2003-10-30

Acoustic Bicycle

stories:

numero dos.

Well this one will be a might rushed due to the fact that I'm in a library with a time limit. but let that not stop me, oh no! oh now. Let the neurons fire, dusted off of memories quickly fading as dreams.

I met a man in a town called Danielson, by the name of Jan. It was a two day ride East of Hartford, through increasingly beautiful rolling Appalachian hills and trees, to arrive at the spot.

Danielson was small, but cohesive. It managed to cobble together a very charming little main street, decorated with ornate awnings, bright colors, and a cute small town feel.

There was an old train car resting by the side of the town tracks converted into a wonderfully diverse bike shop. I told the store manager my story, and he actually mirrored my plans with unexecuted ideas of his own, of going on tour nothing but a guitar and a bicycle.

Apparantly only I had been crazy enough to do it.

Jan was a hippie in his fifties. He had a wife and a dog. The dog followed him around town loosely, begging at the back doors of restauraunts for hearty scraps of sausage or bread (though i was assured he was fed plentily at home, it was more like a social habit), a dog with gritty interwoven never cared-for hippie hair. Or at least cared for in the sense that it was left alone. Hair revered to just be and let be. To grow and sit in houses, uninterupted by thorns or thickets or things wild. Hair with oils all its own, 'natural', a dog that sits in a hovel of a house and is fed. A wife that had just broken her leg the week before i arrived, and likewise was situated on the easy chair in Jan's house, completed with cigarettes and soap operas.

Jan owned a bar. He called the place the 'Desert Rain'. It is named after his band, which is also called the 'Desert Rain'. The band has been around for 25 years. Jan built the restaurant to house his band, so that he wouldn't have to worry about touring anymore. He plays every week, or even a few times a week; and I get the feeling these shows are like big parties with all of his friends - strange and warm and freaky - from around town. What a good idea, I tell myself. On other nights, he books bands from all around, or has open mic nights for the local talent. That is the night I have arrived, and so he gives me a full hour of play time, in honor of the 'miles that you've put in'.

So I arrive in the late afternoon, and have a beer at the counter. Paintings adorn the restaurant that I later find out Jan has painted. They are all similar, profiles of black on a background color; images of rock and music stars. I immediately recognize most of them: Janis, Jim, Jimmy, john paul george ringo, Miles, and what not. Some are a little more obscure, but all are executed nicely. What I assumed was copied from a projector, I am surprised to find Jan has done free hand. He is quite a man of many talents. Here are some pics ... http://www.raindesert.com/pics.html

Most quickly one would say Jan is a man with a striking likeness to Jerry Garcia. Long dreads, a laid back personality, and super friendly. He watches my set with almost complete attention, as other parishiners in the place loll in and out of listening and talking to their friends. He burned a copy of my set onto cd as a gift, and was quick to offer his back yard as a place to stay for the night.

"I would give you the couch, but my wife needs it due to her broken leg, she can't sleep with me upstairs right now."

He spends the evening showing me some of his latest projects. He wants to get a video editing system and put the Desert Rain shows on television, radio, and web. (website here...) He's just finished writing a book about old World War I flying aces, and dogfighting. He shows me the transcript. It is thick, and woven with images, photos and drawings he's been collecting off the web. Oh yeah, and you might think otherwise, but the food at his little outpost was superb. the menu is short but sweet, full of 7 grain breads sandwiches, fresh wraps, and vegan choices galore.

I left Danielson renewed, fed food, and in a good mood. (sorry that's kind of cheesy), Onward to New London.