"The Edge.......there is no way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." Hunter S. Thompson
Today marks one year since you have gone over and left us with our heads still up our asses and our fingers up our noses, contemplating our navels. The Broncos almost went to the Super Bowl, which would have had you cussing and turning over and wishing that you had held out longer, but it wasn't meant 2B. I would say it's boring here without you and that I miss you like hell, but since I know you're still here, I won't. I know you're just in another dimension, a parallel universe, somewhere far beyond any peyote-packed hallucination you could have ever conjured up here, probably still having the time of your now celestial life. You're still the lucky one, you basterd. We're the ones who got left behind, still plodding along in these tired old bodies that will give out far B4 we're ready, just as yours did. Until then, I wanted to finally post my experience of hunting you and The Colonel last summer when I came to Woody Creek in your honor for your blast-off ceremony. I never did it at the time because EVERYONE was doing it and, well, that would have been gauche.
So until we finally get to meet and have our souls entwine...............I still love you old man. This one's 4U.
FEAR AND LOATHING IN PITKIN COUNTY
August 18, 2005 - Snowmass Village near Woody Creek - Early Evening
Arrived early afternoon. Long drive, but gorgeous of course, as I do, after all, live in Colorado. You're always hard pressed to find somewhere that does not make you smile in wonderment and awe. I am by myself and have set up base camp at the Snowmass Inn, Rm. 330. It is beautiful here as well, and I have already received several indicators from the Universe that great things will occur during my stay, most notably a huge rainbow sticking straight up out of the valley this evening, seemingly right where the Gonzo cannon is located. You are definitely making your presence known. Rainbows, admittedly, were probably not really your thing when you were here, but maybe you've softened a little since going over. That is, if you didn't go screaming straight to Hades in a hand basket. My plan is to set out tomorrow for Woody Creek, in the hopes of finding a spot I can hike back into the woods and watch everything from the hill behind Owl Farm. I'm readily equipped with digital camera binoculars, blanket, water, compass, rain gear, flashlight, hiking boots, hat, sunscreen, snacks, and my bottle of Chivas. Wish me luck, I'll keep you posted.
August 19, 2005 - Morning.
I awoke this morning, incredulous. Incredulous first of all that I had even slept, what with the elephants that arrived overhead at 2 a.m. and then proceeded to party until 4. And then incredulous secondly as I lay there and recalled, in vivid detail, the dream I had just had. All of these months that you have been gone and I have grieved, not one single dream of you had come to me. Until now. You had come to see me last night. I wept and thanked you out loud. You were so sweet, you were trying to protect me from something. As you turned toward my aggressor, your eyes turned black and intense, your irises disappearing the way a creatures' does in a horror flick when it is about to unleash on your ass. I said to myself (in the dream), "The next time I see him I am going to kiss him right on the lips". And I did. You walked up to me and I laid one on you. I think now you were trying to protect us all from something, and in so doing you took the brunt of it all. Finally your mortal body could take no more and so you left us, figuring it was about damn time we got out there and lived it for ourselves. I pulled myself out of bed and into the shower; I had a busy day ahead of me.
Afternoon
Well, my scouting expedition has basically confirmed beyond a reasonable doubt that there is NO FUCKING WAY anyone is getting anywhere near the launch site. Bob's got his boys all over the place, patrolling the back roads and woods on ATV's. Damn the commie scum! The irony is not lost on me. We're all here to celebrate the life of someone who would have abhorred all of this police presence and oppression of the little people. Then again, we're all here to celebrate the life of someone who would have equally abhorred all of us crawling around Woody Creek like paparazzi bugs, gawking at the locals and selling Hunter memorabilia. We (or at least I) realize that you were intensely private Hunter, but you must forgive us this one trespass, as we forgave you for blowing your brains out when the going got too tough (some of us are still pissed, although not me). We had to come, for it was the only way we could show how much we loved you. And love you I did and do, from that first moment over 30 yrs. ago when my older brother first showed me a copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I remember it still; he pulled it out conspiratorially as if showing me my first porno mag, although this was better as I already had my own forming boobies to contemplate, what did I need to look at anyone else's for? But for its time, it was NOT for the faint hearted, and certainly was not for mere children on the precipice of their own drug-addled youth. Most of the drugs mentioned in the book were beyond my comprehension at the time, but I was still able to grasp the erratic truth and genius of your words at my tender age of 13. You had already lived a lifetime and mine was just beginning.
