My boyhood (and still good) friend and I watched when we were teenagers a T.V. show called Route 66, whose two main characters, the abbreviate Buz and Tod, every week for an hour on the road to elsewhere in a convertible ‘vette championed the oppressed, dared fate, learned life—in short, met high adventure riding across America. GMS and I rode our bikes most places in a Montreal suburb’s variously treed settings of our daring adolescent doings, one of which is remembered in this graphically oddball poem made for his 66th birthday.
“It was the same wind as the wind of my boyhood, still careless in the prairie grass.” – W.O. Mitchell