Redemption of a Road Warrior

The most wonderful feeling I had in my life was in the last week of April 1992. I was standing on the open deck of the Kingston-Seattle Ferry crossing Dyes Inlet to the Emerald City.

It was overcast, as the Great Northwest often is that time of year. The wind was whipping my trench coat about which I fancied as the cape of an adventurer. The sea smell of the bay always reminded me of the Seattle water front where Ivar’s Acres of Clams and “Ye Olde Curiosity Shop greeted waterway commuters and weekend tourists from Bremerton.

Why such a wonderful moment? Other then a pedestrian nostalgia of the sea and hometown sentimentality it would have been just that and nothing more.

What set that wonderful moment apart was what I was leaving behind and where I was headed.

I was headed to Alaska, “The Last Frontier”. I was back in a band. Back with my first love, playing my guitar and getting paid to travel. It was going to be my second trip to the great white north. But this time I was going to travel the interior, the Gulf of Alaska, the Al-Can and everywhere in between.

What was I leaving behind? An eleven-year marriage gig that wrecked on treasonous rocks, then a noble attempt to salvage the union by retiring from music and cutting off my waist length hair.

I found that real-life emotional martyrdom was more vainglorious then Hollywood movies and as result I was handed my walking papers.

My penance for surrendering my dreams to save the great institution was on the other end of the spectrum of playing a guitar on the road. I now wore a badge and carried a gun. And part time I was a store dick for a national retail store. Between arresting shoplifters, getting yelled at by bad check writers I found my life had now become devoid of joy, creativity, and spontaneity. I was mired in, handcuffs, paperwork, files, videotapes, and courtroom appearances.

Everyday was confrontational. From chasing the felon who had just shoplifted a $300.00 CD player to arresting a 15-year employee for embezzling, all the way to telling a mother her child couldn’t play on the benches because they could get hurt as cover for my company not wanting to get sued if an injury occurred. I had gone from making people laugh, sing, and dance, to making them angry, cry, and feel shame.

Salvation Came. An old band-mate gave my number to a band in need. To the amazement of my employers and coworkers I walked away and set sail back to chasing my dreams.

As I stood on the Deck of that Ferry, back in 1992, savoring that exciting wind, looking towards a stirring adventure back on the road; as corny as it may sound, I don’t believe I have ever felt so happy and free.