NOMADICS

by Steven K. Roberts

IN RURAL OHIO, among the
vvhite clapboard houses and
autumn maple trees of Christians-
burg, the sun glinted off the solar
panels of my eight-foot-long recum-
ben~ bicycie. I vves hunkered over m~
bicycie's computer, which was ptugged
into the cown's only pay phone, linked
via satellite with a distant publisher. Tiny
letters of text scrolled across the liquid
crystal display screen.

An old farmer rattled up to the curb in
his battered pickup, squeaked open the
door and headed for the M&M Cafe,
wearing a corn herbicide cap and green
coveralJs. He squinted at me, then at
the computer, then at the modem cable
dangling from the familiar pay phone.

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_I

ff~9

He looked at the bike, at the strange
linkages and controls, at the blinking
LEDsÄslowly shaking his head at the
apparition that had materialized in his
quiet town. Suddenly a look of under-
standing lit his craggy features.

He spat tobacco juice into the weeds
and peered at me quizzically. "You
with ~ASA?"

I grinned up at him. "Why, yessir, this
here's one o' them Loony Excursion
blodules . . ." We stared at each other
for a moment like representatives of
alien cultures, then both laughed.

The encounter, barely 100 miles into
an adventure that has now passod the
I 1,000-mile mark, set the tone [or the
whole journey: I am an agent of furure
shock, frolicking in that strange reglon
where the boundaries between tech-
nology and magic blur. I have finaliy
found a job I like: high-tech nomad.

Freelancing thraugh the years, I have
slaved away in bedrooms, living r~oms,
industrial parks, basements, cubicies,
and posh offices. The same problem
always surfaced sooner or laterÄlack
of change. Sinking into the clutter of
my own static space, I wouid turn to
the office distractions; redecorating,
making phone calls, creating new filing
systems, fiddling with desk toys, and
staring at the same old walls. I wouid do
any~lng besides write: even passion can
be dulled by a changeless environment.