After scouting in the morning with a Hunter wannabe from Fla. (they were all over, it was sickening and not in the least bit comical or honorable 2U. Instead of getting their own lives and having their own ideas - gasp, what a concept! - they instead have to mimic greatness that they themselves will never aspire to. Ah, well, imitation IS the sincerest form of flattery I suppose, but it still disgusted me) the rest of my day blew me away. It was spent at the Woody Creek Tavern. I walked into the gallery next door first and met the gallery owner, quite a lovely man who treated me like a local and not just a weekend interloper. Then I took a deep breath and entered the tavern; my heart was pounding as if I expected you 2B holding court as usual in the corner by the window. You weren't. The bar was packed to the gills with everyone there for the weekend festivities, laughing, candid, open; the mood not at all somber. It was a true celebration. I glanced to my left and suddenly saw 2 open seats at the bar, one on either side of the waitresses station. Being left-handed, I always choose left, so I quickly jumped onto the bar stool on the left, B4 someone else snatched it. I ordered lunch and a drink, and proceeded to observe and listen to all of the conversation around me. Another person to my left got up and left; I inexplicably moved over. I met Shep and Mary Harris, the owners of WCT, Gaylord Guenin came in and I listened as the wannabe from Fla. interviewed him with a tape recorder stuck in his face. I was surprised that none of the locals seemed offended by our seemingly intrusive presence, and Gaylord answered all of the wannabe's questions and candidly spoke first-hand of you. Ralph Steadman and Ibby (Jimmy Ibbotson, former lead singer of The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band and Hunter's neighbor) were down at the end of the bar as well. My girlfriend Carla, who lives in Aspen but couldn't join me for the festivities, had warned me that Ibby would try to hit on me since I am, after all, stunningly attractive. Sure enough, he spied me and made his way over, asking, "Do you have a match darling?" Not sure if he was joking, and thinking that this was the lamest pickup line I had ever heard, I simply said "No" and didn't initiate any further conversation. Apparently he was used to women falling all over him. I refused 2B one of them. I later kicked myself in the ass, as he could very well have been my ticket into the launch party, or at least gotten me closer by letting me watch it from his house while HE attended the event. Oh well. Sometimes I'm STILL not very good at using my feminine wiles to get what I want.
Ralph Steadman then walked back into the bar with a couple of large whiteboards in his hands. He presented Shep with 2 original drawings that he had recently completed for the ceremony. I was witnessing history, and I knew it. A woman immediately walked up to Shep and wanted to buy them; he and everyone else around us looked at her and grinned that grin you grin when someone is so ignorant that you wonder if they are really serious or just stupid. He politely told her that they weren't for sale, "They're ORIGINALS darling".
A local then plopped down to my right, obviously knowing Shep and Shep knowing him. He ordered lunch and told me when I politely inquired that he was not particularly a fan of yours. "But", he said, "He was in here alot when I came in. In fact, he used to sit right where you are sitting. He liked 2B on this side of the bar." USED TO SIT RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE SITTING. The words banged off the inside of my skull as I took this in and tried hard not to well up in front of this stranger who obviously would not have understood. Now I knew that I had not so much chosen this particular seat as it had been chosen for me. It was as if you had stood up, pulled the chair out for me and whispered, "Sit here honey, take my chair." It was the least you could do since even you couldn't finagle a way for me to attend the ceremony. You were, after all, even being dead, still human. Some things were beyond even YOUR control. Conjuring up an invitation was, for the living, proving 2B impossible. Security was unbelievable, as if the President himself were in town. THAT, you loved, I know. The fact that attending your funeral was hotter than any concert ticket would EVER be.
By this point I had to pee quite badly, but I didn't want to move from my sacred seat - EVER. I asked my new local friend if he would save it for me and he said, "Of course". The restrooms at the WCT are small, and the ladies room was occupied. Seeing a man come out of the men's room, I jumped in and shut the door. Finishing and standing in front of the mirror, I stood there, never wanting to leave, wondering how many times you had occupired this very same space, as well as The Colonel. I was also instantly amused, thinking how I had never considered a men's bathroom 2B a sacred temple B4. I breathed deeply, ignoring the smell of the urinal cake, and enjoyed the moment of being somewhere I knew you both had been.
I returned to my seat but all the magic had swirled and the moment was now gone. It was time to go. I still had work to do. I HAD to find a way across that ridge tomorrow, I just had to.
