Ronnie Hays

This Land: NorCal

Oh … my … gawd …
…it’s toooo big… 😉

Now, Ronnie, his conception of California mostly the product of pop culture and literature, had dreamed of staking a claim in the LA music scene back in his salad days. But those dreams evaporated in a mix of spandex, big hair, and MTV-dominated schlock. He washed out in the Denver cover-band scene, selling out for a couple hundred bucks a week. His California Dream ended on New Year’s Eve, 1987.

Fast forward to 2024. The Hot Springs or Busk tour begins its California leg in Eureka, a beach town crawling with former pirates, giving us the heebie-jeebies. The local strip-mall reeked of desperation, beach sand coating every surface like a bad habit. We pushed on to Redding, a digital nomad-friendly place with a familiar feel. Sorta like Garden City Kansas, with palm trees.

Speaking of familiar places, we ventured south to Steinbeck Country… Salinas. Now, Ronnie’s used to half-empty malls, but this one was a different story. Thousands of people, a rainbow of cultures, all having a grand time. It was oddly refreshing, being on the other side of the majority.

And yes, California is home to many small to medium-sized colleges, as well as several famous literary landmarks associated with renowned authors. Jack London State Historic Park, The Henry Miller Library, a museum dedicated to the works of that prominent figure of the Beat Generation. And John Steinbeck National Historic Site, the birthplace and childhood home of that Nobel Prize-winner.

Steinbeck Country… Cannery Row… Salinas… Monterey… after leaving Eureka (scared the hell outta Rocinante), then we hoofed it to Redding (cos they had a PF), then to Salinas… hung here for a while before making our way to the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) all the way to the LA archipelago (Moorpark, specifically).

Anyway… California isn’t just super-big, it’s also quite diverse in landscape: including a wide range of natural environments, from the Pacific coast to the Sierra Nevada mountains. It offers, at least in the coastal regions, fairly consistent Mild days with most of the state enjoying a Mediterranean climate, warm dry summers and mild, wet winters.

California, as anyone paying attention to national affairs knows, has a thriving economy, with major industries in technology, entertainment, agriculture, and tourism. But all those roads and bridges in sasquatch-infested double-canopy jungles require a somewhat higher bracket of fuel tax… (this is an extreme understatement).

California also has its share of publicly accessible natural hot springs, from Slates Hot Springs near Big Sur to Travertine Hot Springs in the Mono County area. And, in Ronnie’s estimation, the best feature of all is California’s cultural diversity. California is a delicious mix of cultures, with a rich tapestry of ethnicities and traditions… this is our true national character… a glorious stew of the world’s diverse personalities.

To be continued…
Onward through the fog… R.H.

This Land: Oregon

Oregon! A place where the gods must have been drunk when they tossed the dice. A state where the mountains are so tall they kiss the sky, and the forests are so thick you could get lost in them for a lifetime. It’s a place where the sun can shine bright one minute and then unleash a torrent of rain in the next… a land of contradictions and extremes.

Picture this: you’re cruising down the Oregon Coast, the breeze cool and fragrant, the Pacific Ocean stretching out before you like a vast, angry beast. You’re surrounded by towering cliffs, sandy beaches, and tide pools teeming with life. But then, like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky, the fog rolls in, thick and heavy, obscuring everything. And just when you think it can’t get any worse, you swear you see a Sasquatch lurking in the shadows. It’s a scene straight out of a nightmare, a testament to the raw, untamed beauty of this place.

Beyond the natural wonders, Oregon is a state of mind. It’s a place where intellectuals and hippies rub shoulders, where the counterculture thrives, and where the pursuit of knowledge is as important as the pursuit of pleasure. From the sprawling campus of Oregon State University to the ivy-covered halls of Lewis & Clark College, Oregon offers a diverse range of educational opportunities.

And let’s not forget about the food. Fresh seafood, local brews, and a thriving culinary scene make Oregon a foodie’s paradise. From the hip restaurants of Portland to the cozy cafes of small-town Oregon, there’s something to satisfy every palate.

