It been a while since I've written, so I need to catch up, which will explain any redundancies in this missive. And then I need to stay current. That's what I look for when I read someone's blog entries.

Easier said than done.

One difficulty of living in the ever-present tense is that I am loathe to look back over my shoulder. My focus is always on the road ahead, like a motorcycle rider. I prefer to do than to talk about what I did.

So let's see where I was...

The van works well, like a fine timepiece (even though the dashboard clock itself actually does not function – must add this to the To Do list).

Off we go on our Bullwhip Safari, putting down rompy highways to Wichita, Kansas, where it's good to see Steve even under low ceilings, head on to Denver, flashing back on mountain adventures of previous years, caught by torrential rain, flooded out, get rolling again, next gig SRO and grand.

Continue down to Albuquerque looking for UFOs, see none, never knew desolation could be so beautiful, cactus after cactus after tumbleweed, do presentation, see biggest banana split in history (I want one!), then on with side trip to see Mary's old friend Fish, shave his dog, take wrong road, have flat tire, change out, get to Tucson, very flat city in a picturesque way, can't fix tire so buy a new one. Beautiful hosts, amazingly positive weekend except for hotel which charged my own credit card and made me bounce a check because I was trying to make it a cash-only trip. Happily, host made good, would do it again anytime with them, but at any other hotel than the Radisson in Tucson (rude idiots!).

Head over to Pacific Ocean, waving as I spin through LA and point us north to see Indiana Jones' hat and other memorabilia on impossibly steep highway (a real job for the clutch on the Westie), see where whip supplier lied to me about our deal. Will definitely fix that when we return.

Conversation cruising onto Pacific Coast Highway toward San Francisco, fogged in overnight mere feet from dizzying precipice, find nice Buddhist meditation gas station that charged $6 for a gallon of gas (who do you report these people to?) and lied about the distance to the next gas station.

Meet friend Mark in Monterrey, handy friend with a pair of pliers as well as a therapist, reclaim possessions left years ago while on circus tour, at least the non-paper items dripping water did not damage with mold, zip along James Dean Highway under eerie sky full of stars (but no UFOs).

Drop $10 in Reno (felt like a cheap Scotsman!) then discover Salt Flats as Mary adds to the 2,000 photos she will snap, seeing mirages and practice fires.

I see why Salt Lake City is considered beautiful, marvelous hosts there (want to come back!), on to Denver where several cheapos piggyback on supposedly one-on-one time I gave to someone else (who paid), ignore implied insult from SASS-hole (wait until I see some real whip crackers?), decided not to play in that sandbox, and so on to Des Moines, 300 miles from home after a 5,000-mile circuit, where Westie decides it's safe to give up ghost for a while, giving us chance to be rescued by impossibly generous repair shop that gets us rolling again for dimes on the dollar (thanks guys!).

And so to bed at home. Catch our breaths.

The following weekend we wend our way to do Wild West and windy college football half-time show with terrific audience response (see video on YouTube), very pleased with the way we danced together with the whips, hit road again for Kansas gig and home, where clutch cable finally snaps. Three-hour job takes 5 days, waiting for replacement part, etc (picture on Facebook), with Mary's able assistance, back on the road in time to do Dr Farrago burlesque show at Ground Zero two nights ago.

So here on Sunday morning, being my own Boswell, smiling over how well blindfolded newspaper-cutting stunt went at Dr Farrago show, savoring my banana crepes and tea, wondering what to say to St Louis Park Rotary Club at monthly breakfast next Friday, maybe what's it like to be a professional whip cracker with a loving partner, living in a world where being broke and rich is not a contradiction.