Tour

Dozens of glass doors, each with a snack inside, sealed with the once miracle clear-plastic. I remember that. No meals really anywhere. Eat on the run. So let me back into the arena. And who is watching ? Does anyone care ? I don't see a soul. Where am I going now ? Not a clue. There was something ahead, always something ahead. It is the land of Wherenot in not-now. It is Whatisnotasam. I am what I will make myself. And what will that be ? If I knew that I would be ready-made. To make myself I must be not. I must tour the Whatnot. The Wherenot is before me and I winnow through, and it will determine my being.

From Vienna I went south-west through Leoben, north-west to Salzburg, then south-west to Innsbruck. Then straight south to Bolzano, Trento, over to Vicenza, then Padova to Venice. I had to travel the high country mountains. There was one or two rain-at-nights, and I woke in the morning with ice on my plastic rain cover. This ice was a first. Apparently it was getting into the twenties. I actually got a little-cold at night in my sleeping bag. That was a first as well. Of course I had a rule that didn't help there. I always slept in nothing but my underwear, shorts and T-shirt. I adopted this standard because I didn't want to start sleeping in my clothes. I didn't want my dirty outdoor clothes in my sleeping bag. We have to have boundaries.

Ship-shape. It was like never sleep with your socks on. My father lectured me on that one, and took my socks off himself roughly one summer night. Bad for your feet he said, the dampness and smell. And so from then on I slept without socks. That army feather-down sleeping bag was pretty good.

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