But Oregon is not all one love and kumbaya. It’s a place where the cost of living can be as high as the mountains, and where the rain can fall so hard it feels like a biblical flood. And yet, despite its challenges, Oregon remains a place of endless fascination and adventure. It’s a state that will leave you both enchanted and exhausted, but always with a story to tell.

Rollin’ through…
An Oregon forest…
I swear i heard…
A sasquatch chorus…
But back to Earth…
The Portland gridlock…
Take a breath…
It’s gonna be a while.

This Land: Washington State

So, here we are, in the belly of the beast, Spokane… a place where the laundry machines are more demanding than a Vegas blackjack dealer. We’re talking seven bucks a load, for Christ’s sake! It’s like these machines have a larcenist spirit of their own, demanding tribute before they’ll let your clothes see the light of day.

But let’s keep it real: Washington State holds a special place in Ronnie’s heart as he spent many a week in Spokane and Seattle either learning about the institutional food service business (four lifetimes ago) or tending to the computer networking needs of a western-region architecture/engineering firm (two lifetimes ago). And so we were able to reconnect with old friends we hadn’t seen for at least 14 years. They have a million-dollar house now, a place that’s as surreal as an acid flashback. You’d think the directions would be easy, but no. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, only the haystack was a Mad Max wasteland.

Their house? It’s a paragon of contemporary home comforts, but from the outside, it looks like it’s been through a hurricane, a zombie apocalypse, and a few acid trips. We sent a picture (via DM) to confirm it was the right place. Then, gathered our courage and ventured into the heart of darkness.

Inside, it’s a different world. Their kids are grown, tall like the trees at Audubon Park, and their house is like a spaceship landed in the middle of the woods. Our visit covered the gamut, from the latest doings of mutual acquaintances, to the lifestyle of a professional golfer (her current vocation), to the latest in Silicon Valley thinking (his vocation), and Ronnie swears, some of the tech talk was like listening to a Martian explain quantum physics.

But let’s not forget the real reason we’re here: Hot Springs or Busk! Imagine soaking in a mineral bath, surrounded by nature, feeling the warm water on your skin, and realizing you’re the only one wearing clothes. It’s like a scene straight out of a Beat road trip novel, without the drugs or psychotic breakdowns.

And if you’re looking for higher education in a more intimate setting, Washington has you covered. Think small classes, friendly professors, and a campus that feels like a cozy living room.

Regarding culture, Washington is a state where art and literature thrive. Jack Kerouac wrote about the experience in Dharma Bums. And if you’re into glass art, the Museum of Glass in Tacoma is a feast for the eyes.

As for the residents, they’re a hardy bunch who love the great outdoors. Imagine hiking through ancient forests, kayaking on calm lakes, or simply staring up at the towering mountains. It’s a paradise for nature lovers.

But let’s not sugarcoat it. Washington also has its downsides. The weather, for one, can be as unpredictable as a squirrel cage match. It’s often cloudy and rainy, and the winters can be downright dreary. And then there’s the cost of living. Major cities like Seattle can be as expensive as a designer handbag.

Still, despite the challenges, Washington offers a unique and unforgettable experience. It’s a state where you can find both the sublime beauty of nature and the gritty reality of everyday life. So, if you’re looking for a place that’s as colorful as a tie-dye t-shirt and as thought-provoking as a Dostoevsky story, Washington State is the perfect destination. So, grab your notebook, your camera, and your sense of humor, and get ready to experience the extreme Northwest of This Land.

From the streets of Spokane…
To the Grand Coulee Dam…
You’ll see beauty…
In the state of Washington…
They came for timber…
They built the PC boom…
Washington… the final MicroBoss.

