spring and early fall. It's a special place. I always feel a certain energy from the moment I pass under the entrance sign and through the door.

It's a calming subdued energy. It is a place to be still. I am completely grounded there. Sometimes there are other visitors and sometimes I am the only one, as was the case on my most recent visit. Only me and Mother Nature. And we got along just fine.

Throughout the Black Hills this time of year you will see the wonderful colors of autumn. I stopped a few times on my way home to snap a picture of some scene that caught my eye, like this one -

I am learning to appreciate these scenes more. But there is still some sadness about summer being taken away from me. I wasn't done with it yet. So, once again, I turn to my old friend John Denver for some comfort... this time from Poems, Prayers and Promises. He seemed to share some of my same feelings about the subject. Funny how often music tends to make its way into these conversations -

Reflections on the water like shadows in my mind

Speak to me of passing days and nights and passing time
The falling leaves are whispering winter's on it's way
I close my eyes remembering the warmth of yesterday

It seems a shame to see September swallowed by the winter
And more than that it's oh so sad to see the summer end
And though the changing colors are a lovely thing to see
If it were mine to make the change I'd let it be

But I don't remember hearing anybody asking me

Roger O'Dea       9/24/2015

It's Not Over!

Why do people keep saying that summer is over? Yes, it's past Labor Day. And, yes, temperatures at night are now in the 40s rather than 50s or 60s...or 70s. It's true the sun is rising a little later. And setting a little earlier. Leaves on some trees are starting to turn a lighter shade of yellow. So what? It doesn't mean summer is over. It's not over! As Animal House's Bluto so enthusiastically said in his rallying speech to his Delta Chi brothers,
"Over? Did you say over? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!"
I know it wasn't the Germans, but that's not the point. The point is that there are still plenty of things that I fully intended to do this summer but was never quite able to complete the task.  Like...
1.  Finding a rock and cracking it open to discover the wonders of a Geode. I cracked a lot of rocks but, alas, no Geode.
2.  Mountain biking the Big Hill trails all the way down to Spearfish Canyon, then into town. Did that last year and was hoping to repeat it this year.  
3.  Motorcycling to Montana, then cutting across to Devils Tower in Wyoming and back home. Made a run to Devils tower, but it was the short cut. Had my Polaroid camera along -

4.  Drive or ride on a photo safari through the badlands. Didn't even get close to doing this.
5.  Hike around the Stratobowl in the Black Hills. No excuse for not doing this. So close.

I also didn't spend enough time with friends. I tried and failed with some. Succeeded with others, but even then it wasn't enough time. It's never enough. There are other things that weren't necessarily in the plans, but would have still been awesome if they actually happened. Like...
1.  Getting caught in the rain a long way from shelter. I was too careful.
2.  Camping out on Sand Creek, or up in Spearfish Canyon. Even if just for old time's sake. I know the right spots.
3.  Stopping at a flea market. Drove by one many times.
4.  Spending most of an entire day at an auction with lots of "miscellaneous items." Timing was never right.
5.  Going to a drive-in theatre. They're still around.

I suppose the list could go on. But why dwell on what might have been? It's time to get serious and make up some lost time before autumn hits and then...winter. There's still time. Because summer is not over. It's not over until I decide it's over! And once more I will look to Delta Chi for my inspiration. This time from Otter, "I think that this situation absolutely requires a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part."
And I'm just the guy to do it. Who's with me? Let's go!

