You've seen him looking fine
He's a straight talker, he's a Starwalker
Don't drink no wine
Ah way hey o hey...
The Pow Wow
June 27, `77
Herb never did get gas, so we caught him at another gas station as he
was, once again, filling his tank. This time the bike stayed upright,
and because Lenny was in the bathroom, I ended up paying the $2.50 for
his gas. When we finally reached Yarmouth, nobody knew the directions
to the Pow Wow. I began to wonder if the Pow Wow even existed. We
never did find the place, but in our wonderings, Herb's wife finally
found us. We followed her to our final destination.
The Pow Wow was located at the dead end of a gravel road on the
Indian Reserve. There were five houses scattered along the road, one
of which belonged to a very unfriendly Indian. There were no
trespassing signs everywhere, and he was sitting on his porch with a
rifle in his lap. The Indians at the Pow Wow itself, which was
supposed to be filled with Indians from all across Canada, looked to
be of the local variety and numbered about forty. Herb showed no
interest. At first I thought he was disappointed in the turnout, but
after we found a place to set up camp, I got the real story. Alcohol
was not allowed on the Reserve, and we were camped on the Reserve.
After I pulled my bike from the back of the truck, I was ready to
leave. But I had come so far and at such a cost that I couldn't make
myself leave without at least checking out the Indians. I walked right
into the middle of the Pow Wow. There were some young Indians off to
the side playing Lacrosse, but a large black kettle with a woman
standing over it marked the center space, so that's where I headed. As
I walked up to the lady stirring the kettle, all eyes were on me and
they weren't of the welcoming variety. It didn't take long to find out
I was not at a Pow Wow, I was at an Indian Unity Meeting. The lady
stirring the pot came all the way from Cape Cod, and in as nice a way
as possible she told me that I was not supposed to be there. That was
not what I wanted to hear. Actually I felt more Indian than the
Indians that I came with, but I really couldn't tell the lady that. I
was about to say goodbye when a not so nice Indian, the Chief maybe,
came up to me and in non-flowery speech informed me that I was not an
Indian. I could have argued the point, but I was well aware that this
day had run its course and what was left of my energy had to be
directed over the horizon.
I went back to the Herb family to bid adieux, get my bike, and ride
off into the sunset. So as not to be seen drinking, they were camped
on the other side of the swamp from the Pow Wow, errr, Unity Meeting.
Ma Herb had stopped at the liquor store and packed Herb's cooler. I
was handed one last beer. Conversation never got around to the Pow
Wow, but I did find out where Herb got his money. The new motorcycles
and truck were bought with the $25,000 that he had just won in the
lottery. Herb was one rich, drunk, Indian. Before leaving I asked for
the money I had spent on the family during the trip down to Yarmouth.
Herb replied, "On Monday, when I get to the bank, I'll give you the
money." I was offered two bologna sandwiches, instead. I accepted
them without a second thought.
I just ate them. They were good. I'm presently thirty miles from
Digby, and the ferry over to New Brunswick, heading for home. I am not
depressed from this day's events. Actually, when I think about it, I
have to smile. It had been insane, but at least now, I'm headed for
home. I can't continue this trip. I'm tired of biking, tired of being
dirty, tired of eating shity food, tired of everything, but most of
all, I'm tired of looking for a campsite when its going to rain at any
minute.
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