This Land: Illinois

So there we were, adrift in the Chicagoland archipelago, courtesy of Ronnie’s infallible sense of direction (or lack thereof). The Democratic National Convention was in full swing, a throbbing neon beast pulsating in the Windy City’s belly. Visions of ’68 danced in Ronnie’s head – anti-war protestors clashing with Chicago’s finest in a ballet of tear gas and billy clubs. A chance, he thought, to relive a sliver of history, that bygone era immortalized in grainy documentaries,

But alas, the cruel hand of fate, or perhaps… synchronicity, had placed us in Aurora, Illinois. Yes, THAT Aurora (party time… excellent). Here, amidst the beige strip malls and flickering neon signs, Ronnie embarked on a quest for the holy grail of his salad days – Stan Mikita’s Donut Shop, a shrine to the hockey legend and glazed pastries. But like a mirage in the desert, the shop remained stubbornly elusive, a figment of faded memory or perhaps a cruel hoax perpetrated by Saturday Night Live.

Undeterred, Ronnie retreated to the air-conditioned sanctuary of the Aurora Public Library, a monument to quiet nerdiness if ever there was one. Here, he became a voyeur to the DNC extravaganza, consuming news reports like a fragrant, steaming bowl of Pho. NPR’s police beat reporter, Martin Kaste, droned on in a podcast, his voice a steady counterpoint to the city’s distant sirens. WGN chimed in with a video report, a kaleidoscope of protestors and fence-busting partisans. In the end, thankfully bloodless. The anti-war protesters did persist, and they made their points, but the event planners and the Chicago authorities were able to keep things from spiraling out of control. Go here for a thoughtful compare/contrast.

Illinois itself, this “Land of Lincoln,” struck a dissonant chord. A state where prestigious universities rub shoulders with wallet-crushing property taxes, where the “Second City’s” sports teams inspire religious devotion amidst a backdrop of political chicanery. The summers, we’re told, are steam baths, the winters cryogenic chambers – a climate that could curdle a monk’s disposition.

Yet, there are glimmers of hope. Starved Rock State Park, a Xanadu of waterfalls and canyons, promise respite from the urban sprawl. The state boasts a pantheon of American icons – Honest Abe Lincoln, of course, but also Carl Sandburg, the bard of Spoon River, and Michelle Obama, a beacon of grace and intelligence. Even Michael Jordan, the basketball demigod (and Bugs Bunny’s unlikely sidekick), hails from these plains.

The engine of Illinois’ economy hums with a complex symphony – finance titans clinking glasses in Chicago’s skyscrapers, factories spew out automobiles and farm machinery, and fields overflow with corn and soybeans, a testament to the state’s agricultural might. And for the working stiffs, Illinois offers a cornucopia of opportunity – a robust job market, a smorgasbord of educational institutions, and a vibrant cultural scene in Chicago (assuming you can stomach the commute).

Anyway, before we peel out of Chicagoland, heading back through Hays on a pilgrimage to Colorado Springs (the final piece of Rocinante’s solar-powered puzzle, don’t ask), two burning questions gnaw at Ronnie’s soul. Did that Stan Mikita donut shop ever exist, or was it a collective fever dream of his generation? And more importantly, would the DNC erupt into the glorious chaos of ’68, fulfilling his dread of a historical reenactment (tear gas and all)?

After all, “Wayne’s World” was the “American Graffiti” of the 70s, and Ronnie’s dad, a veteran of the Commerce City Police Department, had been sent to Chicago in ’68 for some “Tactics and Control” training dispensed by the Windy City’s finest. In the final frames, will we find history had taught us the right lessons, or are we doomed to repeat the mistakes? And more importantly, can Ronnie score a cruller before we hit the road? Because frankly, at this point, nothing beats a good donut and a hot cuppa joe.

Onward through the fog… R.H.

In Chicago…
You got the pizza wars…
But don’t forget…
The raging culture war…
In Aurora… Wayne and Garth don’t care…
‘Long as they can party on.

This Land: Michigan

Before you ask, Michigan has no natural hot springs. It’s like they forgot to install the geothermal plumbing when they were building the place. But who needs that when you have The Great Lakes, right?

As for higher learning institutions, Michigan offers a diverse range of colleges, from small liberal arts institutions to larger public universities. Some notable smaller options include Kalamazoo College, Hope College, and Albion College.