Roger O'Dea        9/8/2015

 

Polaroid Rally

This was a big one. The 75th annual Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. Hundreds of thousands (some say a million) motorcycle enthusiasts attended this year, making it quite possibly the largest event of this kind in the country. It was also an excellent opportunity to try out the new Impossible 2.0 black and white film for Polaroid 600 type instant cameras. So I loaded up my Polaroid Spirit 600 CL and headed out on my classic 1999 Valkyrie F6 to shoot whatever caught my eye and my interest in the normally sleepy little town of about 7,000 people which, including the surrounding campgrounds, had now grown to the single largest city in the entire state by population standards.
My first stop was the Rally headquarters of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club. I stop there every year to pick up a t-shirt, coffee mug or some other souvenir for myself or that one person (there's always one) who says, "Get me something!" The old school Polaroid camera around my neck generated a lot of interest , as evidenced by the fact that I shot an entire pack of film there but only made it out with one to keep for myself. I didn't think it would be a good idea to refuse their requests to keep the pictures I took of them. I heard a lot of, "Take one of us!" And, "Can I get one, too?" What am I going to do, say "No?" Actually, they all seemed like good people. Just there to have some fun, sell some shirts and perhaps gain a few new recruits.

Of course there were girls everywhere attracting attention in one way or another. Girls selling shirts. Girls selling beer. Girls selling tattoos and body paint. Even selling guns.

And guys, too. Guys directing traffic. Guys handing out bibles. Guys staying sober. Even guys with beards sitting on a bench.

Kids. Couples. And workers on break.

And, of course, motorcycles. My favorites were the vintage bikes.

It's over now. Things are back to normal here in the Black Hills of Dakota. People are thinking about summer ending soon and back-to-school time, and about next year. The 76th annual. Probably not as big as this year. But likely to be just as fun. That is if you like this sort of thing. And I do.

Roger O'Dea    8/11/2015

Sturgis 75th - And So It Begins

Early projections said 500,000 were expected to attend this year's 75th Annual Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. Then it went to 750,000. Now some are predicting a million. I don't think that's going to happen. One million is the entire population of Montana, and nearly twice that of Wyoming. The media hype is getting a little carried away with the numbers, but it is going to be big. There is no doubt about that. I've been around here for a lot of years and this is the most activity I've ever seen this soon. Earlier this week I visited Sturgis to check out the situation. It's a sure bet that rally time is near when the old familiar haunts start opening back up. This one in particular -

It's a dive bar in every sense, but that's part of what gives it personality. And it has plenty of that.

I was a little surprised by all of the vendors that have set up shop already. 

Looks like there will be no shortage of t-shirts or caps again this year. I got mine already. Not just "as is" off the rack, though. It's customized.  Every year for the past few years I've been buying a plain Dickies shirt with no graphics or brand logos. Especially no Harley Davidson logos. Way too much of that stuff. (Disclosure: I ride, but not a Harley). I then pick out a patch with a Sturgis logo on it for the current year and have them iron it on. Over the years I've acquired quite a collection. The logo this year is pretty cool. I like it. Looks good on my shirt.

It should be fun this year. A couple of rides are already planned with some friends. Also, I've been in contact with an international company in regards to a photo project collaboration. Details still haven't been completely worked out, but I can say that no digital cameras will be involved. We're going old school on this project. I hope it works out. 

So for those of you who don't like this time of year because of all the motorcycle traffic, the noise, or all those other things that come with at least half a million bikers invading your back yard, you'd better start stocking up on groceries and get ready to hunker down for the next two to three weeks.  And for those of you who love this time of year...Let's Ride!

Roger O'Dea      7/22/2015

Room With A View (Back To The Poet's Table)

After six weeks I am finally inspired to write again. And it's no surprise that the source of my inspiration is that lovely place high up in the Black Hills called The Poet's Table.
I had been slogging through weeks of mostly rain and cool temperatures and had let the weather get to me. But I was resolved to get back out into my beloved Black Hills...rain or shine. It was rain. Didn't matter. I took off that morning with my backpack stuffed with a raincoat and extra insulation around my cameras. That turned out to be unnecessary as the universe answered my prayer for a good day. I wouldn't have even cared if I had to hike in the rain, as long as I was able to get to my destination. As it turned out, by the time I reached the trail head the rain was far behind me and the temperatures had warmed considerably.
Because of a wrong turn off of the main trail I ended up taking a longer, more strenuous route. That wasn't a bad thing, however, as I certainly can use the exercise. Seems I have gotten a little soft over this past long winter. But, as usually is the case with me, I tend to be in a little better shape than I look so the trek was not particularly taxing. I made it with only a couple of brief respites for rest and water. As I took the final steps around the rock wall and under the fallen tree a familiar feeling came over me.  It's a feeling I never get used to, and yet it's one I can't really describe. I just feel peaceful there. And thankful. Thankful for this day, this place, and this view.

