Dreamers

Click the “Dreamers” link to see an entertaining video of our travels. A taste of things to come.

I leave the jungle path. A giant snail is almost crushed. His life continues due to a quick shuffle of the feet. I almost trip.

Down the path I continue, looking casually, not afraid of the draping green that might contain a drooping snake. I lie. I am always terrified by the thought.

I reach stairs between the walls and enter their narrow corridor. It’s not dark yet, and I can see the dripping condensation from the AC. It’s filthy on the floor.

A rearranging of goods, waterproof the pack and back. I pull the hood over my eyes, readjust, and squish the helmet over it all. I am a rain man.

The two-wheeled vehicle starts eagerly. I check the tires. Will they slip? I surely hope not.

Stepping aboard I feel the thrill of the daily adventure. Sure, it’s a deathtrap, and I am insane for trusting my life to its old frame. But it’s all part of this adventure.

The hills are visible in the distance, the green misty trees leak their perspiration down. I dive into the city streets, the tears of the clouds pass the smog and end up not clean at all. The streets bleed oil and it’s slick. I keep my wheels pointed straight. Speed is in check.

Past the vendors with their wares. Some, many, I cannot recognize. It’s not the language barrier, it’s the visual confusion. The smells, not all bad, confuse the senses even more. I wonder if I should stop to eat, or to retch.

I wonder why they built a city in the midst of a valley filled with green. A river is now useless due to the smudge of pollution that is squeezed out of the streets. It floods the surrounding scenery and makes it dreary.

I still find it beautiful.

The neon lights up the wet black of the avenue. I am keeping my eyes glued to the front of me. I hit the gas and smile as I see the familiar.

I pull up and squeeze the contraption that bore me here into the not-quite-a-parking-spot. I pull it up and pull off my rain gear. I am as wet from sweat as from the avoided rain. I wonder the point.

Fortunately my favorite table is available. I order an Americano, debate a beer. Take a seat and open the tool that I have been given for getting my work done. I debate not spending time working on my art. But then I think of where I am, all that has been done, and I buckle down, caffeine hands ready.

WRITE.

Chad wrote this while surviving yet another moto ride through the streets of Taipei. It’s a journey, a life… And this is only a blurb.