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She said she was going to leave. She put the letters in the mail. She packed a few belongings into her Volkswagen Beetle. She drove away from Ann Arbor. She was never seen again. Her car was never found. No remains were ever recovered. No trace of where she went or what happened to her after she drove away from Michigan has ever been established. Decades passed. The reel to reel recordings survived, stored by Gene Deitch. In the mid-2000s, they were discovered and eventually released. The response was unlike anything that had been anticipated. Critics praised them extensively. Music writers called her a lost pioneer, a woman who had been decades ahead of the sound that would later make other artists famous. A documentary was made about her life. None of it reached her. A woman who had been invisible during her lifetime had disappeared entirely by its end. The recordings exist. She does not. Bison Dele, Bison Dele had already achieved more than most people reach in a lifetime. He had won an NBA championship ring with the Chicago Bulls in 1997. He had a career that brought him wealth, recognition, and opportunity. He was physically gifted, intelligent, and by most accounts deeply thoughtful. And then, at the height of it, he walked away. He retired from professional basketball in 1999. He was 30 years old. He changed his name legally from Brian Williams to Bison Dele, a name drawn from indigenous and personal symbolism. He gave up the contract. He gave up the public life. He began traveling — through the Pacific, through parts of the world where no one knew his name or his history. By every account, he seemed to find something in that freedom that he had not found in the arena. In the summer of 2002, he purchased a catamaran called the Hakuna Matata. He planned a voyage across the Pacific. He was not alone.With him were his girlfriend, Serena Karlan, a French woman he had met during his travels.