Released on the Epic records label album Clean Shirt in June 1991, "Trying To Outrun The Wind" was co-written by Troy Seals, Eddie Setser, and Tom Davey.

Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson recorded "Trying To Outrun The Wind" as a duet. Though the song did not chart, the Clean Shirt album reached the Number 28 position on the Billboard Hot Country Singles And Tracks Chart.

Part of the lyrics of "Trying To Outrun The Wind" best summed this incident up for me:

"He'll keep you from knowing
Where he's been or going
You'll see the distance
Right there in his eyes
Just short of stealing
He'll take your feelings
Pull at your heart strings
Till they come untied"

"He's like an old stallion
Who's longing for freedom
Trying to outrun the wind"


*************************************************************************************
*************************************************************************************


A STRONG BLUSTERY WIND SCOURGED THE STREET FROM THE EAST SIDE TO THE WEST. Some unknown object brushed against the leather upper of my left boot. I glanced down in wonder and discovered a grease-stained Taco Bell wrapper. None of the illustrious chain's restaurants permeated the neighborhood. The muck could have only come from some uppity obtuse schnook chucking the junk food casing out the open window of their vehicle at close to a hundred miles an hour as they paraded by. This indicated to me some flapdoodles were just ignorant porkers. Perhaps that incident became the foundation of why to this day I despise litterbugs. I say splat them all! That would resolve the problem.

The perplexity occurred near the intersection of Second Street South and Demonbreun Street, adjacent to the Gulch. Modern Day attractions you may be familiar with in this district of Nashville include the Frist Art Museum, The Station Inn for Bluegrass music, and the Mercy Lounge for Indie, Soul, and Folk gigs. Chic high-end fashion boutiques, and fine dining establishments are others.

The Wild West outlaws Jesse and Frank James once called this upscale area home when they tried to settle down. Frank much more successfully than Jesse. Of course, in that timeframe, the Gulch was not upscale, nor was it a whole lot of anything else. Additionally, most of these allures did not exist when I was twelve years old.

A mental "DANGER" warning flashed through my encumbered mind. Temporarily, the overload impeded my prompt response and hesitated my course of action. I shifted my weight and felt the pavement beneath my feet. I stood in the middle of a rough patch of poorly poured concrete that had been worn away by traffic. Bumpy air pockets and cracks prevailed. The sheer movement brought me back to my senses.

In an uncompromised resolve I allowed no concessions. I chided myself, "That stupidity could lead to your undoing, you asinine dork!"

So much for tending to my own affairs. I did not initially spot the reason for the sword of Damocles, or its clear and imminent threat. (I know, at 12 years old I would not have known anything about that idiom, or what it meant. However, I have always wanted to manipulate that expression into my writing. So, humor me, okay? Because now I have.)

Seventy-five yards from where I strolled merrily along my way stood a lanky law enforcement officer built like the famous Mr. America, Mr. Universe, Mr. World, and Mr. Olympia bodybuilder of the day, Frank Zane. Like him, the copper had focused on sculpting the symmetry and proportion of his body into a Monet-ish work of art. His height was probably just over six axe handles tall.

By postulation, I guesstimated he tipped the scales around 180 pounds. One thing for sure, the constable did not look like no gawky lad with zits decorating his face. More than that, he was way too close for comfort.

The police officer held his two-way Motorola walkie-talkie in his hand and stared straight at me. I heard him say, "Subject is 10-20 between the Farmers Life building and the Masterson Tower."

I did not know what 10-20 meant, but I knew my locale and suspected something I wanted no part of was about to commence. Ceasing my steps forward, I waited for his next utterances.

He placed himself in a precarious position where he was most unwelcomed and pointed an elongated finger in my direction. In a calm voice I understood required my immediate cooperation he said, "You, the blond gnome in the worn out boots. Get your tiny potato head over here. PRONTO! We've been busy looking all over creation for you."

I knew I was diminitive, and could be mischievous when I wanted to be, but I never realized I was a lawn ornament. That designation held true for all the gnomes I'd ever encountered anyway. There's no denying the fact Nashville is almost always lined with wall-to-wall people in the downtown area and several passersby heard his remarks. They glared at me with daggers of rage and hate while they reflected on what Caper of the Century I'd committed. Hermitage Hall certainly wasted no time notifying the law about my unauthorized escape from their facility.

Like a ten ounce Coke bottle with the phrase "No Deposit No Return" etched on its glass side, I was not harking back there.

(TO BE CONTINUED:)

In Chapter 14, I make a desperate break for freedom.