Two Wheels To There

Two Wheels To There

Two Wheels To There

  • TALES
  • “THERE”
  • THE STABLE
  • PROFILES
  • SHOUT-OUTS
  • COPYRIGHT © 2023
  • View twowheelstothere’s profile on Facebook
  • View @2wheelstothere’s profile on Twitter
  • View twowheelstothere’s profile on Instagram
  • View ryaustin’s profile on Pinterest
  • View RyAustin’s profile on Google+

Pherther-Grams

twowheelstothere

The mid-May weekend was looking decent, so Surtch Pherther, jonesing for a desert rip, would hit dirt again. He’d aimed to dark-wander with good tunes and smoke, but ride-tired and for the week’s work and a nightfall chill, was fine turning in early to breeze on the fly and nothin’ otherwise. The next morn, he tracked dawn up a near, near-familiar ridge for fossil-hunting and a sudden snake-watch after a biggun rattled itself know, and then throttled off for fuel, food, and a Bud at a state-line oasis, where he met two dudes who’d cycle-slogged two-hundred-fifty-ish miles through downpours and desert heat just to carve a glacier.

View

Jun 9

Open
The mid-May weekend was looking decent, so Surtch Pherther, jonesing for a desert rip, would hit dirt again.  He’d aimed to dark-wander with good tunes and smoke, but ride-tired and for the week’s work and a nightfall chill, was fine turning in early to breeze on the fly and nothin’ otherwise.  The next morn, he tracked dawn up a near, near-familiar ridge for fossil-hunting and a sudden snake-watch after a biggun rattled itself know, and then throttled off for fuel, food, and a Bud at a state-line oasis, where he met two dudes who’d cycle-slogged two-hundred-fifty-ish miles through downpours and desert heat just to carve a glacier.
This error message is only visible to WordPress admins
There has been a problem with your Instagram Feed.

There’s Salt in the Water – 2011.06.15

Published on February 13, 2015 by admin Leave a Comment

2.2011.06.15

He fled work at five. He ate bulgogi and banchan, spicy tofu soup, and crunchy cooked rice. He rode to where the Lake Termina Funfair is long gone, where Grandad as a lad played Swing.

Deep-stepping dry sand and parting reeds, stalked by a ghost, he passed remnants… ruins… wreckage… rubble… residue… dust…

Through fly swarms he forged, and footprinted damp sand, and he reminisced, in his bygone childhood, being Grandad’s shadow.

Shore others jigged and tagged, touched and held, stared out at nothing, and gazed into others’ eyes. Shore others far off. Others.

Countless gulls were careful on the ground, watchful from encrusted pilings, and carefree aloft, and he regretted, as a stupid kid for pals, once mocking Grandad’s limp.

To the water’s edge, toward the setting sun, he went, and toed the toe of the surf and eyed the eye of the glare, and he teared up for never apologizing.

Yet it wasn’t about that, or just that, but everything, from forever, even before him, and Lake Termina was too shallow and small to absorb Surtch Pherther’s deepest desire…

It doubtless would return the body to shore.

Share what moves ya...

  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)
  • Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)
  • Click to print (Opens in new window)
  • More
  • Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)

Like this:

Like Loading...

Filed Under: Escape Artist Tagged With: art, lake termina, railroads, ruins, solitude, the mindquake, wandering

Share your thoughts:Cancel reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d