HEY, BABY

It’s the Fourth of July. Cottage Grove, in the OR. Two hawks waken in the upper floor bunks in Stacey’s doll house shaped guest house in her green and veggie filled back yard. Below us Dave Zirbel, a late retirer and early riser, has already flown, off to Portland to play the Waterfront Blues Fest with Commander Cody. We descend the treacherous and cracking ladder that’s going to gravely injure some drunk traveling troubadour in the near or distant future and pack up the Yukon. Stacey’s mom, who owns the organic espresso bakery next to the Axe and Fiddle (this town has an astonishingly high ratio of cool things), has left us a big care package of fantastic scones, carrot muffins, and cookies. They are seriously big league baked goods. We give a limitless Hawks 10+ on the HFR scale. We hit a ubiquitous Oregon-only parking lot espresso hut generous enough to be open on our National Holiday, and order cappuccinos and smoothies. We are fueled. The Yukon is fueled. Shawn Nourse, trucker’s son, is at the wheel. We find Deep Tracks on Sirius XM radio. Homeward! It’s a good start south.