An Anchorite at Large in Oversized Everything

Pictured is the woman I met at Sydney Airport. She was pleased to pose and was on a mission. She was returning to the Virgin Islands and her husband was a very funny, wry contrast. She was great.

Good morning readers,

Am in Birmingham Alabama now, I have done a good few miles and am heading to, either, Memphis or Nashville. I've tried to come west-wards but the North is calling. It's not distinct so I can't hear what it's saying. It might be 'Look out you moron.' but heedless is as heedless does...

Am cruising nicely making vague decisions in the most comforting scenario imaginable. I'm cruising through beautiful tree-lined country with all sorts of things to look at. Abandoned houses and businesses, shanties that should be abandoned, grand places with Doric columns saying something very racist about the past and lots of people who need nutritional advice. If they ask I'll try to tell them. Can't do better than that.

I drove past one of the many, many multi-flavoured churches yesterday which had the best sign yet; "Don't be wise in thine own eyes." Loved it.

I have improved the stability of the bike by stuffing my tent and self-inflating mattress in behind the headlight. I think this has removed some of the vacuum turbulence. It's good for 80mph now. Not that I do that. The bike is doing well with some intermittent fueling issues. Can't trace it but it seems to be character-based. The clutch push-rod is leaking and will have to be dealt with. I should have pushed Tony to attend to it. I'm so weak...

There is a church every few miles here. Just in case you run out of faith during a drive in the country I suppose. They are interspersed with fast-food places, fireworks outlets and Boiled Peanuts. It's odd the way they put a building so starkly onto a site, no trees, just loud and proud. Each Vendor a monument to the strength of the individual American character. Which leads me to philosophy.

I was thinking today that each American seems to have grown from a seed planted in the ground. Each one firmly rooted in their own sense of self, each one free of neurotic distractions. They represent something bigger than themselves but are wholly self-contained. Very old-fashioned really. Not post-modern at all.

I see a lot of vultures still and turkey-vultures and plain-ol' turkeys. I don't know where the turkey vultures came from but I have a picture of gangs of vultures raping turkeys at night. You will see the turkey-vultures gathered around road-kill with their buddies. They're a bit creepy really.

The place I stayed at last night was a creepy little camping village with a little, frightened old lady with oxygen tubes running up her nostrils. She was big on jigsaws and little on Australians, or men, or people, who knows. She ranks with the turkey buzzards I'm afraid.

Better get back on the road. I keep doing mental calculations, dividing the miles I have to go, it keeps increasing, and the days I have to travel them. These calculations are driving me mental.

Am nearly tired of these McDonalds salads. But to be honest, there is little else to eat. I had grits this morning. It is like tapioca but made of potato. The locals insisted that I stir dollops of butter into it with some salt to get the full experience. The waitress even came along and did it for me after seeing my lack of movement in that culinary direction. It was expletively-enhanced revolting. I apologised but I couldn't manage it. I couldn't get the taste of faux-butter out of my mouth for hours.

And folks, that is the metaphor for today. That butter-in-the-mouth taste is what America is. Go and try it for yourself. Dollop some into your gob, smile, put your hands on your hips and exclaim something reassuringly inane aloud to everyone in particular.

Yes. That's it. You've got it.