Chapter 1

Where my time went for nine years of Saturday and Sunday.

A mostly true story.

I flew from Montana to Knoxville, Tennessee. 1998. Early Spring. Just in time for Ostara. Mid March (19th through 22nd.) I’d met a woman on the internet and my boss said, “Only one way to find out if she means it. You’re flying out out of Belgrade on the 15th on Delta. Here’s your ticket. You change planes in Salt Lake and Atlanta. See ya.”

That airplane had a Communications Failure. We sat on the runway for two hours while they tried to fix it. We have now lost our connection. A replacement aircraft was dispatched from Salt Lake.

That aircraft suffered an engine fire and had to return to Salt Lake. We are now 6 hours late. This isn’t just me ... there were 78 passengers.

A non-stop from Seattle-Tacoma to Minneapolis-St. Paul had a few empty seats so it was diverted to Bozeman ... the few seats didn’t include me.

Seven and a half hours.

Eight hours.

YEA! Bozeman to Minneapolis “There will be attendants to see you make your connection.”

There weren’t.

Pr0fuse apologies.

9 hours. I am now going to Milwaukee, Chicago, Atlanta ... on the same plane. No possibilities of getting lost at the airport. They wouldn’t let any of us off.

Connections to Knoxville to be made in Atlanta.

The flight to Milwaukee was Delayed.

While we were siting on the runway waiting our turn an incident involving a gang and assorted alphabet soup agencies ... a firefight ... kept us grounded for a few hours.

12 hours late.

Chicago was closed due to lightning in the area. Thirteen hours.

Chicago to Atlanta ... OnTime.

Atlanta to Knoxville... 13 hours late. There was no one to meet me.

I called.

“I’m here.”

“Here?”

“McGee Tyson.”

After a night of strenuous activity we loaded my stuff in her car and drove to considerably west of Macon, but still in Georgia, to a sacred grove and an Ostara celebration. We hand fasted for a year and a day. Then I went back to Bozeman ... by bus. I gathered up my belongings, loaded my 18 foot tipi and my 12 foot Baker leanto, hooked up my 1968 VW bajabug to the rear bumper of my 1988 Mazda pickup and headed east. I had to abandon my beloved 1964 Volvo 544 to my son.

I dislike Interstate driving ... seriously. I explore. Twenty six hundred miles later ... I got lost ... I pulled into Oak Ridge flopped for the night and left the next morning for Cosby, Cerren Ered and Beltane. Ostara is late March. Beltane is early May. April was gathering my junk.

Can you say busy?

After the gathering we settled down to boredom.

At the time, I was considerably involved in racetrack web design. GeoCities insisted on each member setup a webpage. To combat the boredom ... after all one can not spend 24 hours in bed ... somebody had to work ... I asked the internet about East Tennessee race tracks. There wasn’t any information except for Bristol. A simple inquiry to the web admin for Bristol produced a list of several tracks ... including abandoned or closed tracks.