August 20, 2005 - Day of Launch
Right after breakfast, I hustled to Woody Creek, knowing I had to score a parking spot B4 things got too crazy. The launch was not until tonight and I still had not figured out where I was going 2B, but I knew I had to hang in there all day and just let things unfold and watch and learn. I was prepared; water, food, books, and magazines to keep me occupied. I drove up and down Upper River Rd., looking for a parking spot. The Pitkin commies had already set up cones and police tape all along the road from the tavern on down to Woody Creek Rd. Everything was already getting nuts and I cussed myself for not getting up earlier. Suddenly a guy came running up the road to move his car closer where a spot had just opened up in front of the tavern. Instead of zooming by him and taking his spot, which would, of course, have been rude, I took the spot he had just vacated, up the road from the tavern in the opposite direction where there was no police tape. As soon as I got out of my car, I saw the "No Trespassing" sign. I looked around. There were five other cars parked in the same area alongside the road. If they towed me, they would have to tow them as well. I decided that Sally, my faithful yellow Bug, would have to risk it along with me.
I spent the day alternating between the WCT and Sally, reading in the car all of the local hoopla about you in The Aspen Times, and then walking to the tavern whenever I had to go to the bathroom. The goons were out in full force now, dressed like you, trying to act like you. The Gonzo van parked in front of the tavern, Ibby playing and singing and soaking it all up like it was all for HIM, egotistical basterd. In retrospect, it might have been interesting to hang out at the tavern all day listening to all the drunken war stories about you, but most of them were probably bullshit anyway, as half of these guys weren't even born by the time you had one foot in the grave. I also might have started to drink and I was determined to say fresh and sober in case I ended up going recon. Around 5 p.m., things started to shift. The tension and buzz in the air increased. My spidey sense started tingling - things were happening over the ridge! People started heading up the "No Trespassing" road where I had parked. I ate a sandwich, knowing this would have to sustain me, besides the snacks I had packed, until possibly midnight or later. I gathered my gear and followed the others.
I walked up to where the bike path crossed the road, turned left onto the bike path, and walked to the spot I had scoped out the day B4 as my best vantage point, albeit still some considerable distance from the farm. The Gonzo Tower WAS visible from here, so it was better than nothing and no cops seemed 2B running anyone off - yet. It was still too early, I surmised. They'll let us get all comfortable and then they'll come thru in one fell swoop and arrest us all for trespassing. I sat down and gazed at the tower. It was still cloaked, as it had been since I arrived in town. Others were already gathering along the hill, which bordered a huge stone quarry. High voltage tension wires were directly overhead. I noticed some people moving closer, so I walked over to join them. They were sitting right on The Edge of a huge dropoff, kicking rocks and clumps of dirt down into the quarry. I tried to make conversation, but they were much younger than I, from outside of Boston. I asked if they minded if I sat with them, and while they said no, they sure didn't give me the impression that they wanted me there. I looked at some approaching storm clouds coming down the valley directly in front of us and to the left. I glanced at their clothes. They were clearly not dressed for the ever-changing Colorado weather. Amateurs, I thought. I got out my rain gear and put it on. The temperature dropped and it started to sprinkle. They smiled sheepishly and shivered, knowing they were about to get soaked. Awe inspiring lightning and thunder started putting on a show as it kept encroaching. I looked above me at the buzzing high voltage wires; not a smart place 2B right now, I thought. So when another bunch of even more wasted Hunterites joined us, I had had enough. I pictured one of them pushing me off The Edge "by accident" just to see what it looked like. At the very least, I figured they might get the notion to want to crowd under my nice warm blanket and umbrella with me, or mug me for them. I abruptly stood up, wished them a good night, said, "See ya", muttering "Wouldn't wanna BE ya", under my breath as I walked away. I closed up my umbrella and hunkered down in some nearby tall weeds, trying not 2B seen by the Pitkin Pitbulls that were still watching us from afar on the hillside that I STILL vowed to get to somehow, if they would just move on. I stayed down for about 20 min., until the light rainshower passed. At this point, there was an audible reaction from those that had gathered on the ridge - LOOK! The Tower! As I pushed my cowboy hat further up on my head so I could see, the red cloak was falling away in a silken wave in the breeze - there was the fist! A cheer went up. By now, the buzz in the air was palpable, it was all for real, it was happening! Another couple ten, fifteen minutes went by. The peyote button in the middle of the fist started glowing, pulsating. Another cheer from the crowd. Suddenly I saw the Hunter wannabe from Fla. and three other guys emerge from the brush on the other side of the quarry ridge, much closer than I was . Damn them! I watched, sure that as they got closer, they would be turned away by the cops that had been on the hillside for the last 24 hrs. I swung my binoculars to the hillside. No cops. They had gone! Finally convinced that no one would dare cross the imaginary line they had created by their presence, they must have been needed elsewhere, closer to the farm. With darkness falling and needing every minute of daylight left to see where I was going, it was now or never; time to make my move. I took a quick compass reading so I could find my way back to this exact spot in the dark (thanks Dad BTW, for teaching me how to read a compass) and then I plunged down a small hill to the bottom of the quarry, taking a short cut across. I heard a couple of cheers and whistles from behind me, and someone yelled, "Go Cowgirl!" I grinned a big grin to myself, and without turning around, I gave them the Gonzo fist and kept going. Fucking chicken shit amateurs, I thought. "C'mon! Who's with me? What are you afraid of?" Their weakness gave me strength.
