Let me hip you

You may think I am in your inbox--but actually I'm in Albuquerque, brought to you from a modest hotel room where the midnight oil burns beside the wireless broadband cable converter. When I was last in this town, it was 1969 and we had my grandmother (and a tent trailer) in tow. A canoe on top, bikes strapped fore and aft, and half our worldly goods to act as air bags. The only laptop device was the food tray from the A&W drive-in. It was the summer of Woodstock and landing on the moon, but I just couldn't talk grandma into a Haight-Ashbury detour. We did the national park thing instead. Albuquerque was dusty and only two stories tall. I was old enough wear my girlfriend's love beads, but young enough to only wear them when my parents were out of sight. It's 35 years later, and next week I will finally make it to California. Peace baby.