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The Man On The Mountain, An Ann Carr Challenge

Updated on October 28, 2017
Ericdierker profile image

Holding degrees in philosophy and Law. Formal studies or certificates or degrees in business, theology, insurance and security. Ex-preacher.

Life is Just Fine

Thank goodness for my travels or perhaps my children would be different.
Thank goodness for my travels or perhaps my children would be different. | Source

Getting Acquainted With Being On The Road

1972, My elder brother was dodging the draft with our honorary cousin Scott. Badass motorcycles near Berlin way before the wall came down. We tried to catch them on the communist side but they were arrested and in Moscow. My sisters and I were doing Europe on five bucks a day. Addy and Laura. I was just 14 but only along because anywhere you went in those days a man still held sway. Hell it worked so no arguments here. Except for those Italiano workers near the Colosium – but that is another story.

I come from a small town about 150 miles from a large town. It sits at 7,000 feet. And I had studied Castilian Spanish in school and German was often spoken in my home. Italian was what I had studied on my own. My sisters were fluent in German.

My African American buddies seemed set on losing the Cajun accent, but I embraced and therefor some French. We were set. Until I met a Black man speaking Cockney. It was absolutely strange to me. But please remember this for later.

We landed at Heathrow and were set to spend some cash on the Underground to get us about 5 blocks from Piccadilly at a bed and breakfast type place. Our first of several splurges on our trip with our Eurail passes.

Did I mention that my passport had my age xxx7 they did not cross the 7 in those days on US Passports so I was twenty at 5’11 and a mustache. Bars and girls opened up for me like a candy shop for an 8 year old. Do not get me wrong. I started young as the youngest of 6. That many kids and mom let my sisters raise me. And I already worked out and had pecks the size of your throat. Football and skiing, Ok, soccer and wrestling and basketball. My thighs were larger in circumference than my tummy. Mom thought I was a freak.

No big deal as I had already been fighting Navajos who thought fighting and bleeding was fun.

Here is a cool one about coal. Back in them there days women wore nylons. Really nylon panty hose. We ate a cheese and jam and croissant breakfast with awesome black tea with milk. So English and so good. Not a thing like it back home Wacka Wacka I was already adapting. Forget jet lag we were all in baby.

We stepped out the door and all the sudden there was a like ping ping sound. The acid rain made my sisters nylons frazzle and bust. In the early 70’s London had so much coal burning Acid Rain that it melted the nylons. Welcome to the UK.

The palace and the gardens made us happy.

But it was out to South Sussex the next day.

Maybe I did not sing quite right to this song. But my danged sisters made me lead.

From Paris to Saigon

My poor wife. She married a rolling stone.
My poor wife. She married a rolling stone. | Source

A long Tale

Same Cockney talking Rail way ramp way dude. And out of Victoria Station we headed south. Sorry but I do not like cities so much. My sister assured me that where we headed was far finer than Dover which we later did see on our ferry to France. We were half way there when an ID was required. Mine was missing, so I jumped the train and caught the next one back to Victoria station when the black cockney man had my passport some 10$ and I was back on my way to Sussex station. There is no doubt the man had copped it. I could of taken him with an elbow to his nose and a kick to his groin. I am a dog fighter and have not lost a brawl since 1972. My five broken noses attest. I have always loved a fight. But not so smart in London as a child. My sisters had warned me.

What the heck I woke up in a back water town in South Sussex. I grabbed my bag and just took a 5 hour nap right next to the station. Now that bag was not a knapsack. It was a full on 50 pound backpack. It held my life in it. My sisters found me on the train platform and off into the day we went. Foggy and rainy the day was. My sister chatted up a Lory driver and he took us all the way to our Long Man of Wilmington situated on the South Downs destination. My sister Addy and I were kind of wondering what the heck we were doing there. We were headed to Edenborough next and that was far away in the other direction. What had our sister gotten us into?

Late night and we just hid behind some bush rolled out bedrolls and slept until the land owner rousted us from our slumber with two Wolfhounds, God they were huge. Quite fun really has he herded us like sheep back to his cottage and his fine lady made a fuss of us with showers and a healthy porridge. I think they liked my wool lined denim jacket and Stetson cowboy hat. We swapped for a Chapeau. I had arrived. Laura busted out her guitar and we sang songs like Johnny Boy, Green Tambourine, Blowin in The Wind and Sweet Violets. My eldest the lead Addy the harmony and me a base baritone holding beat to my sister’s 8 string. Or me the verbal drums, Addy the sweet angel and Laura to break any man’s heart or maybe just melt it.

A horse drawn wagon ride was offered but my eldest sister would have none of it. They settled on a map, including what land owners were harsh and off we went in the dew and fog that were nearly the same. My goodness gracious it was green or white with no in-between.

My old Basque leather hiking boots did well but my sister soon grew weary as their shoes were drenched and we all seemed to get swamp butt.

And there we were my eldest sister redeemed. A Navajo Indian white sculpture on the side of a mountain. OK and alright that was just my point of reference. For sure it was from the same group that did Stone Hedge. But then again wrong.

