A lone and old sioux native.

Los Osos State Reserve,
03-11-2002.

After yet another night on the leopard frog invested campground in Morro Bay I decided this morning on a one day excursion to San Luis Obispo.
Yeah, h*rny leopard frogs chasing each other noicily all night intend on s*x.
I won't complain about their nighttime physical activities, it's after all not something I encounter back home in Amsterdam....it is part of what I have come out here for.

It's not very far from Morro Bay to San Luis Obispo following the Cabrillo Highway through Los Osos State Reserve, an area of low hills and pine trees, a few spare eucalepthus trees and low bushes.
Despite the name - "los osos" means "the bears" in spanish - there is not a single bear in sight, probably all busy having a nap or else involved in the Morro Bay's frog population's favorite pasttime...whatever, you don't hear me complaining about bear absence.
I did find a small tent a bit off the road, surrounded by eucalepthus trees, belonging to an old member of the sioux nation - or so he claims - who was sitting in front of a small camp fire ands smoking a huge sigar.
When he saw me cycling by, he waved me over and I'm now busy making a pen drawing in my sketch book while he's busy explaining me the woes of the white man while getting an enormously long pipe out of his tent.
Does he want to smoke the peace pipe with me or something???
Long grey hair fall down his bony frame, dressed in dirty blue jeans and a red chequered wood cutter's shirt, his face sepia colored and heavily wrinkled, a huge hooked like nose resembling a vulture's beak somehow.
Listening to him rave on and on about the evils of the white race while preparing his "peace pipe" I wonder if his old man's mind is still in working order while the pen in my hand furiously labours across the page of my sketch book.
He must have been here quite a while considering the condition of his tent which is covered with dirt and dead leaves.
With the strong smoke of his crazy "peace pipe" invading and tormening my lungs I quickly finish my sketch feeling desperate to get away from this poor old lost soul.
His stories do my head in and give me a serious guilt feeling
Didn't the Sioux nation live on the Dakota plains far away from here? What is old sod doing so far away from his native soil being obviously dement and all that.
Getting up and leaving this desperate old mental case alone to his lonely
excistence.
When I've already mounted my steel lady, my cr*ppy old bicycle, I hear his voice behind me sreaming at me. Turning around I see him standing now waving his "peace Pipe" in the air, his greasy long grey hair like a halo around his old man's head.
"You Boy, Never Forget....TELL ME AND I WILL FORGET, SHOW ME AND I WILL REMEMBER, INVOLVE ME AND I WILL UNDERSTAND!" ......I cycle away fast deeply disturbed by his ominous words.
Several hundert meters down the road, I can still hear him raving and screaming in a gutteral tonque I do not understand.
D*mned...I've to really learn to shy away from weird caracters!!!

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