A traveling, fleeting museum, that's what it is. You never know what you'll get, but you'll get something, and it will be art. It may be art you don't understand. Or it may be not yet art. But you'll get something.

I'm talking about the trains, and I know I'm one of the few who look at the graffiti and say, I wonder what he was trying to say. Sometimes, if it's going slow enough, you can read the words more carefully and enjoy the art that they are packaged in. Most of the graffiti seems to be signatures of some kind, identifying the spray painter.

Oh yes I know it's illegal, and I'm not here to apologize or justify their tresspassing. Or vandalizing, you can say, if you really detest it. It is vandalism; oit's sopmeone else's property, and they're just painting all over it. So no, I'm not here to say that's ok or even legitimate; I wouldn't make a book out of it because that glorifies crime. Do we want a lawless society?

But on the other hand, you have to wait for the train anyway. And it's one kind of art that is out there, right where you'll see it every time. We in Galesburg often have to wait for them, and sometimes they stop right on the road. Or there are two of them, one in each direction. Or two, attached onto each other, same direction. We can lose in lots of ways. And we do.

But all we lose is time, and if there's an art exhibit on right in front of us, maybe that's what we should be doing.

Here's another story about dashing. I'm an author and can write a book; my plan was to write a book about dashing and I even started it. It took off like a murder mystery. There was action, a body, things happening, etc.

Lately I've been in a groove on dashing. I work a few hours each night and it's always pretty lucrative. In fact I get a sense of peace from it, the city streets, the flow of traffic, the rhythms of the city.

Naturally I got a page or two into this book and then stopped. I didn't really have a plan. But also I was kind of bogged down. Lately the issue is really more fiction vs. non-fiction; I just had trouble combining them. Either it was true or not. I'm not really comfortable with half true, half not. Or with careful documenting of the dasher's scene side by side with a murder mystery which let's face it, Galesburg doesn't have that much of.

I've always enjoyed a good murder mystery and to me that's something I could probably write more of, and sink my teeth into, and get all wrapped up in and all. But when I rub too much hard reality into it (and let's face it, dashing is something I know, I get uncomfortable. Am I going to have to explain what's real and what's not, forever? I'd almost rather tell a story that is entirely real, then back off, and say, that's what I know, it sounds like a good story, but I don't know any better, or any more. I'm not comfortable attributing thoughts to real characters; I'm also not comfortable just making up characters and putting them in real environments. If I know the place, it's because I know the people too.

The last few weeks have been great dashing. That's because my absolute reliance on the money has abated a little; in other words, I could probably live without it if I had to. There are times when one has to wait, unexpectedly, for some order that is just taking them a little longer than most. At one point I saw this other dasher, a guy I know or have seen a few times, get very upset over waiting five or ten extra minutes. Dashing does tend to make you impatient when, let's face it, a few minutes aren't going to mean a whole lot in the big picture. But I've found myself lately much more patient; I look at the dining area of the place, knowing full well this is probably the closest I'll get to being here, and take it all in, and let them take as much time as they need. I'd rather the food be hot, and ready, and made to the best they can anyway, just because that makes happier people on the other end.

There was a bit of a crowd downtown the other day. Turns out, I think, that it was Taste of Galesburg, and, knowing what Taste of Chicago was like, I know it was probably good. I actually have taste of Galesburg every day, since I carry all kinds of good-smelling stuff all over the place. And I've gotten a pretty good sense of what is really good and what is just fast food; I've gotten a little more attuned to it. The thing about food is that because we need it every day we tend to forget about the value of its nutrition comparatively. Some of what I deliver is actually slow food, and I have to wait at the place routinely. And I almost never really know or even really pay attention to what exactly they are serving, or what the ingredients are. I get some sense, based on the names, and then on the smell. But basically I just take it where it's going. Through various intersections, through the roundabout, up into various neighborhoods. Lately the weather has been great, though I did get caught in that raging storm. But on a clear cool night, with a sunset, going over some of these railroads or someplace, I'm ok with Galesburg. Even when I'm stopped by a double train.