And though no particular state can claim exclusive dominion over such literary juice as earned by Papa Hemmingway, the Ernest Hemingway House in Oak Park, while technically in Illinois, is a popular destination for fans of Mr. Hemmingway’s distinctive American voice. Other notable literary figures with Michigan ties include Zane Grey and Harriett Beecher Stowe.

Regarding the unique character of its natives, Michiganders often pride themselves on their resilience, hardworking nature, strong sense of community, the fact that they have seasons other than winter, and abundant natural resources foster a love for outdoor activities and a down-to-earth mentality. If you had to drag on Michigan, some feel the state’s reliance on the automotive industry leads to economic instability. And, of course, the long, harsh winters can be a challenge for many, contributing to a sometimes slower pace of life.

Now, none of this does justice to the eye popping, slightly paradoxical, rolling green/crystalline beauty of the Upper Peninsula (UP). This region is often hailed as Michigan’s crown jewel, offering pristine lakes, dense forests, and dramatic cliffs. The Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore is a particular standout. Ronnie is holding his hand up right now because we just drove through the lower part of the UP heading for Traverse City. He has been going on and on about how much of this place looks like those “Garden of Eden” images conjured up in his childhood Sunday School days. This place is straight-up gorgeous, but if you get here via some of what William Least Heat-Moon described as “blue highways”, you will encounter areas that also conjure up mental images left behind by those 1980s slasher movies, “Halloween”, “Friday the 13th”, etc. Ronnie kept remarking how the areas we drove through gave him “Chrystal Lake” vibes. Terrifyingly beautiful, if you will.

Regarding famous Michiganders, the list spans the political spectrum, from Henry Ford, to Rosa Parks. And, of course, Michigan has a strong legacy in music. Think Motown, Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin, Four Tops, The Supremes, Smoky Robinson, Marvin Gaye, Gladys Knight, The Temptations, The Jackson freaking Five, and Stevie Wonder. Then later, you have Madonna and Marshall freakin’ Mathers. Mic drop… top that, anyone?

Now, as Michael Moore, Oscar-winning film maker from Flint, describes in his movies, the automotive industry has been the backbone of Michigan’s economy. Unfortunately, too many eggs were placed in that basket and when the US had to make painful changes in order to compete with the automaking sectors of the rapidly developing world, many… many… were left behind as a consequence.

That said, the state is trying to diversify, with growing sectors in healthcare, technology, and agriculture. Some would say Detroit and Flint still have a long way to go providing opportunities for those left behind. The jury is still out, but in the meantime Michigan offers a relatively affordable cost of living compared to many other states, especially in terms of housing. The state’s strong public education system and evolving job market, particularly in healthcare and technology, are also attractive to workers.

Visitors, often rave about the Great Lakes, especially Lake Michigan, for swimming, boating, and fishing. Again, Ronnie has his hand up, he’s still in awe of the terrifying beauty of Lake Michigan, and Traverse City. Many visitors are drawn to the vibrant college towns like Ann Arbor and East Lansing, offering a lively atmosphere and cultural attractions. As well, Michigan’s literary history can be a draw for some visitors, particularly those interested in Hemingway or the Great Lakes region.

Ok… that does it for now…

Stay safe…
Stay well…
Good luck…
Pay it forward…
And as always…
Onward through the fog.

Cheers… R.H.

In Michigan…
You might go dizzy…
From the rust belt struggle…
To Traverse City…
From the rogue militias…
To Motown dishes…
This state is pure America!

This Land: Phase III (back on the road)

Well, well, well. Look who’s still alive. August, the month of the dog days, has vanished into the ether, leaving behind a trail of dust, diesel fumes, and a smattering of state license plates. Phases I and II of the Hot Springs or Busk (HSoB) tour have been a whirlwind of wonder and wandering, taking us through seventeen states—a whirlwind tour of the American West and Midwest.

Now, granted, this was Ronnie’s stomping ground, so there wasn’t much in the way of culture shock. Yellowstone was a bit of a slog, a veritable gauntlet of switchbacks and disappearing hubcaps, but otherwise, it was smooth sailing.