I rummaged through some of the notebooks in the desk behind the table, which was nearly overflowing with papers and items...much more than I remember being there on my previous visit.

On that visit I had left a photo and a paperback copy of The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac. Both were gone. That's okay. I hope whoever took them had a reason and are enjoying them still.

Nothing really piqued my interest so I just sat in silence for a while enjoying the moment. Then something caught my eye. It was a piece of weathered crumpled paper stuffed into a small crevice on the side of the rock.

I walked over, removed it, and began reading the story of Jenny and Jeremy. It was hand written on one sheet of paper, front and back. Jenny loved Jeremy but couldn't leave her boyfriend, who was not Jeremy.  Jeremy apparently said some mean things and at some point after that the relationship ended. There were a lot more details about time spent together, deep feelings, and what might have been. No need to go into it more here, but it was a very touching and heartfelt letter. In closing Jenny wrote that she hoped somehow Jeremy might find the note. I hope he does. It might be too late now. But maybe, just maybe, there is still a chance for Jenny and Jeremy.
It is truly a special place, this Poet's Table, hidden in a secret location in those beautiful and mysterious black mountain hills of Dakota. If you haven't already been, you should go there. I can't tell you exactly how to find it but I would be willing to offer up a couple of clues. Or, even better, I could take you there some day...if you are in the area and the timing is right. So go ahead and ask me.  And if the fates allow, we will make the journey together. I'm always ready to go back.

Roger O'Dea     6-17-2015

 

East River

I've heard it said that South Dakota should be split into two separate states - East River and West River. On a recent trip from the Black Hills to Sioux Falls I saw some evidence to support that proposition. It really is a different vibe over there. Not better. Just different.
A Sunday evening dinner with old friends started the trip off on a fun and positive note. That followed a rather uneventful drive across the state...with one exception. I pulled into a rest area near the tiny town of Wasta, and as I merged back onto the interstate I was convinced I had taken the wrong ramp and was heading back west toward Rapid City. The compass in my vehicle told me I was going east. The road sign said "I-90 East." But it just didn't feel right. Have you ever been so sure of something that, regardless of all the evidence to the contrary, you just know you're right? That's how I felt. After about a mile or two, as I was considering pulling a U-turn through the median (Hey...I've seen cops do it),  I saw a sign that read "Wall Drug - 11 Miles." That was the overwhelming evidence I needed to realize that I was actually traveling in the right direction.
The further east you go the more farms you will see. Mostly large family or corporate operations. Nothing wrong with that. However, spending some quality time at Good Roots Farm and Gardens on Monday introduced me to the concept of Permaculture. Here's how a Wikipedia entry describes it -  A philosophy of working with, rather than against nature; of protracted and thoughtful observation rather than protracted and thoughtless labor; and of looking at plants and animals in all their functions, rather than treating any area as a single product system. 
I saw some wonderful examples of pesticide-free farming, effective balanced conservation efforts, and even free range chickens guarded by llamas. Pretty cool. The property was also a delight visually -

This old barn had a lot of personality, and waiting for me inside was a delicious treat fresh from the ground -

Normally I have trouble eating carrots and radishes due to a throat injury years ago, but these looked too good to pass up and I accepted an offer to try one. I enjoyed it without incident, and it was marvelous! 

