"Where does time go, its gone away Time was in my side, yesterday So much can change, between then and now where does time go?" It seems that we have crested the peak, and momentum is starting to build on the back side of the mountain. The calendar is nearing completion, but more importantly, the book is quickly moving from random ramblings to a hopefully cohesive unit, so close that I can actually feel it…

I live to tell the story The story of the crate That no matter where you're trapped in life It never is too late Now the ties that used to bind me Define the task that's been assigned me Forget the past that's placed behind me And do the good that I can do. I live to ride cross country On the back of dad's black bike My ramblings? not just physical Sometimes my words…

Dad and I took a break from the tension and unleashed the Charkstream for a dusky ride last night. A full moon was floating over the trees as we carved our way along the roads we usually find ourselves haunting on a night like this, and as usual, we found ourselves out in the river bottoms where Stevie and I were found. Even though Halloween has came and gone, leaving in its wake the aftertaste…

Breaking news at the Casa; peace accords have failed, and Armageddon has officially begun. At 0530 CST, the DMZ was broached by the Red Army(Mia), and an invasion took place of the ancestral lands of two small third world countries(Ajax and Marco). The daunting army of the North(Charlie) lays in wait, marshalling her considerable forces should the battle migrate to her side of the bed. Immediate hostilities commence on the Peninsula of Dad in the…

Dad here; late Sunday morning at the Casa, and no one shows any inclination towards rising and shining. It has finally turned a bit nipply on Arkansas, just in time for Halloween in a few days. The Latino culture has a holiday that also falls during this time, Día de los Muertos, or the Day of the Dead. On the surface, the Day of the Dead might appear to mirror Halloween, but the holidays are…

Dad here; many dreams were unknowingly conceived that dreary, raw, day back in January when we discovered Charlie's crate. Many of them you know about: the sidecar, the motorcycle travel, the first book, but most importantly, providing her a pulpit to spread her message, the story of the crate. As she will be quick to remind me, she tells it much better than I do, but most of you have heard it enough times to…