John Mee


From wheel ruts shimmering over ochre sand dunes and vanishing in the boundless blue skies of an Australian outback, John tucked a gleaming new Simon Anderson 6'5" Indo gun underarm to board Garuda flight GA16 one-way to a new adventure.

He stared into the thundering boneyards of a boiling Sunset Beach reef from atop twenty-foot swells. His brown two-litre fuel-injected 1979 kombi criss-crossed the slate-grey concrete ribbons of American heartland. A marble-lined mall on the bank of an untreated sewer in Surabaya-Indonesia, he dominated all-challengers on the local global arcade phenomenum: Street Fighter II. He composed the first tracks upon white sheets of glorious snowbound Monashee dawns. He met the masses, and ate with them.

But today, the silent bluegrey of an Apple Eyemack stares back indifferently at the vanishing points of far-away eyes. The aftermath of another 10–15 hour dash on it's codebases. The yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows blend, blister, blur. It's adventure of a different kind. Slumbering horizons sleep. Brooding. Patient. Dreaming...

of the next trip. A tyke Jap motorbike burbling into the scents and sounds of a jungle toiling with Laotian tribesmen. Fierce whistling solaces, white-tipped Himilayan sentinals, speckled carelessly with porters and jangling Yak trains. Rioting color swirling in the bazaars of staccato chattering arabian merchants. Languish awhile in a teeming town square of ancient stone. The pommy peasants and handlebar-mustachioed burgomeisters down their beers whilst precocious parisien princesses tap for attention upon their cafe table.

Time ticks by.


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I've put this here just to see if it actually earns me any free snipes: eBay sniper