Strange Tales Along the Road
Posted: Wed Jun 15, 2011 11:37 amGuess I'll start in the middle of my inaugural voyage in my 7 x 10 + 3 V-nose. It's on the long side, but gets stranger. Here it is from my journal with no rewrite:
Sunday May 29, 2011
After waking to snow just S of Tonopah, I gingerly made my way back down the abandoned road to 95 which generally sloped gently to Goldfield. Every road sign along the way had been whited out by the blowing snow
Tho only store open at 0700 was Barbarosa and Bear. Dave looks like Ben Kinglsey, and tho Bear (Jeff Hicks) agrees, he hung upon him the moniker 'Barbarosa.' Jeff collects and sells antiques, specializing in carbide miner's lamps along with old Harley's and Indians and an apparently exhaustive selection of books on Nevada's old days, mining and ghost towns.
He and his wife Penny were so fun and easy to talk with I must have spent a couple hours there just enjoying their company. They have an old stove and chairs around it giving the ambience of the old corner store with the cracker barrel where the old timers of a small town meet to talk about nothing. . . which is not too far from the truth.
I couldn't resist buying a carbide lamp and hat with bracket to stick it on, along with a $50 book, 'the Bible' of the old mining towns by Stanley Paher, a friend of Jeff's. Before I left, I was given perfect directions to a hot springs and told I could ignore the NO TRESPASSING signs.
The snow had melted as I retraced 10 highway miles on 95 before heading West 7 miles on a rough, but paved road to Alkali Springs. Just as Jeff had said, there were trees and an old swimming pool there. I tested the water, and although it would have been perfect for a hot windless day, that morning possessed neither of those qualities so I stood and casted about for another pool.
As I did, a tanned hand waived at me from 50 yards away. The hand was attached to a man with a balding, long blond/gray haired face of the sole occupant of an invisible hot spring pool, inviting me to join him.
Jake is an incredibly engaging man, just under 6 feet who bears a vague resemblance to Richard Harris. He runs 'Keep on Trucking'* which consists of a Ford Ranger with a tow bar in the front, an aluminium home made camper shell, and a kayak perched atop. He takes free lance assignments to take trucks across the country when needed, towing his rig behind. He is originally from Arkansas and talks like it, but grew up in the midwest.
His only companion is his black cat, Milo, who adopted him at a rest area 7 years ago. He can talk more than I do and has a wealth of information that is delivered like Jeff Foxworthy and every bit as entertaining. He is careful to give attribution to Red Green or whomever when it is obvious I have appreciated some remark. Many are along the lines of 'there's no tool that cannot be creatively misused.'
We are having great fun making jokes and brilliant observations and sage philosophical comments as we hide from the 45 degree weather and high winds, sheltered in a hot tub like pool warmed to a very comfortable 90 - 100 degrees by an underground spring.
When we are both 'done' and resemble tanned prunes after a couple hours in the tub, we agree to meet in my trailer for my seemingly inexhaustible mess of corned beef hash.
Later, clad only in a towel and sandals, he returns in late afternoon with an unopened bottle of Sailor's Spiced rum, 92 proof which we share along with my bottle of Kirkland 7 year old Bourbon. These adjuncts move the conversation to even greater philosophical directions and eventually to intimate revelations about past wives, old girl friends, heart ache and a Federal prison sentence for shooting an aggressive homosexual with a BB gun.
As the evening progresses to its inevitable conclusion Jake (not his real name he eventually confides) remarks about how well I speak. This is generous of him because he is by far the more entertaining of our pair. I learn some new thing with every other clever, laconic sentence.
In fact it appears he may be my superior in many ways but one. It is suddenly apparent that Jake has consumed more alcohol than he can organize. In quick succession he hucks a large wad of spittle on the port side of the trailer and pounds on my keyboard with both hands as if to break it.
When he looks at me for a response I realize we are at an important juncture. It comes to me that a predictable response will be disadvantageous, so I suggest he is testing me and assure him I am still his friend (as I remove the keyboard from the area of likely further abuse and surreptitiously kick a large kitchen knife under my bed.
I have somehow lurched into solution that does not begat further violence. Instead, he wants to hold my hand and head and cry. I suggest it is time to call it a night, but my words fall upon the ears of a naked man who has apparently passed out in my trailer.
My attempts at reviving him and suggesting he return to his camper fall on stone ears. I do not want him there and all I can think of is to drag my camp chair he is sprawled in until I have removed both it and him from the trailer. I managed to achieve this rather awkwardly, but even the 16" fall to the ground does not rouse him.
I now have a 54 year old naked man on the cold ground just outside my trailer in the midnight cold wind. He starts to moan, and cry and begs me not to leave him. I demand that he get to his feet with my assistance and put his arm around me and let me help lead him back to his camper. The logic and necessity of this is not persuasive, tho' we make a couple of aborted attempts.
These end with him falling on the hard ground. He is about my size and build, perhaps a little larger, but he seems incredibly heavy. Maybe it is my own drunkenness (tho' suddenly I feel all too sober), but it is as if his frame is composed of something denser than mere flesh.
I am tiring of this and tell him I am going to get blankets. He repeats that he does not want me to leave. 'I love you' is interspersed with 'Love you!' I did not have the presence of mind to keep an exact tally, but I'd guess the 'Love you's won the ballot.
My flashlight quits working during this ordeal and I find my way in the nearly pitch dark up a slippery rise to his trailer. Muhammed seems disinclined to go to the mountain, so . . . . After a couple of trips I end up with his two ragged blankets, a pillow and his mattress.
