I headed north towards Colorado, stopping in Taos where I got half a haircut for free because I wouldn’t let the butcher finish the job. After several years of free flowing hair I shouldn’t have stopped at a barber shop staffed by old men who probably nip the bottle between shavings. I mean in the old days preeminent barbers at the tops of skyscrapers whose clientele were executives and gangsters nipped the bottle. It was actually most likely a requirement as their craft may have become obsolete since most customers were probably balding and wore fedoras. The true skill was how trustworthy the barbers were while listening in on business deals and criminal activity knowing the two were closely related. They would hear everything from each individual during these conversations, probably holding more information than those sitting in the parlor chairs.
I purchased a Taos fly fishing hat and clambered my way north in the ‘64 Triumph Spitfire red convertible I previously purchased from a biker who tinkered on these old cars and motorcycles. He was an interesting fellow who knew everything about Triumph the motor company and he loved the Allman Brothers Band. It’s funny because he looked a lot like Duane Allman but with bulgy eyes that lit up when he puffed his pipe. Since I had long flowing hair and wore flannels people would say I looked a lot like Eddie Vedder. I was also likened to a young Richard Dreyfuss though I wouldn’t wish for fame because that would validate my early delusions that I am known outside of my small reach, that I am connected to people and their productivity by briefly understanding their message. I can only get so far for having good ears and a keen perception on connectedness with entertainment. The simple truth is I have a kinship to creativity that I have repressed for many years. When I get emotional about artistry, especially lyrics, it inspires me to be creative myself. So if I work hard at trusting my own reality by understanding my creativity, I too can bring out emotions in others and inspire them.
Rolling into Telluride with a four banger classic car, top down, half of my hair swirling around I began to think maybe I should stay here in this mountain town and forget about heading home. Then I remembered what failure felt like, what it meant to be depressed for months and the only reason I had a burst of happiness is because I’m headed home. Looking back on my extended stay in Albuquerque I know there was nothing I could’ve done differently that would have kept my mental illness at bay. The freedom I had on my western excursion was marred by the reality of having to find work and a place to live and so forth. I went from driving through expansive landscapes, reading all the while and carefree, to slowly getting sick while holed up in a dingy apartment surrounded by strangers. I was headed home to my beautiful Northern Michigan hometown through incredible mountain ranges, stopping off at parks and monuments and roadside attractions. I was also digressing from explorative distinction into the exposed and translucent mind of a runaway. The road I took was far more vast than I would’ve discovered if I were typical, never leaving home.
Francis Erich McElroy 