My adrenaline was pumping hard at this point. I was like a sitting duck, out in the open. The sooner I made it into the scrub trees on the opposite ridge, the sooner I could breathe again. I ran the whole way, stumbling and jumping across small chasms in the ridge, the loose dirt falling away from my feet as soon as I touched it, making it tough going. I knew then I wouldn't be able to come back this way in the dark, I would break my ass. I reached the hillside and scrambled quickly up to a flat section in the middle that ran around the hill, almost like a perfect road, except it was beautifully camoflagued by trees and brush. I had made it! Panting, I sat down to rest for a moment and get my bearings. I looked at where I had just come from; I was SO much closer! The people on the far ridge, of whom I had recently been one of, now looked like ants. I was proud of myself. As I turned to go around the hillside out of their sight, I knew exactly where I was and how easy it would be to get back; I would simply follow this natural road back around to the quarry, down the hill to the road, and back to Sally. I hoped she would still be there when I got back. So long suckers! I thought to myself, and away I went.
As I easily made my way around the hillside on the flat terrain, I suddenly heard voices coming from above me. I stopped and crouched. The cops! Wrong. As I listened, a wasted girl with her hapless boyfriend were floundering in the brush above me, having a MUCH harder going of it than I. They had no clue where they were, and as it sounded like they were coming closer to me, I rattled the bushes around me to sound as much as possible like a wild animal coming toward them as I could. She screamed and they immediately headed the other way. Yeah, Search and Rescue would be looking for them later on tonight as they tried to find THEIR way back in the dark.
As it was getting dark and the Gonzo Tower was now less than a quarter of a mile from me, I figured this was as close as I would be able to get without getting arrested. There were homes down the hill in front of me and I knew the owners would be home, probably having parties of their own, and wouldn't take kindly to me crashing. I found a comfortable spot, spread out my blanket, and settled in. There was a road directly below me and the Hunter wannabe from Fla. and his buddies and some other people were down there, making all kinds of conspicuous noise. Suddenly the sound of ATV's broke even louder above the noise they were making: the cops were back! FUCK! I'd come all this way, and now thanks to these assholes they would find us all. The group below me scattered and I took off my hat and flattened myself like a pancake to the ridge on the hill. The cops drove right under me and sat there. They were so close I could hear their scanners, hear them talking to each other. They were DEFINITELY looking for us. I dared not even breathe. Of course, just then my cell phone went off inside my backpack, sounding like a Here I Am! alarm announcing me to the world. Not thinking that I would even have a signal out here in the middle of nowhere, I had neglected to shut it off. I lunged for it like a desperate, crazy person and pushed the silence button, any button, to make it shut up. It shut up. I lay there, breathing heavily, my heart feeling as if it was about to come out of my throat, sure that any moment now I would hear, "You up there! We know you're up there! Come out with your hands up!" The next sound I heard was of them driving away. I rejoiced and soon figured out that there was no way they could have heard my cell phone over the engines of the ATV's and their scanners. It was now dark and that was the last I would see of them; they had made their last run of the night. I saw the noisy assholes move even closer, out of my sightline over the final hill to the right of me. I silently wished them luck and briefly chastised myself for not going on, but I knew I would waste precious time that I didn't have finding another spot and the potential for being seen would be much greater. I would never know if they made it or got caught.
