Felton, California, May 25

This is the little cabin I stayed in while in Felton. Turns out I’d been in this area before, a few years ago, played up the road in Ben Loman at a little biker joint. Tonight was at a place called Don Quixotes, a Mexican restaurant attached to a a pretty nice music room. Not many people came out but those that were there were nice to me. I’m starting to wonder if I’m doing something wrong. Again. I don’t know why more people don’t like what I do, but I have to figure it’s something to do with the source, which is me.

When I woke up this morning I started easing my way up toward San Jose to pick up Fats, flying in from Nashville. I drove through beautiful windy redwood roads taking the back way, highway 9, but still got in way too early. Not finding much to do in San Jose I finally just went to the airport and read Bryson’s book about science till Fatty landed. We drove on up to Slim’s, hooked up with Dawn Holliday, who took us to a ball game, Giants vs Dodgers, Dodgers won, we froze our butts San Fran style, but it was fun anyway. Went back to Slims to get our car and saw the tail end of Maria McKee’s set, drove on back to San Jose and now I’m sitting in a motel room by the highway that reeks of smoke and rings of truck tires and grinding gears outside the window. Kieran comes in tomorrow and we’ll nab him and drive down to Carmel Valley. Night.

Back in Nashville, June 1

Never got around to getting back on the typer, as Bukowski used to call it. In fact I’ve been home now for three days and can’t shut everything down long enough to write, which makes me irritable and hard to be around. I just want to get some parts of the rest of the story down before it all washes away like most of the rest of my history.

So anyway, let’s go back to the 26th.....we got Kieran early afternoon, made it into Carmel Valley, which is inland from Carmel-by-the-Sea about, I don’t know, ten miles or so.