I’ve crossed the Eastern continental divide. I have no idea what that means geologically or geographically but it sure sounds impressive. It makes me feel like some sort of explorer with a pick axe and a coil of rope at the frontier of something or other so I’ll take it. I’ve been driving through the gently undulating forested hills of Maryland, stopping at occasional gas stations to marvel at the microcosm of American life within. Not only can you fill up with gas but also buy baseball souvenirs, drugs for any ailment I can think of (& some I’d rather not), refit the interior of your car until it’s better equipped than your kitchen, purchase hunting knives (presumably to deal with the bears that lurk just of the freeway according to signs I’ve passed) and indulge in sugary confectionery that must surely have made a serious dent in the corn syrup mountain I imagine lies somewhere just over the horizon. Actually West Virginia turns out to be just over the horizon and the valleys become dotted with industrial towns, one of which I’m in now. Morgantown. Even the name sounds like a Billy Joel song from 1974 where he extols the virtues of the down-to-earth, American working class. Once again it’s hard to separate the cultural mythology from the reality; I’m writing this from a small motel room on the edge of town. Next time I’ll bring a typewriter with me just to do the whole William Bourroughs\Hunter Thompson thing to the full. The digital age is dead. Let’s just dust down th3 Remingtons and Underwoods & have done with it.
Last night’s gig at the Hotel RL was underwhelming. I almost outnumbered my audience, but the people of Baltimore looked after me well and I was pleased to take in the eastern mining town on my journey inland. A long drive to Ohio tomorrow. Tornado country…
Barton H
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