When I was four my friend Peter and I often would go exploring. We would end up blocks and blocks away from our adjacent back yards. One time we managed to cross the tracks and ended up trying to talk to Mr. Filman's cow. The whole neighborhood ended up looking for us that time.
When I showed up all weepy saying that "Cow Eat Peter!, Train Go Chu! Chu!" they figured out what happened. Peter was found entangled in Filman's fence with a seemingly concerned cow looking over him.
Peter got hugs and kisses and I got my butt tanned. Although I was much more discrete after that, it didn't stop me. I stuck to the alleys and the woodlands at the end of them. They called it running away but I considered it exploring. As I grew older I discovered that as long as I made it home for dinner I was ok.
Aside from dropping out of college and running off to San Francisco in the 60s, a stint in the service, and hitchhiking across Morocco, Spain and Portugal on my honeymoon, I've been fairly well behaved. Now that I am in my 60s myself, I have decided that it is time to start running away again.
I bought a small trailer in 2004 and wandered about for about a year and a half. After a little over a years break trying to get resettled in a new house and frustration at getting rid of the old one, I am now, in January of 2007 ready to hit the road again. My son Tod will look after the house while I am gone.
As I add new adventures I will add them to the menu on the left.
Chet Jones