That said, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Ohio, and Michigan proved to be a delightful surprise. Driving through those lake-dotted forests, those double-canopies of green, was like stepping into a horror movie. We’re talking ‘Friday the 13th’ vibes, with Jason lurking behind every tree, ready to strike. It was terrifyingly beautiful, a paradox that made Ronnie’s skin crawl.

So, we’ve been on the road, living the nomadic life, boondocking in parking lots, and tending necessary tasks in public libraries, laundromats, and grocery stores. We’ve returned to Hays for a brief respite, to tend to mundane matters like tag renewals, vaccinations, and voter registrations. After a couple of weeks, we’re back on the road, heading to Colorado Springs to equip Rocinante with a rooftop solar panel.

From there, it’s on to Phase III of the HSoB tour: the Pacific Northwest. We’ll be cruising down the coastal highway to LA, where Ronnie has friends and family. After that, it’s back to Hays for a month of voting and helping friends move before the snow flies. Then, it’s a family gathering in Kansas, followed by a caravan to Savannah for the winter. We’ll be exploring the deep south coastal states during Phase IV of our whirlwind tour.

Stay tuned…
Much more to come…
Onward through the fog… R.H.

This Land: Indiana

Ok… for Ronnie, Indiana is a couple things on the surface, 1.) it’s home base to one of his favorite authors, Papa Kurt Vonnegut, and 2.) the Indy 500 auto race. Now, these things might date Mr. Ronnie. After all, he can’t remember the last time the Indy 500 was headline news. This may have more to do with the fact that he cut the cord all the way back to y2k, so chances of him stumbling into a cable channel covering the race have been slim to none now going on 25 years. And though Mr. Vonnegut has been gone since 2007, his work is still quite popular with readers around the world… so there’s that.

Now, with all of that said, you would think Ronnie would make a point to visit Mr. Vonnegut’s hometown, Indianapolis, while in the Hoosier state. Alas, he’s still tethered to the technical details of outfitting Rocinante. Case in point, rooftop solar installs are now available at Wayfarer central, and Rocinate has a September 9 appointment… all the way back to Colorado Springs. So, the tentative itinerary is finish the Indiana post in Fort Wayne, head to Cleveland for the Ohio post, then Chicago for Illinois, then back to Hays to catch up on snail mail and Rocinante’s tag renewal, then back to the Springs for the solar install. Form there, it’ll be Hot Springs or Busk, Phase III. By then, we’ll be 17 states into the mission with all of the South and Sun Belt states saved for late fall and winter and nearly eight months to get the balance done.

So… back to Indiana, a state of contradictions. Its people are both fiercely independent and deeply rooted in tradition. They are known for their hospitality, but their conversations tend to revolve around the weather, sports, and the price of corn. There is a certain charm to this simplicity, a refreshing honesty in the lack of pretense. Yet, some would say also a stifling provincialism, a fear of the unknown that limits horizons.

The state boasts a few cultural gems, of course. The Booth Tarkington Civic Theatre, a grand old dame of a building, stands as a testament to a bygone era. And the Eugene V. Debs Foundation keeps alive the memory of a radical socialist labor leader. And let’s not forget Papa Kurt Vonnegut… cos Ronnie won’t.

Indiana… a place where time seems to stand still. The past is revered, the future feared. There is a resistance to change, a stubborn clinging to the familiar. It is a state that is both comforting and claustrophobic, a place where one can find solace and despair in equal measure.

Indiana… a state where the weather is as bipolar as a teenage girl, where the summers are a sweaty, humid hell and the winters are an icy embrace of despair. And Highland… our first stop here, is a place where the asphalt stretches on forever, a barren wasteland punctuated by the occasional strip mall hellscape. Ronnie, in a state of frustration, described it as a “abject cluster-boink ” of suburban sprawl, muttering darkly about the need for a good old-fashioned public flogging for the traffic planners. He envisioned a spectacle, a puritan circus of shame, where the engineers of this urban blight would be flogged with pool noodles, their misdeeds projected onto a giant screen for all to see.