Broad & Mary

This is kind of a post about the Fourth of July weekend. It would seem difficult to get out of it without some kind of excitement. We went to the fireworks on Thursday night and my basic observation was: the city guys are getting better at it (I'd been in New Mexico for six years, fireworks strictly conntrolled), and, there were private sidewalk exhibitions all over the place, much to the consternation of the dogs I'm sure, but especially on the south side.

Last night, in the evenning, my daughter came downstairs having seen an accident at the corner of Broad and Mary. Wow! Here it is more or less right out my window and I hadn't seen it. The dogs perch themselves on a couch right in front of me but they hadn't gone off either, no dog involved obviously. My daughter however was very animated; she hadn't seen anything like that for a long time.

It seems a guy in a blue truck hit a woman in a newer bright red speed-demon kind of car. She was against the northwest curb as if she had turned left onto Mary from northbound Broad. My wife speculated that he'd been trying to pass her when she turned, but his truck was now facing the other way. They were loading her onto an ambulance. Two firetrucks responded. The road was blocked off. We watched for a while.

My daughter said she thought the woman sounded drunk. This might sound like slander but I've said such things before. Who knows, I didn't hear anyone, but I can tell you that anything is possible. I was doing a lot of door-dashing and noticing the elements of a wild holiday out there, grateful in the evening to be home and to have it behind me. One gets off the road in this kind of holiday.

Which reminds me, one more door-dash fiasco. Another order from Smokin Willies on the Fourth, and the place was closed; I got out of the order. The proprietor comes by in a pickup truck to say it's closed; ok, that doesn't bother me anymore, I got out of it, I'm just sitting here in the shade, enjoying that barbeque smell, trying to decide where to go next. Lots of places including Pizza Ranch seemed to have a system breakdown and plenty of others seemed to have young kids there who just didn't have a clue. Such is the weekend - the people who know what they're doing are long gone, out of there.

Another Railroad Days

Last year, I practically missed the whole thing, holed up in our house as I was and not getting out a whole lot. This year, I was a doordash driver and have a whole different perspective.

From a doordash perspective, it was pretty wild. Restaurants had trouble with the doordash orders, as if being backed up on real customers they just didn't have the attention to handle orders coming at them from another direction. Even places that usually had it together were taking too long. One, Pizze Ranch, didn't even start the pizza until I got there to reminnd them. It was like they had new workers, and all the people who usually know what they are doing were out doing something else. But the worst of all, on Friday night, was Smokin' Willie's, which had moved. I got over to the new place, downtown, and lines were out the door and onto the sidewalk. They just told me, no door dash, fuhgeddaboutit. But I got an order there the following day, and this time they said yes in front, but the guy in back apparently refused. They'd told Door Dash to pause and not take orders while they moved, but somehow the system was taking orders. Maybe the guy in back, who makes all that fantastic barbeque, didn't care what the system did. He said no door dash and he meant it.

All weekend the fair downtown, apparently drunk people around, unusual business, lots of out-of-town license plates, unusual energy in the town.

Anyway a weekend of lost orders, stacked orders, crazy orders, very busy. Lots of business. Toward the end a couple of things rattled me. The first was on a country highway outside of Knoxville going to Gilson to deliver a McDonald's. There was a car and a truck behind me and I knew my cutoff to the left was coming up so I slowed down and put my signal on to turn left. But the truck, way in back, chose that time to pass. I think he was drunk or he would have seen I was turning. Fortunately though I saw him and just didn't turn until he was past.

Next was a little black boy on a bicycle who shot out in front of me as a woman was passing me on Main Street. She was actually much closer to hitting him than I was, since she had about a foot or two on me when it happened. But she missed him by only a matter of inches. Scary.

The last thing, late at night, pitch black out, you come up from the south on Seminary and there are two sets of railroad tracks crossing the road in different directions. First was fine, second had red lights. I slowed down and looked both ways for a train, saw nothing, just the red lights. I figured the tracks would cross the road normally and I just didn't see anything, so I crossed.

