Back on the road life didn’t seem so close. On the road with the sound and the push of wind and pull of the bike things settled down into a strange calmness. Like being in the shower. Amid the noise and steam somehow it was tranquil. Probably was the same for machine operators and truck drivers, you just get used to it and once it’s not there you miss it. A body not rattling was a body unsure. The flow of the road was hard to explain. Such a three dimensional experience involving all your senses. I wonder, he thinks, if Pop got this way in the middle of a project or negotiation. That single place where things fly around you and you simply are. The simple state of doing a something and then being something, of union with action where you become the thing you’re doing.
Pop was gone. Mom too. They had left things but not a legacy. Things that were his now but only owned by him. How could you have so much and so little at the same time? Like a king it was only yours if they gave it to you or you had the power to take it. Being King meant nothing if your subjects ignored you–or weren’t afraid of you. There was no crown without subjects, just a kingdom of empty. His inherited kingdom produced an eternal flow of money that he let a Regent take care of. Lawyers and Advisers had courted him wanting to help out. He stuck with his Pop’s guys. “Just make sure everybody gets paid,” was all he would say, “Don’t fuck with the blue collar guys–cut them a break.” He just let the words hang out there in front of the suits. They feared him because he didn’t know what he was doing and if he tried to do something then he could kill the golden goose. Throats tight under their ties they tried not to “fuck the blue collar guys” and to “cut them a break”.
Pop could play that game. Asking Pop a question now wasn’t an option. People expected and dreaded leadership but he had none to give. Not an empty vessel, he had just never been filled to pour out.