This blog entry has the same title as Jack Kerouac’s famous novel about traversing across America.  Having just spent four days driving from L.A. to Dallas, I know things have changed since Sal sped off with Dean in a Chevy.  They had gorged on apple pie, talked to strangers, found work and picked up hitch-hikers.  Now, there are no hitch-hikers left in America.   We wanted hitch-hikers.  Seriously, we would have picked up anyone.

   These thoughts were drifting through my head on the drive; this car does not have insurance.  This car does not have registration.  This car is not mine.  Essentially, life would change if pulled over by the cops.  The car, a blue jeep Larado, had been given to me by my cousin.  I’d bumped into him in a hostel in L.A. three months ago.  Considering that I was unaware that he was in America, let alone in the same hostel in Los Angeles, meeting him was one of those weird, lovely, strange things that the universe throws at you occasionally when it feels you need a break. 

   My travelling companion to Dallas is a twenty one year old Aussie.  I met him in L.A.  This was our first conversation:  “G’day mate, how long have you been in L.A?” “A few weeks, leaving tomorrow.”  “Oh yeah, where are you going?”  “Texas, do you want to come?”  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  So, after knowing me less than 30 seconds, he’d agreed to drive with me for over 1200 miles across America.  Yeeoowww- life of a traveller.   For the first eight hours of our trip the temperature did not drop below forty five degrees.  We drove through a lightening storm in Phoenix, played on stage with a band in Las Cruses, ate steak in Big Spring and partied in Dallas.  We saw disheveled towns where clothes hung on railings and windows were boarded up with ply wood.  We saw rough arid land and mountain ranges and cactus.   In this country there are no limitations.  We saw a sign promoting McDonalds: “How is your fry gauge?” and another for a sex shop: “stop violating vegetables”.  When meeting people, we exaggerated heavily.   We told them the kangaroos were killers and the sharks were harmless.   They liked our accents.  I liked the way they say “y’all”.  Seriously, I will never ever get sick of the way Southern Americans say y’all.  So, anyone who follows these blogs will know that I have neglected to mention anything about bull riding – the sole reason for this journey.  Will be drinking a couple of cold Corona’s tonight in Austin, checking out some bands, exaggerating  more about Australian animals, and then making way to the ranch.  The bull riding will be coming……..

  Peace and love,

  Sully.