28
Aug
Frankie calmly drops his kickstand and, with his back turned to several would be assailants, removes his dusty jacket. This reveals his muscular back, wearing only a semi-white wife beater, scars can be clearly seen around the arm holes and collar. He takes off his glasses and squints at oncoming headlights.
One of the annoyed men, carrying a long chain, swings it high around his head and then in a swift stroke, right at Frankie’s exposed face. In a flash of speed no one suspected he had, Frankie throws an arm up intercepting the chain links. They wrap a few times around his forearm. Frankie sneers at the owner of the chain.
The man looks surprised and then shouts “you sunnova. . .”
In the very next instant, Frankie pulls the chain that is firmly anchored to his forearm, pulling the man towards him very fast. Frankie slams his forehead into the man’s face. The assailant drops instantly, his face a bloody mess. But Frankie now holds the man up with the remaining chain. He swings the man into a collection of bikes nearby. They all tumble into a pile.
Frankie looks at the remaining mob. “Anybody else? I’ll be in the bar.”
-MRC
26
Aug
It began as it usually does.
Her room was darker than normal. Or so it seemed to her. The temperature dropped. She knew he was there. Again. She no longer bothered to scream. No one would hear or come. Just him. Again.
But this time it was different. Instead of her Uncle glaring at her, hungrily, in the dark, there stood a Salmon. A full fish, on it’s tail, staring blankly at Lynn.
She woke with a scream. She had never screamed before. “What the F*** wuzzat?”
The cold water from the bathroom sink was refreshing. She kept the cold, wet washcloth over her head as she laced up her in-line skates. “This is going to be a long one”, she muttered to herself. She didn’t bother bringing her phone. She didn’t want to be bothered. Not that anyone would call her at 2:15AM.
The air was cool and humid but not frigid. It was just what she needed. After what she thought was about 5 miles of hard, laborious, skating, she stopped and turned around, ready to head back.
She looked ahead, towards where she thought she had just come from. It was still dark except for the rare street light every 100 yards or so. “Where the hell am I?”
-MRC
13
Aug
The parking lot is a wash of dust and exhaust. Frankie is in his element. He loves a good biker bar. Especially a strip club biker bar. He would kill two birds with one stone at this sort of place.
Frankie rides his chopper through the dust slowly, deliberately. His leathers covered in pounds of road dust. Strapped to his right leg, his bowie knife is the only clean looking item on him. He is smiling.
He pulls up to the front of the club. He finds an occupied parking stall and muscles into it shoving the previous occupant out of the way. Others who arrived earlier are not too pleased with his choice. Frankie has only just arrived and already he is about to get his first taste of blood to go with the dirt.
He lives for this.
-MRC
10
Aug
The mirages of the Southeast New Mexican Desert fade at dusk. Long shadows paint the barren landscape and provide contrast on a normally stark, drab, world. That’s when the riders come out.
Frankie, a lone rider, points his black soft tail east, away from the rapidly sinking sun. The dust that has yet to settle from previous riders shrouds Frankie in an eerie glow from his high set head lamp. Ahead lies his destination.
Otis, New Mexico is a blight, a boil on the skin if you will, with nothing going for it since the ’20′s. But every Friday night Otis is a mecca. Riders from all parts flock to a neon shangri la; Lilly’s of the Desert.
-MRC
6
Aug
The Longhouse was packed with people. Many sitting, many standing around the edges of the smokey room. In the center, near a small fire, the master of ceremonies cleared his throat.
“Great turnout! It feels good to see this longhouse full. It lifts our spirits. It lifts our voices.”
This was, according to Ransom, the First Salmon Ceremony; to welcome back the returning salmon and to ensure a good run. Times had been tough during the last 12 years as traditional salmon runs dried up or became impassable. Overfishing had decimated the wild runs and diseased farm fish were contaminating the species. That is why the Native hatcheries were so important.
The MC continued.
“This ceremony was revived in 1979,” he said. “Before, we were forbidden to practice our ceremonies. Then the elders got together and remembered. They asked their grandparents. We may not do it the way it was done 200 years ago, but we do it the best way we can.
At the salmon ceremony, we come together for two reasons. To bless the fishermen, and to welcome back Haik ciaub yubev (“big important king salmon” in the Lushootseed language). He comes to scout for the other salmon. We go down to greet him and treat him with respect, because he’s going to provide for us all through the year. He will return to the salmon people and report to them how well we treated him, how well he was received. We’ll take his remains, and we return him to the water and send him on his way.”
As the ceremony continued, the MC urged all the fishermen – including several women and the three uniformed sailors – to come forward.
“We bless the fishermen and remember those lost at sea. The waters are good to us, but they are dangerous,” he said.
The blessing had just ended when a youngster ran into the longhouse to announce the approach of a canoe.
The crowd filed out of the longhouse and down to the shore, where a black carved canoe with a high prow was nearing the beach. One of the rowers raised a king salmon and everyone applauded. The fish was placed on a pallet of sword ferns and cedar branches, and two men carried it up the gravel road to the longhouse. It would become the ceremony’s symbolic first returning salmon.
“Our visitor has arrived to honor us,” said Gobin. “Thank you for helping us celebrate the first returning salmon, our scout, our reporter.”
As the ceremony ended, the singers and drummers, followed by the visitors, walked behind the remains of the ceremonial salmon as they were carried back to the beach. The salmon remains were placed in a canoe, taken far out into Tulalip Bay and then returned to the water.
Ransom and Lynn walked back to the tents that had been set up near the large parking lot. There, several large Salmon had been prepared to feed all of the visitors. The Rookie Agent had never eaten such wonderful fish. There was nothing special about it. It was cooked traditionally over coals of burning alder chips. No seasonings required. The whole tent was quiet as everyone devoured the feast. Then a lot of talking and laughing. Lynn thought the peace in the tent was palpable and for the first time in days, she felt comfortable.
-MRC
Some of the passages were taken from a report from this years First Salmon Ceremony held in Tulalip Bay, Washington. -Seattle Times.