On twisting roads I whirled by pines and fir trees, lofting—dropping—thrilling drives over cresting mountainsides and wheeling around the contours of steep canyons. Sometimes I’d take it in with a slow cruise then find a dirt road to a rocky rutted path and some place I’d never been. I wondered off out of sight of my car into nature. In the forest alone; the sight, the sound, the smell and something more, like energy and connection. In a comfy spot, I’d lay my bag under the starry sky.

I’d be up all night drinking and smoking pot and everything in nightclubs to djs and live bands. Life pumped through me with the rumble of the throng and the song and the beat.

A car is a time machine. Driving around, somebody’d say, “let’s go to San Francisco,” three hours later—we were there.

Hours were spent under the car wielding wrenches in snow and under a hot sun. Pulling an engine, fixing the throttle, almost anything, I was a hot rodder. The price of speed was broken parts.

I loved going to the university. I was there to learn why the world is the way it is. I delved into everything, sort of. Since there is no everything degree, I followed my own paths. Everything is intertwined.

Eventually, I got a degree in teaching. I found teaching to be very satisfying.

And there’s always art.

I’ve stopped taking classes, for now anyway. I’m retired from teaching. I don’t work on my wheelchair van. Nearly every day I roll along the river walk. In chambers of government, I speak out to defend wildlife. My art takes longer to make. I still go out dancing.

Reno News and Review, How I met your motor.

Artspace, artists.

Sierra Arts Foundation, Riverside profiles.

Reno News and Review, Taking the heat.

Reno Gazette-Journal, ‘Autolust’ exhibit melds female figures, autos.

Imanlathan, Sculpting an Artist: The Craig Smyres Story.

Google, Craig Smyres