RUBBER TRAMP

          ‘Trepidation’ - a sort of agitation over what may happen; I have some trepidation about the day. The past three days were all about miles. What can you say about Oklahoma, in January? Too cold for camping so I stayed at an old, Route 66 motel in Shamrock, TX. Crossing the pan handle, more windmills growing in rows than any other crop. Out of the blue, coming up on my left, a huge Christian cross, over a hundred feet high coming up in the distance with a foot print as big as a house. When I got closer there was a new, stone church with an empty parking lot. Those big crosses are not unusual. Seeing them is routine, especially in the Bible Belt. It’s hard to know where devotion gives way to pride. ‘And God said, “Go build me a cross, 40 cubits high, with a stone pile under neath that will hold a thousand Believers. By the way, make a great room where they can cheer for Jesus and the Dallas Cowboys.” 

Across the highway, on my right there were hundreds if not thousands of crosses, as far as you could see, must have been two hundred feet high. The arms were spinning in slow motion, cranking out electricity for all the good people. I was taken by the contrast and the metaphor. I trust, given another generation, the saints there will build a new cross with arms that move, maybe three hundred feet tall. 

Another day and night and I’ve landed in the desert just shy of the California line. The Rubber Tramp Rendezvous is a gathering of oldish, snow bird-nomads; sort of a ‘Burning Man’ substitute in the Arizona out-back. They all sat around the fire last night, exchanging trivia except for a small entourage making music. A tall, guitar guy and another guy in a wheel chair with a conga drum doing Eagles and Creedence Clearwater songs. Maybe a dozen frazzled old dogs sang along and I felt like a space traveler. Should I make myself comfortable or hold my breath? Hey Scotty, you can beam me up any time.