Here I am at the Combs Farm in Pine Knot, Kentucky and it was while reading Joel’s blog of, “Life on the Farm” to Dolores that planted the seed in Dolores’ mind about this whole trip. As the tumor in her brain grew she lost the ability to read to herself and that started a chain of events that lead to the trip I am now taking. At first I read her books, the first was Travels with Charlie, by John Steinbeck, and the next was Blue Highways by William “Least Heat” Moon. Both were about traveling, and that I think; combined with our plan of one day traveling this country on the bike, gave her 
the idea of having me take her ashes and go on this trip immediately after her death.
While between books I found Joel’s blog, she had enjoyed the stories about everyday life here on this farm so much that I felt prompted to email Joel and tell him how much joy his writing had brought to us at such a trying time in our lives, and that he should always continue to write his stories. He invited us to come and stay at the farm the very same day he received my email and Dolores was so moved by his compassion that even though she was no longer able to travel she made me promise to visit the farm with her ashes if I didn’t visit anyplace else.
After recounting the story of the Comb Farm on Eon.com with the people of my groups the route of my trip was formed by the dozens of people that open their hearts and homes to me as I was planning for this Memorial trip as a tribute to my wife and a means to begin the healing that will take a very long time.
Joel and his whole family were very welcoming and I felt a connection to them th
at comes from the bond that grows between everyday people that can appreciate the simple yet most important values of life. We went to Stearns, Kentucky and he show me the museum that recounted the history of this mining and lumber town, a time that most forget; when workers were paid with script instead money and had to spend it in the company store. A place where unions fought to grow and brought better living conditions to the workers and then died when the mines were closed and the companies moved on. We can site many different things for the cause of the decline of these once boom towns, but the saddest part, is the lonely ghosts that stand as a reminder of what once was and will never be again.
Time waits f
or no one, and if you don’t 
embrace the promise of tomorrow you will surely smother in the arms of yesterday. A lesson of life that I am learning everyday on this lonely journey.
From somewhere on the backroads,
The Demonmaster
