The song that creeps up in the gullet and won't let go.

Blank included this track on his contribution to our Dirt Worship / Crashfest road trip mix for last summer's drive to Crested Butte. It percolated around in my head for a few months, but last week it climbed out of my unconscious and demanded some attention.

The first verse:

Oh, Lou- I'd like to let you know that I do not feel welcome.
All the birds, the trees, the falling snow:
No, they were not made for me.
And all this is where her heart resides; we met in California
She saw cities, promise reaching through my eyes
And she turned herself away

Well how I curse that western skyline.
And yet I thanked it for my start.
Oh rue, though my dreams did not come true; no, they only came apart.

I thought of Richard Manuel when I first heard this kid's voice.  Our zeitgeist's indie aesthetic--and its turn toward roots rock, Americana, folk, and the like--pleases me no end.

But remembering my own western skyline still screws me up most times.

*     *     *

I joined the Union Pacific Railroad HQ guys this afternoon for 60 minutes of what Brady called "frisky" riding. He and Shim were on 'cross bikes, but they still threw me in the hurt locker. And I hardly took any pulls. But rolling north out of downtown on Florence Blvd. into a stiff headwind really punched through my Thursday ennui, and barreling back along 24th Street toward a rapidly upthrust skyline was a lot of fun. Plus, I was outside. In January. Beats the hell out of climbing on the trainer at 6:00 AM.

Just don't cross wheels with Shim when he's on his 'cross bike; curbs, berms, swatches of grass, trails: he's like a zig-zag dog darting all over them.

I gotta get my 'cross bike. This winter riding stuff's getting fun.