Well, here we are, loopers, finally underway, like Jake & Ellwood with their 1/2 pack of cigarettes, sunglasses, and tankful of gas. But before i could even dream of hitting the road, i had a laundry list of tasks longer than a pandering politician’s promises.

First off, there was the Great Migration of my earthly belongings from the cozy country-club apartment to a cramped storage space, a maneuver tighter than a Jenga tournament. Then came the bureaucratic hoopla of establishing a P.O. box, a venture that revealed the sad truth: in the eyes of finance overlords and drivers license examiners, a P.O. box is about as trustworthy as a reality TV production plan.

But let’s not forget about Rocinante, my trusty companion on this wild ride across the Divided States of America. She needed a check-up. Tires rotated, engine tuned – check, check, and double-check.

Now, packing for this journey was like playing a twisted game of Tetris, trying to fit essentials like clothes, towels, and emergency toilet into Rocinante’s belly without causing a gearvalanch.

And speaking of gear, from the humble street busking rig to the JBL behemoth that could wake the dead, to my ambisonic stereo field-recording setup, which i swear intimidates interviewees more than a priest in a confessional booth, it’s all here, a place for everything, everything in its place.

And just when i thought i was ready to hit the road and begin the search for the fibrillating heart of our divided nation, fate had other plans. That Rugged & Ready basecamp trailer of mine, designed for extreme-sport mountaineers and built tougher than a marine’s resolve, proved as popular as a skunk at a perfume party. No bites in Kansas, no nibbles in Georgia. So, like a gambler chasing a losing streak, i hauled that trailer from one end of the Colorado front range to the other, hoping for a miracle. But alas, no takers.

Now, desperate times call for desperate measures, they say. So, like a quarterback executing a 2:00 minute “Hail Mary,” i made a detour to Oshkosh, Nebraska, where kinfolk offered sanctuary to my wayward basecamp… great day in the morning!

Now, with the “Hot Springs or Busk” tour officially underway, i’ve got interviews from Kansas, to Missouri, to Colorado, with Nebraska and South Dakota next on the list. It’s a journey as predictable as a heavy-weight boxer’s battle plan, but by the fiery breath of Helios in July, i wouldn’t have it any other way. I told myself after the great recession cratered my IT career, i would retire early and either live on a boat at sea, or get a motor home and sail the waving prairie. And since the idea of open ocean sailing after a lifetime on the flatlands is patently absurd, Rocinante is the manifestation of that vision, and despite the occasional detours and Hail Marys (“Everyone has a plan till they get punched in the face.” ~ Iron Mike), i am loving every minute of it.

They say life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. Well, my plans may have gone up in smoke more than once, but what rises from the ashes is a tale worth telling, a journey worth living. So strap in, loopers, because this road trip is just getting started, and who knows what madness lies around the next bend.

Onward through the fog… Rohlfie