What do you do when you are loaded up for a mountain bike ride, and rain clouds move in. Stop in at Sacred Grounds coffee for a bit and let it pour. There are a few people that have lived on the past that intrigue me. Amongst these are, Ernest Hemingway. And another is Charels Lindbergh. I believe it is because they both had a adventurous streak running through them that propelled their lives in different aspects of travel and intriguing adventures. That streak also runs through myself. Another reason that these two guys hold a place in my imagination is because of circumstances that linked me briefly with concrete interaction with their lives. Of the adventurer and writer Ernest Hemingway, I, on one one of my frequent trips to the beach and the underwater world of the island of Key West Florida that I lived, ran into a small group of old sun weathered guys hanging together on the sand catching some sun. Actually they seemed a bit ancient, as I was only 24. We struck up a conversation that lead to their intriguing stories of hanging with Hemingway, back in the day when Hemingway Lived, fished, and wrote on Key West. Like I said , Ancient guys. If you have ever had the privilege to be in Key West, you probably have been caught up in the tradition of going down to the Pier, and watching the nightly sunset. Hundreds come to watch the sun sink into tomorrow and to enjoy jugglers, tightrope walkers, food, fire eaters, and to just view the unique personalities that a Cuban, Pirate, Jamaican, escape from society, ocean treasure finding, Fishing Diving, water sports, Island can breed. Its a study in micro evolution. A contained arena where the interaction of all this can make quite an interesting Gumbo. It wasnt always like this down at the pier. There was a day where just a few of the ancient guys would gather together for the nightly light show. The ancient guys, Ernest Himself, and back then another now recognizable figure... Tennessee Williams. The ancient guys told me that Mr. Hemingway would stand up and give a rousing applauded after each Fiery sunset. So the nightly tradition grew. With others joining. Till now it has become quite the nightly carnival. I myself spent countless hours mesmerized by the changing light show before me while legs dangling off the pier with of course, a fishing pole in my hand. Being touched by Hemingway vicariously through the ancient guys added a vibrant dimension to my nightly fishing excursions that still holds me in intrigue of the Man Ernest Hemingway. Years later, on another Island, in another Gumbo, while cruising through and hiking into the jungles of Maui. I heard that Charles Lindberghs Bones ( at least bones now. Im sure He was planted bones and all at one time .) are buried off some small jungle road near kipahulu. This immediately sparked the explorer in me. And, the intriguing question of.,. What is the bones of a world renown folklore of a person doing out here rotting in the jungle, instead of under a large granite monument in a important public place where thousands of people pay the 10 bucks to view it. Looking back, I believe it took me a few trips down dead end jungle roads to actually find the place. There is no sign that says Charles Lindbergh bones, rotting down this road in one mile. I finally found the road and came around a curve to a dead end where a small Historical Hawaiian church sat near two hundred foot cliffs that dropped into endless blue ocean. Scouting the grounds behind the jungle church was a small cemetery with the remains and small headstones of past local folks who lived their lives and called this area their home. Now I was expecting the largest headstone to be Lindberghs, but I found He resides under a modest square piece of granite laid flat on the ground. Charles Lindbergh. I had a hard time wrapping my head around that here he is. At least His Bones. Out in the jungle. Im the only one standing there. No throngs of people such as in places like Lincolns tomb, or other history making people. Charles. The Adventurer, The one who flew across the Atlantic solo. Against the odds of many who didnt think this was possible at that time. And here he is. From then on, He captured my intrigue. My quest to hear his story. Im thinking I someday whatever my story holds, would like my bones to be rotting out here on the jungle side. Or in a place where if someone comes across a headstone, or two stick crossed together, in some odd place, that intrigue would rise up in them And they would find a story worthy of exploring. a grave in the jungle.... my vicarious connection with Charles Lindbergh. So, zooming ahead to my stalled out bike ride. While I was waiting for my medium extra hot latte, I wondered over to a small book rack for the enjoyment of people that loved a brief encounter of turning pages while sipping their coffee. There I spied Charles face on a thick Hardback. I took it before anyone one else could. As if Charles had an intrigue for them also, and sat down to coffee and started to turn pages. I was caught at the first page. This was way to much of a great read for the the time it took to down a latte. I approached the owner to try and charm her into allowing this stranger an extended read, to take it home. I think she saw that I really really wanted to read this book and against policy, it disappeared into my backpack. I never did get any mud on the tires of my bike that day because the weather blocked me. But, once again one of the intriguing figures that I enjoy delving into their lives, came out of the grave I stood over years ago, on to the pages of a book, and is becoming a living person in the mind of my imagination once again.....
Posted on: Sun, 10 Aug 2014 22:28:51 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015