I checked my cell phone to see who had called: Carla! I had left her a message earlier, telling her I was going for it and I would call her when I was out and back at the tavern. Her message back to me was one of worry and a "you're an idiot, do you know what the hell you're doing" kind of concern in her voice. Since I had a very strong signal where I was, I called her back. She didn't come right out and say it, but since Carla works for Aspen Search and Rescue and rountinely pulls stupid dead people out of avalanches, she pretty much DID think I was an idiot to be out there all by myself. I kept trying to reassure her that I was perfectly fine, but instead of being happy for me, all she seemed concerned about was my laundry. I kept thinking I was hearing her wrong, that suddenly we had a bad connection. It sounded like she was asking me, "Do you have any dirty clothes back at your hotel room?" and I kept saying, "What?" and she kept saying the same thing over and over until I said, "Carla, you're not making any sense; it sounds like you're asking me if I have any dirty clothes back at my hotel" and she said, "That IS what I'm asking you" and I said, "What the hell do you want to know THAT for? What does that have to do with anything?" And she said, "Because, if you get lost I can go to your room and get some of your clothes that have your scent on them and then the dogs can find you." (Carla owns two VERY well trained search and rescue dogs, Cassidy and Casey Jones). "Oh Good God, Carla; look. I have a backpack with me with everything I need, I have my cell phone with me that obviously works, I'm in view of houses all around me. I even have a compass with me; do you want my exact compass reading?" Silence. She was finally convinced that I was no amateur. She wished me luck, congratulations, and told me to call her when I was back at the hotel, we'd have breakfast tomorrow morning.
It was now 8:00. I settled back down, never taking my eyes off the tower. I was close enough to hear music and loud conversation emanating from the farm. I needed to keep my digital camera binoculars as still and stable as I could without a tripod in order to get any good pictures, so I worked various methods in preparation. Why the HELL hadn't I brought my video camera? First mistake. As I pulled my water bottle out to take a swig, I dismayed. There wasn't much left. I would have to ration or else I would soon run out, which was a bummer because I was extremely thirsty. All the running and adrenaline rushes had caused me to drink much more than I anticipated. Second mistake, not bringing enough water.
8:15. The sensation in the air was indescribable, like nothing I have ever experienced. It was heavy, stifling, suffocating, like the calm before a tornado, like a vacuum had sucked all the oxygen away. I felt dizzy and nauseated, like I was surely going to pass out B4 The Big Moment. It was like that scene in War of the Worlds with Tom Cruise where he and his neighbors come out of their houses to watch what they think is a freak electrical storm, but nature is nowhere in sight; something other worldly is about to happen, that's for sure. Something everyone knows they have never seen B4 and will surely never see again. I am breathless, I cannot catch my breath. I am hyperventilating, which I have never done B4. I've GOT to calm down, I tell myself, take it easy.
The sound of drumming suddenly breaks the ominous silence and immediately calms me. The Japanese drummers that I had read about. It was awesome, building to a crescendo and then - NOTHING! They stop abruptly. I crouch, get in position with my digital binoculars. The tower has been lit up since dark with these huge spotlights on either side. There are clouds still hanging overhead from the earlier shower. Then, at 8:46, without any further warning or fanfare, huge fireworks burst and there was a huge collective gasp from the crowd. Then the cannon atop the tower fired, spewing you everywhere. I madly started snapping photos with the binoculars, alternating between wanting to just stand there and watch, and wanting to capture it all on film. It was over too soon; just then, a huge cheer filled the air from those at both your ceremony and from those of us hiding in the brush. I stood there in stunned silence, in awe, in bewilderment, in ecstasy. I screamed your name out into the night, tears pouring down my face. What an amazing gift we had all just been given. Bubba, you astound and amaze and confuse us all in wonderment and delight, long after you are so-called "gone". Bullshit. There was nothing "gone" about you tonight! You are here with us in full force and glory, commanding all of our attention yet again, our respect, our devotion. My eyes are still so full of the sight that I cannot fully process what I have just witnessed. It was you and The Universe in full orchestra in every way.
I sat down, shaking, and drank the rest of my water B4 I did a face plant in the dirt. I watched how the smoke from the fireworks mingled with the low hanging clouds to form a perfect arc with the spotlights, framing the scene for all eternity in my mind. I was unaware at the time, but these pictures in my mind would be the only ones I would end up with, as the battery cover on my digital binoculars would come loose on the hike back, spilling out the batteries and erasing the camera's memory card. Your final trick on me......fucker.