Perhaps Ronnie needs to cut back on the coffee… 😉

Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to brave the Indy streets among all the Mario Andretti wannabes on our bumper, looking for the nearest Chipotle for a lunchtime burrito.

From Michigan City…
To Ohio Wabash…
Indiana… rolls like a slapdash…
But bring your high hand…
When you drive in Highland…
Everybody here’s an Indy flash.

Onward through the fog… R.H.

Hot Springs or Busk: Chapter LAST (the bramble patch)

Behold, the monstrous menagerie i’ve conjured! A labyrinthine Loopcircus, with its three infernal subdivisions—Loop, Circus, and Packmule Productions—each teeming with rooms more convoluted than a Kafkaesque nightmare. Circus, you see, is the current carnival of chaos. There, the seemingly endless series, “Hot Springs or Busk,” a first-person fever dream of a year-long, forty-eight-state tour, a kaleidoscopic voyage seeking the “fibrillating heart of our divided nation”. Then there’s “This Land,” a series of fleeting impressions, like a tourist snapping photos without digging much deeper. And let’s not forget “Below the Earth—Above the Sun,” pseudo-philosophical commentary mostly focused on spiritual evolution, but sometimes veering into US politics as if i were a celestial cartographer charting the nation’s zeitgeist one post at a time.

I fear it has grown into a tangled bramble with no real prospect of gaining navigable coherence. On the whole, it has become… how did i put it in Indiana? Oh, ya… it has become an “Abject cluster-boink” of planning failure, where the traffic engineers are frog-marched to the city square and flogged with pool noodles while a giant jumbotron broadcasts implications of their misdeeds for all to see. Yes… i would take my punishment like a guilty man.

Yet, don’t we all agree the first step toward redemption is admitting there’s a problem? And I’ve certainly done that. Now, the question remains: what to do about this tangled mess? I’m either adrift, like a sailor on a stormy sea, my ship battered by the waves of misunderstanding, or i’m a modern-day Don Quixote, tilting at windmills of ignorance and injustice, armed only with a laptop and a compulsion. I cast my bloggy pearls into the void, hoping against hope that someone, somewhere, might stumble upon these digital messages in a bottle.

As an offering to the communion gods, i’ve even cloned my voice and began producing AI-generated spoken versions of the work, catering to the audio fans among us. Will i go a step further and offer video? Nope, pass. That’s a bridge too far. Perhaps i should seek an audience match-maker, something, anything. Self-publishing, perhaps? There’s a wealth of advice out there, from Substack to Amazon. But where do i fit in? I’m not driven by reputation or monetary gain. I tend to lean organic, unfiltered. But that also means i’m a lion without hunger, a correspondent without a deadline.

For now, the plan is to sift through the wreckage, salvaging what i can once the tour is completed. I’ll cobble together a volume of highlights, a testament to the gist of my experiences. And then, set sail again, into the uncharted waters of the next adventure i guess. Rinse, repeat till such time as i am unable. Anyway… back to it… one more trip to Colorado Springs. This time, we’re installing rooftop solar, a final urban nomading detail for Rocinante.

Onward through the fog… R H

Hot Springs or Busk: Chapter I (the purge)

by RonnieHays February 4, 2024

This Land: Minnesota

ED NOTE (oh boy... egg on our face):

You see, R.H. has always gotten Iowa and Ohio mixed up, so when we actually rolled into Ohio and learned it was the REAL "Buckeye" state, Ronnie felt some nostalgic pains for the days when publishers could afford to employ fact-checkers AND copy editors.

Anyway, the egregious error has been corrected, and apologies all around to the Cardinal AND the Buckeye states. We'll try to do better going forward, but will probably continue to do our best proofreading after hitting "publish".... Oy vey.

ONE MORE THING:
We think it's important to note, among the hubbub over AI wrecking creative and journalistic landscapes, the abovementioned error (confusing Ohio's with Iowa's state icons) was an all-too-human error.

Yes... we leverage AI tools to generate loopcircus content, but we aren't in it for monetary gain, and we don't ask Siri's drunk sister to invent stories out of whole silicon/digital cloth.

