Has anyone ever walked up to you and asked, “Are you Huck Finn?” “Uhhh, say what?” This was the issue I faced this morning. I haven't posted as Huck in a very long time and while I hadn’t forgotten you guys, I needed to step back from how radical I was becoming in the Con/Lib wars. I have another persona, actually a different handle with the same attitudes and style and if a computer were used, it might find the similarities of style and structure. Still, I was posting and fighting too many wars. This Blogshere is a nice rational one and doesn’t need soldiers of reason and doesn’t need a counter to rabid conservatism (or rabid Liberalism). Still, I’ve missed you guys. So there I was, sitting in this chair of inquiry, the torturer had her tools of choice, and asked, “Are you?” As I cringed from the gleam of her probe, I slowly nodded my head and said, “Yes.” You know, when it comes to dentists, I’ll admit to anything. That bright light glaring in your eyes, the fear of, “This won’t hurt a bit,” and the knowledge one little slip will put you to the Moon, make you want to be truthful and hope that you say the right thing. She looked at me and exclaimed, “Well where have you been?” “Uhh, say what?” Well lets see guys, I’ve been dying, then didn’t die (again). When it comes to dying, and not dying, I got it covered better than a troop of cats. Looking back I don’t remember if I told about the double bypass at the Hospital from Hell (St. Mary’s) which is a true story of incompetent mayhem, the story of the Pacemaker/defib, the story of the left ventricle blood clot, and for sure not the story of a rogue doctor trying to put me in a nursing home due to my progressive nerve disorder. If anything will make a guy crawl in a hole and bang the lid down tight, it is the fear of involuntary Nursing Homes. Don’t make waves, don’t draw attention, run away, run away. I have been writing now and then though. Always have that need to let the BS drip from my fingers. I just never thought I might actually have a fan out there. That’s the funny thing. I’ve conversed with you guys, and I jaw with other bloggers elsewhere, have heard there are far more lurkers than posters at any site, but never really thought a Lurker would one day approach me and say, “Get to work! We miss you.” Ya know, I once wrote for a prestigious national magazine and discovered, I HATE fame. Yeah, that’s just silly. Everyone wants to be the center of attention, don’t they? Well, no. Not everyone. I’m a loner with a small group of tight friends, and when people I never saw before started coming up and clapping me on the back and exclaiming, “Hey Bro!” or “Hey Huck!” (not my pen name) like I was a long lost brother took me back. That’s what happens when you start to become famous, and my insecurities clamped down hard. Who, me insecure? I must be, because I sure didn’t like it. For me, the thing about being a biker is the brotherhood and knowing where you stand among your peers. You break bread with them, drink a beer with them, smoke that joint with them and pound down the miles, and in the end, you know they have your back because you have theirs. Having a nameless face slap you on the back and act like you just pounded down a thousand miles at their side seemed to always spook me. I understand now how their familiarity grew as they read my work, and might even be able to endure that sort of hero worship now, even though I know I‘m no hero. Hell, I’m the guy that slipped here and in a fit of anger spewed a very vulgar diatribe at the city. That diatribe is why I faded. Even though I had apologized, I felt the cooling and knew I needed to take a vacation until the anger at my mistake wore down with time. I faded, and time marched on. So here I am again. I have stories, and have lived a bit more life. Maybe I can keep from saying peepee kaka words and upsetting everyone again. No one here is anyone I wish to upset. Give me a few days to dig in my files. I’m sure I have something someone will like to read and not take too much offense at. We’ll see.