I’ve got one more night in this hotel until we start the next leg of the journey to 20 and up into the mountains and my thoughts return to High Street.

I almost got hit by oncoming traffic like a half dozen times and I do not exaggerate here.  I took this photo of a warning sign about falling rocks and I was like, screw that, beware of the rocks in the heads of the drivers coming down this mountain.

There was one driver who came around a hairpin curve texting and she came within inches of hitting me.  And I swore to the top of my lungs at her.  And then came the voice from up high.  



Shaking, almost pasted against a rock wall in hesitation to continue up this mountain, I looked up and there was this old guy calling out to us.  ‘I saw you on TV’, he said.  ‘I was worried about the dogs’.

‘You and me both’ I thought to myself unsure how to respond or what to say to this godlike figure although his Lebowski-esque attire didn’t fit the whole supreme being image in my head.

‘Is it always this bad on this road?’ I inquired hoping for a hail mary.



Don’t Should Me

‘You should’ve taken 7th Street’, he answered.  I’m a poker player and there’s always a 4th and 5th street bet that you called or should have laid it down but when you’re in a hand, you’re down in it.   And that’s where we were.

Ginger Morgan, the Director of our foundation, taught me that lesson.  There is no ‘should’ in life.  And I thought about that after almost getting killed on High Street.

I thought alot about why.  Why put myself and moreover and more importantly the lives of my boys at risk?


‘Do you need help?’

The old man asked me. ‘No I don’t’, I replied.  And I lead my boys up to the top of the mountain unscathed and untouched.

So many nights on the road I woke up not knowing where we were or when we were.  That same dazed disorientation has descended upon me since Hudson’s diagnosis yesterday. 
But I’m starting to work my way through this mad, miasmic maze to the stone cold stark reality that Hudson has cancer.  
Shit, didn’t I just give a speech about this the other day?  
‘Oh woe is me’ is the pity party we throw ourselves sometimes but it’s absolutely essential. It means that you care enough to take it on 100%.  200%.  1,000%.  I’m not good with math so I’ll stop here.  
I made many mistakes with Murphy’s cancer and they haunt me still but I own them. There are no ‘do overs’ in life.  
There’s only today and tomorrow.   Tomorrow is Day 2.