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Castle Rock [Change Location]

Blog Entry 8 of 9 The Walking Blues
Castle Rock, Colorado is a collision of many strange cultures in the twilit crossroads of the American dream turned nightmare and the old west. At first glance, this quaint little town-gone-city may seem harmless or mundane. Its landscape of wind-born mesas and ridges rises above the western end of the Great Plains like a prologue to the Rocky Mountains, which loom in the west as a reminder of earth's true power over humankind. But we glorified apes make a run at mother nature anyway--like a suburban soccer mom in an SUV heading on a crash course toward a drugstore cowboy driving a diesel pickup the other way (which neither notices because they're on their cell phones). Imagine a guy walking past one of the neon-green pedestrian signs they put in the middle of the crosswalks around town while the scenario written above takes place. He looks past contemporary life's tragedies because he's found something wonderful and beatific in putting one foot in front of the other. He's dressed in hiking boots, shorts, and a T-shirt colored with earth tones. At the last second, this guy sees this head-on collision of cars and cultures coming his way. Will he be crushed between the bumpers of the rich suburbanites, ranchers, and townees of Castle Rock? Or can he jump out of the way in time to experience all the sights, smells, and sounds the underbelly of this town has to offer? That guy is me. This is my blog.

Why the walking blues?


Picture a salt-of-the earth man with dark skin, big eyes, a mustache, and slicked down hair sitting on a stool in a bar with plank floors and chipped walls. He's wearing a pressed white shirt and a bow tie. The inward curve of a steel guitar rests on his leg. The fingers of his right hand strum up and down the instrument's strings while his left hand slides a broken bottleneck up the frets to make a weeping sound. His body jerks, as if possessed, with every stroke. You see he's missing most of his teeth because he opens his mouth wide to sing sad notes. His skin is hard and cracked. By his face, you can tell he's filled with heartache. He moans, "Got up this morning/Feeling around for my shoes/You know I must've had the walking blues." This is my favorite blues man Son House. For years, musicians like him have been my teachers.

Many classic writers and musicians have had the walking blues. Just about every one of Son House's contemporaries had a song about it too. They've all known the secret powers of a good constitutional.

Any kind of exercise helps you ruminate on things you ordinarily wouldn't have time for. The blues goes naturally with walking because both activities allow you to reflect on life and sort your feelings out. This purely American music, however, isn't just about being depressed. Though all blues songs contain sad tones and lyrics, each verse has a turnaround, in which listeners can release or laugh at their own struggles. They can find solace in the ubiquity of suffering and learn to let go of it.

Walking, running, and hiking all have their turnarounds too. When you get to the top of a mountain and look out at all the toy houses and cars dwarfed by the vast landscape below, or when you get to the point where you've been going so long that your mind empties and you forget everything except the pavement moving underneath your feet, you will find peace. Let blues men and women be your teachers too.

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There is nothing like hiking in the mountains unless it is listening to music about it. These boots were made for walking!

This is a great comment. Black people and the blues have added so much to our American culture and our language too. We owe a lot of credit to them.

I think you just put, rather eloquently, why I first pedaled about the west, then ran 5 marathons. 'Tis the journey....... nice blog, James.
Showing 1-3 of 3 comments