PORTLAND 1980: HOW TO SETTLE IN A NEW TOWN

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One song stuck with me on the bus ride from NYC to Portland 1980: The second verse of Lodi, by Creedence Clearwater:

Yes, a bus ride from from east coast to west coast, a three day bus ride. By the time I showed up in Portland 1980 I was riding a Trailways bus, switching from Greyhound in Utah.

If you’ve never ridden a bus with strangers for three days, you’re in luck here. Three days creates a community of sharing, though no one enjoyed sharing the smell once the guy two rows away took off his shoes.

One young woman hauled out her guitar and we all did a sing along. Strangers all became friends in song. If you’ve ever been embarrassed about your singing voice, take a long bus ride and sing to strangers you’ll never see again. They won’t mind, and if they do, they’ll complain to other strangers who don’t care.

Good voice or bad, let ‘er rip.

If you don’t know words to the song being sung, hum along as a back-up singer, like a Pip for Gladys Knight. If she had played Tiny Dancer we could have been Almost Famous.

Instead, I was traveling on more of a breakeven deal, where you learn nothing breaks even, especially a heart.

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
‘Cause she’s moved on while I’m still grieving
And when a heart breaks no it don’t break even

It took three days on the road to figure out why the women I knew always moved on. Could it be my voice? My hair? My face? Or could it be bird dogging sons of bitches stepping into my relationships and scooping up on my girls?

It was a reoccurring theme on both coasts. By the time I got off the bus I knew what I had to do in Portland 1980: Find my own dance partner and hold her close.

She doesn’t have to be tiny.

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