Twenty Six Miles
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TWENTY SIX MILES |
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| I was born on the seaward side of the Santa Lucia mountains a meandering wildlife trail that over time came to know the feel of barefoot nomads the heel of the Conquistador trod upon by sandalled men of God the boots and sturdy shoes of prospectors kicked up my dust and wheels every conceivable kind ran over me - carts buckboards wagons coaches filled with enterprising men hauling out loads of the lumber and lime that built San Francisco by then I was a road graded - widened… a rutted rural route sent miles inland at each steep ravine travelled, but only of necessity taken on as a "make work" project the WPA paved the way bridged the gaps the magic done at Bixby Creek put me on the map Highway 1 a useable thoroughfare to the North to the South tourist slowing for vista and view holding up locals going to work "Pull over ya jerk!" wayfaring strangers in hermetically sealed contraptions once removed now from each other the open air and me but wait once a year the Big Sur Marathon is run footfalls set my heart pounding for the better part of a day the stream of traffic is halted a plethora of pedestrians come running jogging walking down this twenty-six miles of history each one becoming an integral part of me |
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| - Ric Masten | |||
THE GRAND PIANO MAN |
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| Later-down the road a piece Somewhere far from that Misty morning at Big Sur The crowd rippling with excitement Then the gun-and you begin the run Effortless at first Graceful curves-easy straight-aways Highway One a paved treadmill Rolling under your flying feet Then abruptly The grueling long hard pull Out of Little Sur up to Hurricane Point At the top flagged and exhausted You round a sharp bend And run smack into a panoramic view Better still-the inclination is down A brisk wind washes your face Combs your hair And there is something else charging The electric air-Music! Radiating up from Bixby Bridge Loping down the sloping road You cross that majestic viaduct and Waiting on the other side The grand piano man Passing out cups of cool concerto To splash on your fatigue Refresh your resolve Continuing on Over miles of ups and downs Past outlooks and vistas Through the Highland's piney woods And then the ecstasy Of crossing the finish line Where bent over, hands on knees You catch your breath and get your time But later-reflecting back on all of this Music will be the first thing That comes to mind-like a life metaphor Waiting just on the other side Of that concrete span There is-and there will always be A grand piano man |
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| - Ric Masten, 2003 | |||
Ric Masten is a stand-up poet, a teller of tales, and a prominent member of the Big Sur community. To learn more about Ric and his struggle with terminal cancer, please visit his website at:
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