I did not know where I was this morning when I woke. Nothing unusual there, since now that Refuge Farm has become a legitimate alternate location it is quite normal to have the daily routine turned quite on its head.

I am near Detroit- Life is good out here, away from Kevin Orr and the Governor and bankruptcy.

Trapped behind the wheel all day yesterday, I listened to the news of the capital as it faded in the rear view and real America drifted by. That particular dog day of July was interesting- I watched the thermometer on the instrument panel climb slowly upward through the course of the bright sunny day that was softened by the haze of humidity and heat.

Turn by turn the scandals unfolded as I alternated between indie rock on the satellite radio and CNN and Fox News to keep it fresh. There are few points in common between the two news streams that emanated from the dashboard, where the condensation on the Panzer’s air conditioning vents produced droplets of chill water on the dark plastic.

It literally is like the outlets are reporting on two different Americas, and I suppose they are.

In the morning it was Benghazi- the revelations about the non-disclosure letters. The people from whom we have not heard yet, the Vanity Fair article notwithstanding.

We rolled smoothly down the Pennsylvania hills, the radio and I, and onto the flat earth of Ohio as the discussion of the IRS harassment of American Citizens was described in detail. The Cincinnati office underlings who were thrown under the bus in the early days of the scandal pointed fingers back to Washington, and to a Mr. Hull, who in turn ratted out his political boss, a Mr. William Wilkins, who has not been brought to testify yet.

The stonewalling has been impressive- I hesitate to call it obstruction of Justice, since the Department that has that word in its title is far too busy with important things than deal with the systematic targeting by the tax people of legitimate free speech.

I was rolling through poor bedraggled Youngstown at the time- a city that would declare bankruptcy if it could.

I listened to classic rock as I passed Cleveland, appropriate, I thought, since it is home to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, where according to billboards a new exhibition on the history of the Rolling Stones has opened.

Turning the corner off the Turnpike on I-280, to head north toward bankrupt Detroit, I turned back to the news. Apparently the beleaguered city’s Emergency Administrator Kevin Orr is being assailed at each turn by the special interests who somehow imagine that the city can be squeezed for a little more juice before its complete collapse.

But Orr’s petition for Chapter 9 protection is in the hands of a sympathetic Governor who has a great line: “There are 9,700 pensioners, true, and there are 700,000 citizens who are being denied essential public safety services. It is time to fix the problem.”

As the Jeep plant at Toledo shrank in the rear view and the cooling towers of the nuclear reactor at Monroe loomed to starboard, the President himself appeared on the radio. His rambling rumination on race was curious. Yes, we see things differently, and yes, the weight of the awful burden of slavery does in fact color the way the people of this nation look at things.

His description of the woman who clutched her pocketbook a little tighter when the future president got on the elevator was telling, and the feeling of hurt was conveyed nicely. It was useful context from the bully pulpit, I guess.

The President did actually touch on something relevant in his abruptly terminated remarks as he regally floated off to whatever he does on Friday afternoons. He took no questions, regally turning the podium over to that odious Press Secretary Jay Carney. I honestly don’t know how the man can live with himself.

I share the hope that Mr. Martin’s parents can find peace in all this, but I heard nothing of the killings in Chicago over the last holiday, which make an academic discussion of the evils of a law that was not invoked in the trial of a man acquitted of the crime seem a bit irrelevant.

With all the other things that could be topics for discussion on a dog day July, it seemed a little surreal. But I suppose that is better than talking about the things that the President does not want to talk about.

But one can hope that this storm will pass, like the one perfect storm that swept over southeastern Michigan in the late afternoon, when the Panzer was safely shut down. It was a powerful, lighting-filled fury of driving rain and thunder that swept the hazy heat away, leaving the air fresh and crisp and new again.

It is a pleasant morning, and I am headed for Auburn, Indiana, for the Rambler car show and some brief remarks at the banquet tonight before the long drive back to the capital. At least the fever has broken, for now, anyway.

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com