More on "GOLD"

Holy Crap Billy Bob, what ya do'n?

When I first went to California there weren't no super hiways like there are today. We went there on Route 66. You know what I'm talk'n bout, a little two lane road what went from like Chicago, or something like that, all the ways to Los Angeles, Ca. That where we were go'n, my Grandpa, uncle and me. We was driv'n a brand spank'n new Nash Ambassador "Upside Down Bathtub" 4 door sedan. What look something like this one.

Gotta tell ya, it were a hell of a ride. It were an adventure for old Billy Bob. We drove through hills, the plains, deserts, over mountains, miles and miles of old wooden oil derricks, little bitty hick towns, big cities and see all kind of old steam and brand spank'n new diesel locomotives trudging along go'n to nowhere.

Stories were told by gramps and uncle of the "old" days. When people crossed the US in covered wagons, cowboys and Indians roamed the deserts. The stories of gold prospectors with their little burros laden with shovels, picks and gold pans. The prospect of striking it rich. I started dream'n...I wanted to do that....and for years that dream never died and still lives today.

Speak'n of dreams, many years ago I were sit'n in the cockpit of my boat, sip'n a cup and think'n. Think'n bout dreams. That's what keeps ya alive if'n ya didn't know it. I thought, "if you let a dream die, you die inside". That what I still think today. Think about it!!!

A few year later, we moved to the desert. You know, where wild animals roam at night look'n for somebody to scare the hell out of. There was lots of coyotes sing'n their tunes, mountain lions on the prowl, snakes slither'n round, big ol' nasty look'n spiders and bugs like ya ain't never see before. Today, most them critters are gone and long forgotten. But not forgotten in the heart of Billy Bob.

When I were a teenager, I was the "wild one". Did things no normal child would do. I went prospecting. Go'n inside them caves and tunnels that the prospectors of years past had dug look'n for gold. How the hell they dig all them holes with nothing but a shovel, pick and a ton of dynamite? I had an old 1927 Buick Roadster what was my prospect'n "burro". Only costed $12 in two easy payments.

It would go anywhere a jeep would go....or so I thought. The old wooden wheels would squeak and rumble when the got loose. But it would go. Many memories surround this old car climbing the mountains in search of anything that might look something like gold.

There were an old prospector what lived up there in the mountains. He was a mean old cuss what didn't like visitors. And he had a gun. It just so happens that the road runs right through his front yard and I was on that road. When I topped the hill all I could see was sky...steep hill...and when I leveled out I was staring this mean old cuss of a prospector in the eye. He was dressed in the usual garb of a freak'n hermit. Long beard, overalls and a big ol' "holy" hat. I just stared at him.....what the hell....is this guy gonna shoot me? He made it very clear that I was trespass'n and he don't cotton to trespassers. We had coffee, what I couldn't stand at the time, shot the breeze and then he sent me back down the hill. Stories go that he was in a few wars with trespassers and the local cops on more than one occasion.

But he weren't the only prospector I ran across in them mountains. They spent their later days living in a dream of strik'n it rich.

That's it for this posting........got things to do ya know.