rainbow

I get on the internet and Ozgun says shes going to kick my ass.  My sister has been worried.  She checked the police station and everybody is worried about me.  I am sorry, I didnt know what I was getting into, and then I was in the forest again.  So here, I present you a story that starts with a quiet city tip and ends with a flood and helicopters.  HAHAHAHA.

Bike Tripping, Day One:
What a life.  I have only a guitar and some pieces of paper to write on.  My bicycle.  A map.  A helmet (for you, mom).  I set out from Firenze and ride hard until the hills come and my legs burn like METAL.  I look around and drink some water.  Somewhere in the hills of italy.  The eyes can see for miles and miles.  Across the valleys full of wine vines and olive trees.  I pump the day away, and push the bike up the biggest hills.  40 kilometers, arent I able?  I come panting into some wine town with only mid and up scale albergi (hotels).  I talk Alessandro down to 40 Euros and crash.  Sleep until the rainy morning.

Bike Tripping, Day Two, the Rainy Morning:
The best thing about going up hills?  Doing 10 kilometers in 5 minutes going down them again.  That is how I got to Sienna early in the morning.  I wandered around and ate bread and olives.  I figured I would leave soon and go to Assisi, which is famous for its Saint of Nature and Love, Francesco.  But on the way out I heard music and there was this tall fellow with bright eyes and a big face playing guitar.  He says do I know about the rainbow gathering.

and then I know why I have come.

So I get on my bike and ride.  To Brenna, 25 kms away, at the end of a road.  It is just a little town, with nobody almost.  I find a clerk, finally, at the only lettered place in town.  A little restaurant with drinks and bread and cheese.  dove e la gente nella bosque?  I stutter my italian.  in tenti? nella bosque, diretto. and she points me into the woods and so I buy cheese and water and go there.  I pedal my bike into the woods, hoping that the rainbow kids of italy will leave a sign.  and then I see it.

and I know why I have come.

a little pile of rocks like we do in America, to mark the road.

and then I hear whistling.  A little army of whistling.  And over a bend in the road are 10 sun browned smilers, laden with bags and tents and poles and crates of food.  They are kicked out of thier first spot, so we set up another.  Stay two nights by the river near the roads end in Brenna.  And then into the deep forest for the time of my life.

Bike Tripping, Giorno Cinque.
The sun is on the river.  I go in and come it.  Cold.  Fresh.  Alive.  The kitchen is setting up.  Pasta for dinner. Music for dinner.  200 people in a field in a circle singing EVERY LITTLE CELL IN MY BODY IS HAPPY and dancing and clapping and kissing each other.  There is more love in this forest, and everyone is smiling.

I want to tell you all about it.  Some time, ask me...

Travis, says Elmir from his wheelchair.  I waan to play some Bluues, man.  Oh yes Elmir, we will.  We must.  The fire blows ash on us, Malin is scatting.  She is on a rock, with a yellow scarf.  Her voice rises and blends with the harmonica, like a bird with a flying saucer.  Lao rocks with her violin, the smoke billows around her.  The sun has come out on the rainy day.  Everything sparkles.  Children are running in italian, and in english.  Lao speaks spanish to everyone who knows italian.  And the languages break down.  We speak kindness to each other.  Someone hands me an orange.  Someone passes a chocolate.  Someone kisses someones cheek for no reason at all.  Someone builds the fire.  Someone carries wood.  Someone crosses the river to get water from the spring that flows from the mountian.  Someone pitches in and goes to the store.  Someone carries in crate full of olive oil.  Everyone laughs and sings.

I am astouned, one afternoon, to find my self in this perfectly normal situation.  Someone hads the Shaman an orange.  The shaman (who is always naked), hides it in his butt, and hops after her, to the great delight of most everyone there.  He then takes it from his butt, and tears into it with his high pitched head'voice.  He throws pieces of orange peel to everyone at the fire, urging them to catch them with their mouth.  When they do, we all cheer.  When he gets to the orange meat, it goes around in a similar way, every one catching a peice, or having it stuck to their head, or chest, or eating off of someone elses head.  He shaman coos and laughs.  The orange is finished, he stoops down and paints a dogs nose.  Blue.

Now you want to hear about the helicopters?

One morning it rained.  We stood, the lot of us, under the kitchen tarps, cooking the pranza and waiting for the rain to stop.  I play guitar, and when the roof is full, I push up on it and the water pours over the edge.  After the rain stops, the river just up an rises 4 meters.  Like that.  The ledge that yesterday was our high dive is under the roaring rapids of this monster river.  We all stand on the edge, sort of stunned a minute, and then run to save the tents and things that are drowned and lost for good.

Two boys are stuck on a rock in the river.  Thats why the helis come.  Two helicopters, ambulance, a boat, forest rangers, caribeneri, officials in blue, and green, and grey, and black.  Watch us do the omming.  Watch us dancing.  Save the kids on the island.  Rainbow for everybody.

Thanks for thinking of me, I am living and well.
In Rome now, back in the land of people and computers.
Circus and psytrance.
I dont know what is weirder,
but I prefer the forest.

T