2500 glorious miles across this loose confederation of dysfunctional communties we call a nation. My oh my.
Somewhere in Nebraska, I glanced up at my rear view mirror to see an enormous wooden cross attached to a grill attached to a semi bearing down on me at high speed. I thought the Holy Inquisition had finally caught up with me. I’m not proud to say that I was willing in that frightening moment to recant–to anul my bar mitzvah–to never again tickle my palate with the dull-savory singularity of gefilte fish. In the end I just changed lanes.
I dodged tumble weed in Wyoming. The salt flats through Northern Utah stretched for 100 desolate, heat stroking miles. There are slot machines in the grocery stores in Nevada. Super 8 is really Mediocre 8. These are the things I learned.
The East Bay is cool and sunny. Mediterranean plants are in bloom, and Tibet is apparently not yet free. I have learned that, contrary to common belief, there is no time for hate.
So the journey continues. A new set of challenges and really good food. I walked into a grocery store in Berkeley and almost cried, after my months of trying to find edible comestibles among the Velveeta and Lunchables of suburban Ohio. So on we go. Could this become a sedentary medicine show? Time will tell.