I hadn’t read much Kerouac when I came across the graffiti on the wall beside Chris Del Moro’s mural in Marina De Pisa, Italy. 6 months later I’d be staying in a small cabin overlooking the Big Sur coast, hosted by a fire chief and his mystical wife who agreed that she knew more about me than I knew about myself, and that is where I found Jack Kerouac’s novel ‘Big Sur’, much of which is set in the valley beneath this iconic bridge and within days I’d be sharing cigarettes and drinking bourbon with strangers on the side of the road in an odd twist of Keroacian fate and after reading a bit more from this hitch-hiking free spirit I’ve come to the conclusion that he was indeed a verbal genius, but it may be best to keep your moral compass locked away in his presence lest it be magnetized to his spiral and you find yourself starving in the bed of a truck headed the wrong way with nothing but a book of french poems for collateral to get to the Great South for one final cup of coffee with your father before he goes into hiding and you are left wondering where the woman you love is camped out at… true story.