The Purple Stain

The Purple Stain is a Time Traveler.

My apologies to you Gentler Reader of This Blog--busy days have kept me away from the bike and away from the Triple B Ranch--the original name of the blog when I set it up back in 2005. Things are changing and in the changes it strikes me that here in Interzone, the Seen and the Unseen can be passed through ever so lightly--as they exist together--right on the border where one memory--one collective memory of a place--fades and then rises into the next.

Here too, some of my memories appeared like a reminder, or a signal or sign--that I am traveling and will continue to travel--forever. Riding a bike instead of walking or even driving--the flow of the world changes. You are quite aware of the Seen and Unseen at the same time.

100 year old Trees.

The trees here are very much alive, and I've noticed them changing as Winter approaches. Leaves fall off like our work clothes slip off each night before we go to bed.

100 year old streets.

Maybe not people riding horseback, but probably automobiles as early as the teens on these streets. I am probably not the only bloke to ride his bike into downtown in this manner.

Neighborhood of Old East Lawrence.

Might the street and the trees have such a memory of a bone-shaken rider on a cool mid-day Autumn afternoon? It feels like I'm flowing through a dream, mes amis--am I slipping through thoughts of the trees?

The Pig--one of many cafes in Interzone.

Liberty Hall's southeast corner--built in 1877.

The Ethridge Hotel on that corner--first built in 1858 and then burned by Quantrail's Raiders in 1861.

I'm going with Rico as he gets a haircut in the building here to the left. I have to tell you that the light for photographs was the best--I wish I had a better camera for you mes amis.

Elevator in the old building--which dimension shall we enter? Push a button and find out, Gentle Reader of This Blog...

Third Floor. Rico waits for his appointment in the Salon.

When we ride up the elevator to the third floor, mes amis, I am amazed--I see an old building but I sense many things. Inside the Salon, I can't sit still--its like I hear and see everything, but at the same time there's nothing there! I am right at the line of Now and Then--it is very fluid--things are moving, Time is moving and swirling--here is like a rock in a stream. As time rolls and sweeps over this spot, there's a ripple and swirl of the energy.

The room has a memory.

I feel and and see--but not with eyes--but in my mind the people and the place--but they are fleeting images. Paint and objects are a thin vail to the past. Did Those of the Past have a sense of Those of the Future? What would be here? Who would be here? We never think about that and it does not really occupy my thoughts--but sometimes, if you are fortunate and in the right place at the right time--that thought and that memory can be walked right into.

The Irony.

I know that I was in, or very near, a place where Time and Being ripple and somehow flow together and mix--what ever it is or whom ever it is left me this clue or message. The Kitchen Clock. The Kitchen Clock--we had this exact same plastic clock in our kitchen back in Tulsa where I grew up--in our little house. It was next to our kitchen sink and the window. It was there for almost 50 years--It was the clock that read the time and told me when and where--everything we did and that I did, I did around what the time was on this clock for all of my life in that house. My God what if it was the same clock? Not one just like it--but the very one? From our house and our kitchen? I don't know why and I don't understand this message, but the fact that it a time machine of sorts--well, I have to appreciate the intention. The message and the meaning are for me I know--but what is it? If there is something for me to find--where is it?

The Salon.

Well, when you find yourself in these situations like I did--it's not really scary. It is mysterious and fascinating. I though for a moment that someone was having a pretty good laugh at me stumbling around what could be to them the obvious.

I look for the way to the meaning.

While Rico gets his hair cut, I look around the place, and tread lightly--for who would appear or what would change made me a bit wary. If there are those that travel through time and memory--for why they would want or need to is a mystery to me--how do they do it? Is it a door? A few steps up and then a left and you're in? Who watches and who takes care of the places like these? To make sure someone like me doesn't go where they are not supposed to go? If it is not who--that what?

Our bikes parked outside.

Outside in the sunshine of the afternoon, I see my Campus Bike. I'll take it and go down to the LBS. That is what I'm to do I feel--leave the flow, stand on the bank and let the droplets of my short swim in Time's cool waters evaporate from my mind.

Hotel for Time Travelers.

My gut feeling is that travelers might stay here a night or two--have a breakfast or dinner--before they embark. The Ethridge was built in 1858. Legend is that William Quantril had breakfast here while his Bushwackers sacked and burned Lawrence, back in August of 1861. I read that Quantail's men rode to Lawrence by way of Eudora, and the route, which I know well from my commutes to work and from my rides back into town from the Wilds, took them riding past The Little House. It wasn't here then of course, but there are a few houses still standing where Quantril's Army rode past. I ride past them too. Quantril burned down the Ethridge--it was rebuilt shortly after. Just about all of Lawrence was burned. I wonder what building or what was on the site of the Salon?

Lawrence has always been a bike town.

The Local Bike Shop.

The LBS was a factory or some sort of machine shop for many many years--100 years ago. Then it was an Army Navy Surplus Store--now a bike shop for about 25 or 30 years.

The Tavern.

Rico and I meet up after his hair cut as I'm walking down the street and looking for photographs to take. We decide we'll head home--but first I suggest we slip into our favorite pub and have a pint. I wonder if I'll meet a Time Traveler one day? I know its not too flattering to name him or her so--but for now I'll call 'em The Purple Stain. Until that Time, my Dear Fellow,

Cheers!