Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Driving West in '88

My stomach growls, but I want to make it through the congestion of Kansas City and Topeka before stopping to eat.  It has been five hours since I feasted on bacon and eggs in St. Louis at Homer and Bebe’s, whom I’d stayed with over the night.  Homer was my grandmother’s brother and the relative that lived the furthest west.   I am now on my own.  After saying my goodbyes, I had only stopped for gas and to pick up a new map at the Kansas welcome center. 

This is unfamiliar territory, but ahead of me is a strangely familiar car, a ‘55 Buick with a red body and black top, travelling just a little slower than me.  I turn on my blinker and moved into the left-hand lane to pass.  When I’m beside the car, I look over at the driver who has his elbow sticking out of the window and holds the steering wheel with his right hand.  He’s wearing a white tee-shirt and a beige hard-shelled pith jungle hat.  I quickly take a second look.  Is this an aberration?  The car is identical to the first that I remember riding in and the man driving looks like my dad.  I remember as boy fishing in Dunk’s pond with my dad, him wearing that same style of hat and a white t-shirt.  I wonder what had happened to that car and to dad’s hat as I drive on around the man.  As I speed down the highway, I keep glancing back in my rear-view mirror, thinking about my dad and wondering about that man who could have been his twin.  
  
I decide to stop at the next intersection with a place to eat, but after passing a few with nothing, I decide to gamble on the next town and pull off at Paxico.   There’s nothing at the interchange, but I followed the signs across the Southern Pacific railroad and then, paralleling the tracks, into a small town with a decisively western feel.  Stepping out of the car, I realize that the air is hot and the humidity is building, but I need to stretch my legs.  I walk the length of the commercial district, the few buildings that still exist each having an awning over a wooden sidewalk to shade those passing by.  There’s a old country store that, according to the sign, has been in business since 1901, an antique store and a few other places.  I walk out by the tracks and old depot and watch west-bound freight rush through without slowing down.  Finally, I head back over to the bar and grill.  It’s dark and cool inside and takes my eyes a few minutes to adjust and my sweaty shirt feels cool as I take a sea and order a hamburger.  A radio blares country music between advertisements for farm implements and reports on crop prices.   At the bar, three men in overalls drink beer and discuss the weather, hoping they’d get some rain out of the storms in the forecast for later in the day.  I eat and take it all in.  


Thirty minutes later, after paying my bill, I’m back in the car heading west.  With each mile that I rack up I feel freer.  Later in the afternoon, I watch in fascination as clouds build on the horizon.  I had dreaded this drive across Kansas, but I’m intrigued by these gentle rolling hills and rich dirt.  As the clouds become darker, I notice a bolt of lightning and then another and then it hits.  The wind is tremendous and I hold on to the steering wheel with both hands.  Then comes the rain, racing in sheets across the prairie.  Soon, drops pellet the roof with such force that it drowns out Steely Dan tune playing on a cassette in the car’s stereo.  I slow down and as I drive under an overpass, notice a group of motorcyclists seeking shelter.  But soon, it’s over and steam rises from the highway.  As I pick up speed, I see the car again, up head, the ’55 Buick, and wonder if I’m really alone on this journey.  

23 comments:

  1. Sage, that was beautiful, atmospheric indoors and out. We are no strangers to enigma here and the most enigmatic mysteries include memories and '55 Buicks.

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    1. I passed that Buick four times over a two day period! I would have loved to have talked to the man, but he drove a steady 60 mph in the days when the freeway was 65.

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  2. I had the music from Twilight Zone and Rod Sterling's voice in my head while reading.

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  3. Love the imagery here - I can just see the whole thing. And love the slight eeriness of seeing the Buick.

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  4. I think you and I would be good travel partners. I always want to make it through the big urban areas before pulling over for a place to eat. Back in '88, we always had to gamble finding a place to eat off the interstate in small towns. These days with GPS devices that list places ahead in towns makes it easier even if I still try to find a small hole in the wall place not listed anywhere.

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    1. The trip back (in August 1989) was even better as I stuck to 2 lane roads for a good portion of the trip... I should write about it--eating pie in Ten Sheep, WY and other good memories but there was also a passenger that trip and some things I'd just as soon forget.

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  5. You're a gifted writer and this really created a "mood" and was very visual.

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    1. Thanks, Stephen. That means a lot as I have enjoyed your writing!

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  6. I also loved how I could picture it all playing out.

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  7. It's almost as if we are there with you. Thanks for sharing that.

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  8. That gave me chills when you described seeing the '55 Buick and a man identical to your father.

    We're never alone on our journeys. :)

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  9. That gave me chills when you described seeing the '55 Buick and a man identical to your father.

    We're never alone on our journeys. :)

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  10. A great post, Sage.I enjoyed it very much!

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  11. Nothing like a road trip through the American West to free the mind. Every man I know (at least all of them worth their salt) have memories of such a trip behind the wheel of a car. Thanks for telling this one. Makes me distinctly nostalgic for my own such trips.

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    1. Yep, working on this piece makes me want to hit the road!

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  12. Nothing like a road trip through the American West to free the mind. Every man I know (at least all of them worth their salt) have memories of such a trip behind the wheel of a car. Thanks for telling this one. Makes me distinctly nostalgic for my own such trips.

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  13. A great memory and so very well written. I got chicken skin reading about the Buick.
    Now don't get me wrong (because I love to travel with my wife), but I still enjoy solitary road trips.

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