Back Roads

I was driving across the Badlands, the day before I was in the Black Hills, and saw the mountain face of the presidents

Should have checked out Crazy Horse. I may never get back that way again.

I was en route to Wisconsin, my Grandmother was dying, I hadn't been home in a long time listening to John Trudel, a poet, Indian activist, and AIM member

Backed by a rock band that featured a guitarist who played with Bob Dylan and George Harrison, name of Jessie Ed Davis. He died of a drug overdose, I think, shortly after (or while) the tape I was listening to was recorded.

I took the back roads because you see almost nothing on the highway. The towns were tiny and grim

Pissed in the Missouri River and smoked a joint, watched a guy fly fish for about ten minutes.

It took all day to cross South Dakota and when I finally did around dark, I got lost in the woods in Iowa.

My map didn’t help. I had to rely on common sense. It took a half an hour to get back on track. I made it about halfway across and stayed in a cheap motel full of bikers.

It was Friday night. I had a beer in a bar with more than it's share of good - looking women. None of them said a word to me and I didn’t know what to say to them. I never have so I sat and watched the good times roll under my nose

Like clouds tearing across the cold gray sky during a thunder - storm.