I've been home for almost a week. Still trying to process the events of the last 100 days. Fairly safe to say I didn't foresee being abducted by the F.B.I. when I started my 50 state bar tour. Nor did I anticipate being held in an empty white room for days on end. Or jumping from buildings, only to be knocked out - yet again - and interrogated by guys straight from the set of Men In Black. Seriously poor planning on my part. Obviously I should have anticipated being drugged, kidnapped and mistaken for a spy. Happens all the time, right?

With respect to the 50 state bar tour, I only made it through six or seven states before getting hit in the noggin. So I'm chalking up this adventure as having reached an unfortunate conclusion. A bit of an understatement, but why cry over spilled milk as they say. I may shed a tear over spilled bourbon however, but why belabor the point. The dozen or so bars I visited were a mix of howling blues and shit kicking fun. As always I met a few memorable characters that will hang in my memory for years to come. People that I enjoyed having a drink with, a few that I couldn't get out the door fast enough to avoid and every type of Tom, Dick and Sally in between. That's the beauty of an adventurous soul.

This photo was taken the night before I arrived in Vegas. When I asked Barb about the significance of her tattoos she said, "Obviously they represent peace." In that moment I knew I should just be quiet.

So what's next for The Bearded Man? I'm not sure, but I know I have to get back on the road pretty soon. For now, I'm going to lay low and hope some guy in a dark suit, brown shoes and a bad haircut doesn't come strolling up the road. These days I keep looking over my shoulder, thinking a hand is about to reach around and cover my mouth. It's a bit unsettling, but will eventually fade away, only to be found as an occasional tickle in the stilted corners of my mind. In short...I'll be fine. By the way, tomorrow is my birthday and I need a new pair of jeans.

Home