We do this because R.H. says he HAS to. Call it a pursuit of self discovery, call it vanity posting, call it what you will. R.H. calls soul-work, and the speed in which these little soul-work nuggets are produced is greatly increased using available AI tools.

Furthermore, we don't take a position on the relative goodness or badness of the introduction of these tools, but with that said, we recognize the direction of the wind, and if you can't catch it (the wind), you might as well hoist and trim the sails.

Onward through the fog... loopcircus

Duluth, Minnesota. A granite jaw jutting into the maw of Lake Superior. They say it’s a stone’s throw from Dylan’s stomping grounds. We’re in no rush. Time is a river here, meandering leisurely through a landscape of pine and granite. The locals, bless their frostbitten hearts, seem to operate on a different clock altogether, a sundial perhaps, or maybe an ancient Norse timepiece that only reads ‘winter’ and ‘summer’.

Our encounter across this land of sky and water began with the stories from Ronnie’s first college mentor. A woman of the theater. She’d painted the Twin Cities as a glittering metropolis of culture, a place where the soul could stretch its legs and breathe. The Guthrie, she’d called it, a temple to the spoken word. A siren song, it was, luring us to the heart of Minnesota. But the fates, or perhaps our wounded mount, Rocinante, had other plans. So, we veer west, towards the iron-rich womb of the state, Hibbing. A pilgrimage, you see, to the birthplace of a bard.

Minnesota, a land of paradox. Its people, a curious blend of Nordic stoicism and Midwestern warmth. They speak of a quality called “Minnesota Nice,” a veneer of sugarcoating that hides a core of sturdy, salt-of-the-earth practicality. It’s a concept as elusive as the Northern Lights, shimmering on the horizon but always just out of reach.

The state itself is a canvas painted with extremes. Winters, a brutal siege of ice and snow, when the land lies dormant beneath a thick, white blanket. Summers, a riot of green, when the air is thick with the sweet scent of pine and the relentless hum of mosquitoes. These are the beasts that rule the North, tiny tyrants demanding tribute in blood. It’s a wonder anyone stays. Perhaps it’s the lure of the lakes, those crystalline jewels scattered across the landscape like a giant’s spilled treasure. Or maybe it’s the promise of a quiet life, far from the maddening crowds.

Yet, amidst the frozen tundra and the mosquito-infested marsh land, a surprising bloom of culture thrives. Colleges dot the land, nurturing young minds in the heart of the country. And from this unlikely soil, literary giants have risen. Sinclair Lewis, a bitter pill of Midwestern realism. Garrison Keillor, a gentle humorist who found poetry in the mundane. And then there’s the music of Prince and the troubadour, Dylan, a cosmic wanderer who carried a piece of Minnesota with him to the farthest reaches of the world.

So, we press on, into the heart of the land, armed with bug spray and a healthy dose of curiosity. Hibbing awaits, a chapter yet to be written in the Hot Springs or Busk adventure.

Way up north…
You’ll find the great lakes…
If you’re not careful…
You’ll make a big mistake…
So don’t you hurry…
Don’t give to worry…
Minnesota neighbors feel your pain.

Onward through the fog… R.H.

Song for Bobby Z

I’m hittin’ the road in my Wayfarer Van…
Buskin’ the fields for all of my fans…
Looking for poets, hot springs, and ghosts…
Of writers and dreamers from coast to coast.

Yo, Bobby Z, i refried this song…
Rollin’ through your hometown, i didn’t stay long…
The Iron Range Country folks, give ’em a hand…
For raisin’ the bard we call Dylan.

Yo, Bobby Z, i want you to see…
The good things your life’s work has done for me…
I’m playin’ the chords, but i can’t do enough…
Your trickster enigma, nobody can touch.

Here’s to Robbie and Bruce and Steve and Ricky Lee…
All the 6-sting troubadours that followed your lead…
The songwriter’s era might be at an end…
But Simon Says can never be my friend.

This song is ending so i just wanna say…
You moved to electric back in the day…
And look at me now… i’m closing that loop…
From hard rock, to the hard luck roots.