After some discussions about milkweed, Monarch butterflies, how nature balances itself out, and that the way to start a revolution is to change the culture, it was time to go. I would like to return later in the year to see the full fruits of their labor. 

But now it was time to get back to the city and do a different kind digging...for vinyl. I had heard of a record store called Total Drag. I didn't like the name. No record store I've ever visited has been what I would call a "drag." So, I was looking forward to checking it out and was anticipating finding some buried treasure. That was not going to happen, though, because it was closed. So it really was a total drag.

Just like Arlo Guthrie never heard of a dump being closed on Thanksgiving... remember Arlo Guthrie? We're going to get back to him in a minute... I had never heard of a record store being closed on Monday. So with tears in my eyes I drove off to find another place to look for records. Didn't find one. Until I came to Ernie November's, which is usually a dependable place for at least one score. And that's all I came away with. A compilation of performances from the 1963 Newport Folk Festival, including a Bob Dylan - Joan Baez duet and a couple Tom Paxton songs. Not a great find, but not bad.

Now, about Arlo. He is the original reason I made the trip. He was doing a show that night as part of the Alice's Restaurant 50th Anniversary Tour. 50 years. That's a long time. I don't think many people realize what a career he's had, recording twenty five albums containing a number of hits. Most may be familiar with "City of New Orleans." (No...Willie Nelson's version was later). I figured this might be my last chance to see him. It was a good show in spite of the fact that at one point he forgot the words! He recovered nicely and the rest of the concert went on without a hitch. The crowd was somewhat different than I expected. I only observed a few obviously old hippies. You know - the ones with gray hair tied up in a pony tail. Otherwise there were a lot of hipsters, men over 50 in Tommy Bahama shirts and Dockers, ladies dressed up in the latest fashions, even a few suits. I was pleased, though, during the song "Coming Into Los Angeles" to see a thirty-something chick jump up and begin dancing in the aisle. She didn't start a movement, however, as nobody else joined her. So she sat back down before the song ended. It was a valiant effort appreciated by me and perhaps only me judging from a few whispers and furrowed brows that I observed. It was then I realized a lot of people who came out for the show were there for a social event and to be seen, rather than to see a music legend...in my mind anyway. At least I hope they appreciated his stories of growing up with a famous father and him being very thankful for his good fortune in being able to hang out with some very colorful characters in a very interesting time in American history. 

It was a good trip, but I always like coming back to my Black Hills. I say that for many reasons, including the fact that the record stores here are so much better than in that other state over there...the one we call East River.

Roger O'Dea     5/3/2015

Alice's Garden (A True Story)

 WITH APOLOGIES TO ARLO GUTHRIE

This is a story called Alice's Garden, and it's about me and my friend Alice. But Alice is not the name of my friend. That's just the name of the garden. I changed her real name to protect her innocence, and that's why I call this story Alice's Garden.

You can get anything you want at Alice's Garden
Walk right over it's easily found
Just a short stroll from the Round-Up Ground
You can get anything you want at Alice's Garden 

Now it all started over 40 years ago, it was over 40 years ago in the summer when my friend and I decided to start a garden in our town. But it wasn't actually in town, it was on the edge of town, by the river. So we took some shovels and rakes and other implements of destruction and put them in the back of a red 1963 Chevy Impala and went to work digging up the ground and planting vegetables. Well somebody saw us working in the garden and called the cops because they thought we were planting marijuana down there by the river, but we weren't. We were planting carrots. And peas. And radishes. Carrots and peas and radishes right there in that garden! But nobody got to enjoy the harvest because we had to abandon the garden due to the fact that the rumor spread and some people thought a couple of hippies were trying to grow an illegal substance in their little town.