I am near 50 years older now and am quite sure that the sculpture is mystical and laid by a constant sorrow, of years gone by. What the heck was it that made me morose when I saw it? Why did I not just stand in awe.

The answer is now blowing in the wind. For my sister turned over a few stones thereby and they had Celtic writing and were clearly grave stones knocked over. We had violated sacred ground and their God’s knew it. But we did so in reverence and to this day all our lives are blessed.

Be careful what stone you turn.

Maybe That is Just My Life

A Good Buddy Of Mine

Sometimes friends are venomous but they do not bite you.
Sometimes friends are venomous but they do not bite you. | Source

Comments

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    • Ericdierker profile imageAUTHOR

      Eric Dierker 

      12 months ago from Spring Valley, CA. U.S.A.

      Chris you have been an inspiration. My stuff is like some of yours, born of imagination from real. We need not shake literal hands. You have already given me yours as a hand up.

      Blessings

    • cam8510 profile image

      Chris Mills 

      12 months ago from Flagstaff, AZ

      Eric, those are some fun and memorable experiences. Within the next two years, I'll be heading that direction myself. But I doubt I'll have the tales to tell that you do. Thanks for sharing.

    • Ericdierker profile imageAUTHOR

      Eric Dierker 

      12 months ago from Spring Valley, CA. U.S.A.

      Bill with few exceptions the story is real. I just can't write a good fiction but I can embellish well like my dad taught me.

    • lifegate profile image

      William Kovacic 

      12 months ago from Pleasant Gap, PA

      Interesting stuff, Eric. You have a way with your story - and just so you know, I like the snake Pic!

    • Ericdierker profile imageAUTHOR

      Eric Dierker 

      12 months ago from Spring Valley, CA. U.S.A.

      Aye Linda we had a no electronics retreat, just the five of us. I was for sure the odd man out. I love to walk 100 feet behind. I wish not to interfere for it is better they love themselves and not me.

    • Carb Diva profile image

      Linda Lum 

      12 months ago from Washington State, USA

      Eric, your stories are fascinating. I swear you've lived more than a dozen other people put together. I would love to meet your mother. She must be cut out of a totally different cloth than I. I can't imagine letting my baby do the things you did. (OK, so some of it she probably didn't know, but backpacking through Europe?). Wowza! Great story.

    • annart profile image

      Ann Carr 

      12 months ago from SW England

      That sounds like a story that must be told!

    • Ericdierker profile imageAUTHOR

      Eric Dierker 

      12 months ago from Spring Valley, CA. U.S.A.

      Take it easy Clive. We call that a black meat rattler. The creek it comes out of just stinks and is yucky. You slice that baby down the belly and it smells putrid steak.

      Better a reddish one in the desert highlands.

    • Ericdierker profile imageAUTHOR

      Eric Dierker 

      12 months ago from Spring Valley, CA. U.S.A.

      Agreed Ann. Grave yards can consume your time. There was one outside of Bergen Norway ( Bjørgvin) That will merit a story of it's own. It was where my sisters said git out of here. And I landed in the Arctic circle where the sun never set.

      Dang I did it again, I talk way to much.

    • clivewilliams profile image

      Clive Williams 

      12 months ago from Jamaica

      That snake looks yummy. Nice write.

    • annart profile image

      Ann Carr 

      12 months ago from SW England

      Not at all, Eric! I love the Isle of Wight - used to spend holidays in Lymington and go over on the ferry with my parents when I was about 8-10. It seems it has stayed in the 50s! (apologies to any of you on the IoW)

      Canterbury is lovely, as is all of the south coast. Graveyards are brilliant for family trees but can absorb an awful lot of time!

      Ann

    • Ericdierker profile imageAUTHOR

      Eric Dierker 

      12 months ago from Spring Valley, CA. U.S.A.

      There is some fog from time. I think we spent the most time in Canterbury. But we did the whole Southern shore of England. My sisters loved grave yards. They just give you such a story, stories.

      For me, if you do not like the Isle of White you are a dognose.

      Oops, I am like one of those boring uncles that tells too long of story.

    • annart profile image

      Ann Carr 

      12 months ago from SW England

      So does that mean you've been to Sussex or maybe just London, Eric?

    • billybuc profile image

      Bill Holland 

      12 months ago from Olympia, WA

      "On the Road" With Eric Dierker. I can see a travelogue by that name....like you and Steinbeck, with Charley, seeing the sites. Great story....at the end of the day, our memories help to keep us warm. :)

    • Ericdierker profile imageAUTHOR

      Eric Dierker 

      12 months ago from Spring Valley, CA. U.S.A.

      Thank you Ann. You are always a great encourager. Just between you and me, the story is about 80% true.

    • annart profile image

      Ann Carr 

      12 months ago from SW England

      Well, Eric, this is a good travelling tale! It is strange how an ancient carving or picture can make you feel as it evokes history and strange times.

      I could imagine this young boy trailing behind his sisters but self-sufficient when need be! There probably was some connection to Stone Henge - all to do with lay lines and such.

      Thank you for taking the time to create such a great response to my challenge, Eric. I'll add your link to the challenge hub.

      Ann

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