I had never felt a cosmic connection with someone -- an irresistable force drawing me towards someone as if we had some history of which I was unaware; I had never met KT Labadie.
My time at Ohio Wesleyen University was a blast, all told. The people there welcomed me with an open heart. When it was finally time to go, people thanked ME for staying with them, oddly. I don't think they realize how much their kindness and hospitality meant to me -- how much they rescued me. I got back on the road and camped the night in a little wooded area. I was perhaps less discreet than I had intended, because the next morning a police car came by, notified by the locals, to check me out. The police officer was very friendly and we chatted for a while. He told me stories about a man called Herbert "Funk" Wilson, who used to live in the woods around there. Apparently, people were nervous about him too, at first, but then people got used to him. He let me know I wasn't breaking any laws, but the people around simply wanted to make sure I wasn't dangerous. He was very friendly, and put off his policemanly duties for a while to shoot the breeze with me. He left me with a hearty handshake and drove away. One of the local residents ran across the street to give me some food, and ran away again before I could properly thank her. I think sometimes people are just looking for an excuse to be kind. The next day I biked down to Yellow Springs, Ohio. What a beautiful town! I recommend visiting it and going to the most gorgeous wooded area I've ever found: Glen Helen. Yellow Springs is the home of Antioch college, an extremely liberal school where there is no grading and everyone makes their own program, where it's not unusual to see naked people on swings and running through the trees, and where pot is smoked openly and outdoors, often in the company of the professors. When I called my father from there, I think I was having trouble staying coherent, since there was a bare-breasted -- and very attractive -- woman running around in front of me. I stayed a couple of nights on their couch; No one seemed to mind. What a peculiar place...
Southern Ohio has a brilliant program whereby they turn old railroad tracks into bike trails. It just so happened that one of them came right to Yellow Springs. I followed this beautiful trail down to Xenia, where a kind man named John gave me a wooden train whistle I didn't know what to do with. I got back on the path which took me right to Cincinatti (The only knowledge I'd previously had of Cincinatti was from WKRP in Cincinatti, and really all I remembered was the theme song). I went to the village tavern and saw a really good band. They were more or less playing exclusively for me, as the rest of the bar's population were much more interested in the Karaoke downstairs and in doing "white boy dances", as the band leader told me. I met a professional comedian who amused me for a good part of the evening. I gave him my train whistle and he spent the rest of the night running around and warning people about the train, and, when they had their backs turned, blowing the whistle. He got much more of a kick out of it than I would have. I hung around with the staff after the bar closed. They gave me cake.
The bouncer at the bar, a fellow named Virgil (after his great grand-daddy), took me in for the night, made me breakfast, and drove me across the Ohio River. He was an incredibly nice guy -- and a riot, too -- and even gave me a book to read: Siddartha. My brief experience with Cincinatti was a positive one, despite what people say. So here I am, in God-knows-where, Kentucky, sending my love.
My time at Ohio Wesleyen University was a blast, all told. The people there welcomed me with an open heart. When it was finally time to go, people thanked ME for staying with them, oddly. I don't think they realize how much their kindness and hospitality meant to me -- how much they rescued me. I got back on the road and camped the night in a little wooded area. I was perhaps less discreet than I had intended, because the next morning a police car came by, notified by the locals, to check me out. The police officer was very friendly and we chatted for a while. He told me stories about a man called Herbert "Funk" Wilson, who used to live in the woods around there. Apparently, people were nervous about him too, at first, but then people got used to him. He let me know I wasn't breaking any laws, but the people around simply wanted to make sure I wasn't dangerous. He was very friendly, and put off his policemanly duties for a while to shoot the breeze with me. He left me with a hearty handshake and drove away. One of the local residents ran across the street to give me some food, and ran away again before I could properly thank her. I think sometimes people are just looking for an excuse to be kind. The next day I biked down to Yellow Springs, Ohio. What a beautiful town! I recommend visiting it and going to the most gorgeous wooded area I've ever found: Glen Helen. Yellow Springs is the home of Antioch college, an extremely liberal school where there is no grading and everyone makes their own program, where it's not unusual to see naked people on swings and running through the trees, and where pot is smoked openly and outdoors, often in the company of the professors. When I called my father from there, I think I was having trouble staying coherent, since there was a bare-breasted -- and very attractive -- woman running around in front of me. I stayed a couple of nights on their couch; No one seemed to mind. What a peculiar place...
Southern Ohio has a brilliant program whereby they turn old railroad tracks into bike trails. It just so happened that one of them came right to Yellow Springs. I followed this beautiful trail down to Xenia, where a kind man named John gave me a wooden train whistle I didn't know what to do with. I got back on the path which took me right to Cincinatti (The only knowledge I'd previously had of Cincinatti was from WKRP in Cincinatti, and really all I remembered was the theme song). I went to the village tavern and saw a really good band. They were more or less playing exclusively for me, as the rest of the bar's population were much more interested in the Karaoke downstairs and in doing "white boy dances", as the band leader told me. I met a professional comedian who amused me for a good part of the evening. I gave him my train whistle and he spent the rest of the night running around and warning people about the train, and, when they had their backs turned, blowing the whistle. He got much more of a kick out of it than I would have. I hung around with the staff after the bar closed. They gave me cake.
The bouncer at the bar, a fellow named Virgil (after his great grand-daddy), took me in for the night, made me breakfast, and drove me across the Ohio River. He was an incredibly nice guy -- and a riot, too -- and even gave me a book to read: Siddartha. My brief experience with Cincinatti was a positive one, despite what people say. So here I am, in God-knows-where, Kentucky, sending my love.