But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about a wreck. It happened a couple of years later on New Year's Eve when a bunch of us were at a party and found out just a few minutes before midnight that some girls were at another party in another part of town and wanted to come to our party. So I volunteered to get in my car and go get them to bring them to our party. I raced across town, picked up the girls, and was racing to make it back before midnight when the car hit an ice patch, spun around and crashed head-on into a telephone pole in front of a church. Nobody was hurt, except the car. Somebody saw the accident and called the cops (again) and soon Officer Franke showed up. Officer Franke looked at the car. Then he looked at the telephone pole. Then he looked at the car again. Then he said, "What happened, Rog?" (He knew my name from some previous encounters).  I said, "Officer Franke, I cannot tell a lie, I swerved to miss a deer." He said, "You swerved to miss a deer...at midnight...on New Year's Eve...in the middle of town?" I said, "Yes sir." He said, "Well, alright then, I'll call the tow truck and in the meantime can I take you all to where you were going?" So we all got in the police car and were dropped off at the party. A few of the cops would cut a kid some slack back then. No ticket required. None given.

So if you want to let kids be kids and encourage cops to give a break once in a while...all you have to do is walk up to a cop and sing You can get anything you want at Alice's Garden. If just one person does this they'll think he's sick and leave him alone. And if two people do it, in harmony, they might think it's an organization. And if 50 people walk up to a cop and sing one line of Alice's Garden...well friends, they may think it's a movement. And that's what it is, the Alice's Garden Anti-Massacree Movement. And all you got to do to join is just sing it anytime you get the feeling. Here comes the feeling -

You can get anything you want at Alice's Garden
Walk right over it's easily found
Just a short stroll from the Round-Up Ground
You can get anything you want at Alice's Garden 

Da da da da da da da dum

 Roger O'Dea   3-28-15

**Footnote - "Alice" is in this class reunion photo...but that's the only clue you get.

Gravel Roads

Nearly every day I have off in the summer is a day you will find me in the Black Hills. Hiking, mountain biking or cruising on my classic Valkyrie F6 on some winding road lined by pine trees. Well, I'm sure you noticed - this isn't summer.  It's February. And it's cold. I don't ski or ride a snowmobile or participate in any type of winter sports, so I decided to go for a drive...not south into the hills, but north and east into the flatlands. My plan was to stay off the highway and stick to the back roads. Having lived in this area for many years, it's amazing there are still places that are unfamiliar to me and so many things I haven't seen before. Actually, I'm sure I have passed by many of those places but never slowed down enough to really see them. For example, this country church -

I've been by it many times but never stopped to notice the wonderful colors and shapes. It has been maintained meticulously in stark contrast to some of the other buildings and homes scattered nearby.

I was completely ignorant of the fact that there used to be a school out here in the middle of nowhere, which was probably somewhere 100 years ago. Who or what was "Beam" and what did the school look like before it was abandoned and swallowed up by the prairie?

It's fun for me to find old rundown buildings in my travels and I enjoy taking photos of them. This one was only a few miles from town and once again I was surprised that I haven't noticed it before.

 I wonder what this scene would look like in June when the tree is in full bloom and the grass is green? I will find out in June.

On down the road a ways was a tiny little town with no businesses remaining and only a few residents. I remember coming to this place many years ago... a friend lived here. I don't remember a store, but there obviously was one. And you could buy bread. Not just any bread. Sunbeam bread.

 

I don't know if it's just luck or my self-induced heightened state of awareness during these journeys of discovery I take myself on but I always seem to notice at least one unusual, out of place, or just plain odd thing. This time it was a toy Volkswagen Micro Bus hanging from a tree in the yard of a resident living right next to the store where a long time ago you could get Sunbeam bread.

A red and yellow Volkswagen Micro Bus model car hanging from a tree. In February. In Fruitdale, South Dakota. I'm sure there's a good explanation. I just don't know what it is. And I guess it doesn't matter.

It was a pretty good day. I have a lot of those. And I would encourage you to head out some time on your own "road to find out."  Wherever you are there is an unpaved road close by. Take it. You may find an interesting piece of lost America. But, it's not really lost. I found it. So can you.

Roger O'Dea     2-17-2015