As I listened to the ensuing celebration and music coming from Owl Farm, I knew there would be nothing left to see and no reason for me to sit there any longer. The Colonel would not hike up to me in the night, find me, and bring me back to the farm to be with him, and you. This night was not 2B the one where we would meet. I would have to wait a little longer. But simply knowing that I had been there, within less than half a mile from you and him and everyone, was enough. I slowly made my way back around the hillside, looking back every few seconds as I left a huge chunk of my heart on that ridge forever.
Descending the hill onto the road leading up to the stone quarry buildings, I encountered another problem. There were these HUGE, blinding lights pointed directly at me, making it impossible to see where I was going. I turned right to escape their glare, only to realize that I was now walking directly towards where I had seen huge pools of water earlier in the evening, at the bottom of huge embankments. Now fearing that I would fall into one of these and make Carla have to come and rescue me, therefore telling me, "I told you so", I turned back to the road and endured the lights, feeling my way forward with my feet, listening to make sure I was still on the road until I got close enough so that the lights disappeared behind another building. Circumventing the pits of water, I now climbed up another embankment and down to the "No Trespassing" road once more. People thronged about, as if a drive-in movie had just let out, or 4th of July fireworks were now over. No one knew from where I had just come; I simply blended in and walked down the road, praying for Sally 2B where I had left her. She was.
I threw my backpack into the back seat, locked her up once more, and headed for the WCT, with only my wallet for a celebratory drink of Chivas (and a big glass of water!). When I walked into the bar, the stars lined up one last time just for me. It was more packed tonight than it had been the day B4. As I turned to my left towards the bar, the TV overhead caught my eye. There was a football game on. This was August, why was football on? Then I realized it wasn't just ANY football game; the Broncos were playing! Pre-season was here. Sheer genius Doc, sheer genius. Of course, it all made sense then in a split-second. Football Season Wasn't Over, it was just beginning again. Your life wasn't over, it will always be with all of us, in everything you did while you were alive. I suddenly felt no sadness whatsoever. It just was what it was; because after all, the ending of one thing is simply the beginning of something else.
Joyous 2B back among civilization, I moved closer to the TV and to the bar so I could order, squeezing in between 2 guys. I asked the guy on my right what the score was, what quarter it was, and who was that at quarterback for the Broncos? He looked at me as if I had just arrived from Mars; a woman interested in football? I could tell from the look on his face that he was absolutely pleasantly astounded! Either that or I had dirt all over my face which I didn't know about since it had been hours since I had seen myself in a mirror. In any case, we proceeded to talk football for the next few minutes until my drink arrived and I prepared to unsqueeze myself from the bar. At this moment, out of the corner of my eye, 2 guys to the left of me got up from their stools as if they were leaving. When I asked them if they were and they said yes, I thought I was going to fall to the floor. There, in the middle of the packed, full house bar, not a seat 2B had, was your seat, the very one I had sat on yesterday. I could literally feel you beside me, your arm around my shoulders, guiding me onto it as you parted the Red Sea of people. I sat down just as my knees buckled, whispered, "Thanks Babe" out loud, and slumped onto the bar, happily exhausted. A tear fell from my cheek into my Chivas. I didn't even care who saw. The local who had been talking football with me and was now seated beside me, gave me a sideways knowing glance, said, "To Hunter", and we clinked glass to beer.
Driving back to the hotel around midnight, I thought alot about divinity. I had just been a part of something much, much bigger than myself and it had felt so good, so right. How I would ever begin to write about this, or if I even could, I had no clue. It would be awhile, for sure.
Today seemed like the right day.
We've come full circle now, my man. After this 1st anniversary of your leaping off The Edge, there will be a 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and on and on for all eternity until someday I will be gone as well. I hate myself for bothering to move all the way to Colorado and then never driving those last 3 hrs. up to Woody Creek to meet you in person when you were alive. You would have liked me, I know, and me...............well I would have gladly bought the ticket to that ride. What a pair we'd been, more trouble than the world and I could have handled.
So fare thee well, Sweet Prince of My Dreams, fare thee well. I promise to always speak my truth and always speak for those who cannot speak for themselves, and 2B the best writer that I am capable of, in your honor. I promise I'll make you proud. See you when I make my leap.