The train was close, going slowly, but coming at me from the front, like from downtown. He laid into his horn. He didn't like me crossing like that, right in front of him, and he let me know it. OK fair enough. I hadn't seen him. I was lucky. His wailing angry horn filled up the night and I went home. That was Railroad Days, Galesburg's festival.

Classic towns

Town just got a lot quieter with the leaving of the Knox students and school letting out and all. It's very hot anyway and I think a whole lot of people just head out to some lake or another.

One of my dashes headed out from HyVee and onto 30 toward Wataga, but then cut down through various turns and bends all the way down to Lake Dahinda. It was a fine display of rural Illinois countryside, flat farm fields with a few wooded bends and hills, until we got to the lake which was filling up, presumably partly with Galesburgers fleeing the heat. She pointed out the sound of the cicadas which was a big deal for me; I haven't really heard them in Galesburg, and thought I heard them only once before. They had them out there for sure. My hearing is so weak these days, everything so amplified by my hearing aids, that I can hardly tell normal sounds from the others.

The day before, I'd been lost deep in the south side of Chicago. It wasn't so much scary as just endless, block after block of city, with busy traffic and things happening everywhere. It occurred to me while driving through farm country that this was like just the opposite, as far as what we have in Illinois, and maybe Galesburg is kind of in the middle between those two extremes. A city of sorts, but a very rural, quiet, scenic city not far from these lakes.

The same day, oddly, I got two dashes on the same street in Knoxville. I like Knoxville and consider it to be a classic kind of town much like Galesburg, only half again as small and toward the rural end of the spectrum. The only things that don't count on this spectrum are places like Naperville which really are just part of Chicago. Chicago is so huge!

Another lake I like, besides Lake Story and Dahinda, is Bracken. Now that one needs a bit of a name change to lighten it up, I think, but it's got some things going for it. One, totally wooded in spite of being out in the middle of the cornfields. Two, being only four or five miles from town. But I'm suspicious: with a name like that, can you actually swim in it? Is it real water that is cool enough to cool off on?

The memories of the south side of Chicago are still on my mind. That, and nightmare traffic in and out of Gary. Gary itself wasn't that bad, all black, yes, obviously a little poor, and lots of people about who were not working. That wasn't a problem for me except that I kept getting lost. And a little unsettled feeling comes to me when I don't know where I am.

It never happens in Galesburg. Even on those way back roads, way out in the country, I knew that if necessary I could stand on my car, or on any nearby fencepost, and probably see Galesburg. You get to know the backroads eventually just like the city streets. They may not all be in great shape, but at least most of them go where you think they would go.

OK here's another wild dashing story. It happened actually on South Chambers Street, in the heart of the south side, but I don't want to give too much away. Again, I don't really blame the police. They were just doing their job.

Late at night, about ten thirty, and I come around South Chambers with an order from Taco Bell. The house has a lot of bushes in front of it and I can't see the address, and I hesitate. The house is on the left and I pull over to the left side of the road so I can see better, and I'm not parked, but I'm looking at my app to confirm that this is the right house before I get out and deliver the order.

As I'm looking at the app a police car pulls right up beside me and shines a huge light right into the car. I'm kind of shocked but not alarmed, in fact it takes me a few minutes to figure out what's going on, I'm so absorbed in the app.

There was a little police action up the street a ways, another car or two with their lights on, and my guess is, he was going there. He, or she, or they. They apparently didn't see much in my car, except for the Taco Bell, and just kept on going. Wrong guy. He left me to deliver the order basically.

I said something to the guy I was delivering to about how Dasher is always asking me if I feel safe. Good question. This kind of delivery is apparently not the safest job there is. I can look at the policeman as basically watching out for my safety too. Maybe I should park on the right side of the road.

It could have been a lot worse. I think he had a lot better things to do, either that or he just wanted to say hello.