Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing … O rest beside the weary toad and hear the angels sing … Old buses always seem to run faster on the way home, and most of the time, the road always seems to stay the same.
Monday I hauled ass out of the campground
kicking up dust and making lots of noise
Over the big bridge
just south of the dam
and on my way
in my mirrors
I see Vegas fading away
I am once again,
a Happy Man.
Today I find
I am waltzing thru my gears
and standing on the pedal,
hogging the passing lane
my right foot buried in the firewall
a little bit lighter in my wallet
Bought Bio-diesel just fifty miles ago.
all topped off and rarin’ to go
Living large in the passing lane,
I aint blowing any smoke.
pushing the legal limits
and stretching out the old two-stroke
Eastbound and down
6 on the floor and the other foot
out the door,
Tuesday spent the night outside of Grants
tucked back in the rear of the lot.
snoring my life away
what can I say,
I am on the backhaul,
making my way home.
Wednesday I slept until noon
outside an Amarillo greasy spoon
woofed down day old biscuits
laced with Jelly and Texas hot sauce
which I bought the day before outside Albq. New Mexico
on top of nine mile hill
On the westside of town
Inside the Travel-Mart Quick Stop
along with a #3 washtub of coffee
to wash it all down.
The third day finds me spending the night
next to a Motel Six
In Sayre, Oklahoma
Home of the 39 civilized tribes
the sun fades as I arrive
Red Dirt roads and I am home again
Much quicker than I surmised.
Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing … O rest beside the weary toad and hear the angels sing … Lyrics are from “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear” which is somewhat appropriate for this time of the year.