I'm home.
In Alpine, Texas, at Railroad Blues, Excalibur got crucified. At midnight, after the show, Bill and I stepped out into the glow of a small nearby bonfire and saw this rustic wooden cross fastened firmly to the Blue Stallion's grill.
Pranksters or missionaries?, we wondered.
On the rear bumper was a Railroad Blues sticker. Both remain. The cross, like the cowboy, like the constitution, like the coathanger, is a symbol that means many different things to different people, so its intended meaning is often puzzling.
My brain might be too small to wrap around matters like these, but somehow I felt safer driving those long stretches of drunken highway with the cross in front. In the moonlight la cruz glowed like a skull. (Unfortunately it didn't ward off the Oregon werecop.) A gas station attendant in Yuma, AZ, saw the wooden thing and made this comment to Bill and me: "Always travel with God in front. Not behind. Vaya con Dios, amigos."
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