With apologies to my friend Jill who set the standard for writing about bicycle riding, my second ever blog entry will be on that subject.

My bike is usually in hibernation from early October to Alaska Folk Festival time in April. I felt the need to ride Audry, (my bikes name) on Friday out North Douglas Highway. I had no idea on how far I was going to go. If my friend Brad was working on his house at 5-mile I would have been content to stop there for a quick visit then head back home. But he wasn't there and I kept on going. I inadvertently set my iPod to replay Bob Dylan's song Mr Tambourine Man. My hands were in gloves and I did not feel like changing the iPod settings in the rain. It is a good song to have to listen to over and over. One of my all time favorite lines is in the song. "To dance beneath the diamond sky with on hand waving free" Every once in a while I try to think of a line to write that will be as descriptive yet enigmatic at the same time. The line is out there but I have yet to find it.

I noticed the rusty carcass of an old truck not too far from the side of the road in a marsh. I can tell it is normally hidden from view by alder trees and roadside vegetation. It obviously has been there for decades. I grew up on North Douglas. I thought I knew where every tree, house and car were but this was something new. I tried to remember if I ever saw it while playing with my friends Jay, Sonny, Raymond and all the other North Douglas friends I have known. It was not like discovering a gold mime but still an interesting find.

So many memories of life on North Douglas. I thought of the time I was hit by a car while riding my new spider bike from Sears. It was the summer between 4th and 5th grade. I was riding to my house when I was hit. I remember the sound of the crying tires, then the sensation of floating, then I saw and heard people around me. I remember hearing someone say. "Is he dead?" There was a heavy rain falling so when I hit the pavement I hydroplaned for over 100 feet according to the police. The investigator said if it was dry I might have tumbled and most likely would have died. Just like that it could have all ended. I would only be just a faded memory to only a few people. A yellowing 4th grade photo might have been the only evidence that I once existed. The x-rays showed no broken bones, no strains or twists. My left side was all road rash but that was it as far as my injuries. When I got home from the hospital that night dad carried me to bed. When I woke the next morning he was still in a chair next to me holding vigil.

I kept riding my bike to the end of the road. I stopped to take a photo near the North Douglas boat ramp and switch my iPod to random play. By then it was getting dark. I chugged as fast as I could against the wind and rain. I was wearing my fishing rain gear. It was acting like a great sail as I fought the wind all the way back home. I got to my home and had a hard time with the key because my hands were just about frozen. After a hot shower it was off to the Public Market then El Sombrero for dinner.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 2009

This is my first attempt at a blog and I will do my best to write things of interest to all of you. The name my blog Report to Amos is a variation on the name of Nikos Kazantzakis' autobiography Report to Greco. The great Greek writer Kazantzakis wrote several of my favorite books: Zorba the Greek, The Greek Passion, Report to Greco. In his autobiography he offered up the story of his life to the memory of his grandfather. I will try my best to do the same here. To make a report to my late father Amos. From past and future grand adventures to everyday occurrences. Some wonderful day many years from now it will be my turn to "Walk into the Forest" and I will have an accounting before my father.

Here are the last lines from Report to Greco. I am changing the word grandfather to father.

"I come to recline at your side, to become dust at your side, that the two of us may await the Final Judgment together.

I kiss your hand, father. I kiss your right shoulder, I kiss your left shoulder.

Father, hello!"