Tho' he complains he is cold, his body insists on rolling off the mattress. It seems like an hour, but was probably only 15 - 20 minutes I ham huddled there with him in the cold and dark, reassuring him and trying to keep the blankets on him. After another pathetic attempt to get him on his feet and headed to his camper, I am ready to give up.
I get a spare down sleeping bag from my trailer and wrap that around him, over his blankets. I finally go to bed. I try to sleep. Thoughts of him attacking my truck or trailer are balanced by thoughts he will die of exposure.
It is this latter that keeps me from following my instinct which is telling me to just drive off and leave him to his fate. I check him a couple times during the night when his moaning wakens me. He is off the mattress, but huddled under the sleeping bag. I let him be.
I wake at 0530 and at 0600 decide to investigate. The mattress, his sandals, towel and blankets lay alone20 yards from the trailer. Up near the hot spring pool and his truck is my unoccupied sleeping bag. I take a quick bath in the hot spring and dress. As I am about to leave, I look back. Jake is now fully clothed and kneeling near his truck, moaning quietly as if praying to a toilet that is not there.
The start of my motor as I rumble off does not change his posture.
_________________________________________
*Unfortunately I've had to change the name to protect his privacy. The name he actually used was much funnier. I've change a few other names to preserve 'Jake's' privacy.
Sunday May 29, 2011
After waking to snow just S of Tonopah, I gingerly made my way back down the abandoned road to 95 which generally sloped gently to Goldfield. Every road sign along the way had been whited out by the blowing snow
Tho only store open at 0700 was Barbarosa and Bear. Dave looks like Ben Kinglsey, and tho Bear (Jeff Hicks) agrees, he hung upon him the moniker 'Barbarosa.' Jeff collects and sells antiques, specializing in carbide miner's lamps along with old Harley's and Indians and an apparently exhaustive selection of books on Nevada's old days, mining and ghost towns.
He and his wife Penny were so fun and easy to talk with I must have spent a couple hours there just enjoying their company. They have an old stove and chairs around it giving the ambience of the old corner store with the cracker barrel where the old timers of a small town meet to talk about nothing. . . which is not too far from the truth.
I couldn't resist buying a carbide lamp and hat with bracket to stick it on, along with a $50 book, 'the Bible' of the old mining towns by Stanley Paher, a friend of Jeff's. Before I left, I was given perfect directions to a hot springs and told I could ignore the NO TRESPASSING signs.
The snow had melted as I retraced 10 highway miles on 95 before heading West 7 miles on a rough, but paved road to Alkali Springs. Just as Jeff had said, there were trees and an old swimming pool there. I tested the water, and although it would have been perfect for a hot windless day, that morning possessed neither of those qualities so I stood and casted about for another pool.
As I did, a tanned hand waived at me from 50 yards away. The hand was attached to a man with a balding, long blond/gray haired face of the sole occupant of an invisible hot spring pool, inviting me to join him.
Jake is an incredibly engaging man, just under 6 feet who bears a vague resemblance to Richard Harris. He runs 'Keep on Trucking'* which consists of a Ford Ranger with a tow bar in the front, an aluminium home made camper shell, and a kayak perched atop. He takes free lance assignments to take trucks across the country when needed, towing his rig behind. He is originally from Arkansas and talks like it, but grew up in the midwest.
His only companion is his black cat, Milo, who adopted him at a rest area 7 years ago. He can talk more than I do and has a wealth of information that is delivered like Jeff Foxworthy and every bit as entertaining. He is careful to give attribution to Red Green or whomever when it is obvious I have appreciated some remark. Many are along the lines of 'there's no tool that cannot be creatively misused.'
We are having great fun making jokes and brilliant observations and sage philosophical comments as we hide from the 45 degree weather and high winds, sheltered in a hot tub like pool warmed to a very comfortable 90 - 100 degrees by an underground spring.
When we are both 'done' and resemble tanned prunes after a couple hours in the tub, we agree to meet in my trailer for my seemingly inexhaustible mess of corned beef hash.
Later, clad only in a towel and sandals, he returns in late afternoon with an unopened bottle of Sailor's Spiced rum, 92 proof which we share along with my bottle of Kirkland 7 year old Bourbon. These adjuncts move the conversation to even greater philosophical directions and eventually to intimate revelations about past wives, old girl friends, heart ache and a Federal prison sentence for shooting an aggressive homosexual with a BB gun.
As the evening progresses to its inevitable conclusion Jake (not his real name he eventually confides) remarks about how well I speak. This is generous of him because he is by far the more entertaining of our pair. I learn some new thing with every other clever, laconic sentence.
In fact it appears he may be my superior in many ways but one. It is suddenly apparent that Jake has consumed more alcohol than he can organize. In quick succession he hucks a large wad of spittle on the port side of the trailer and pounds on my keyboard with both hands as if to break it.
When he looks at me for a response I realize we are at an important juncture. It comes to me that a predictable response will be disadvantageous, so I suggest he is testing me and assure him I am still his friend (as I remove the keyboard from the area of likely further abuse and surreptitiously kick a large kitchen knife under my bed.
I have somehow lurched into solution that does not begat further violence. Instead, he wants to hold my hand and head and cry. I suggest it is time to call it a night, but my words fall upon the ears of a naked man who has apparently passed out in my trailer.
My attempts at reviving him and suggesting he return to his camper fall on stone ears. I do not want him there and all I can think of is to drag my camp chair he is sprawled in until I have removed both it and him from the trailer. I managed to achieve this rather awkwardly, but even the 16" fall to the ground does not rouse him.
I now have a 54 year old naked man on the cold ground just outside my trailer in the midnight cold wind. He starts to moan, and cry and begs me not to leave him. I demand that he get to his feet with my assistance and put his arm around me and let me help lead him back to his camper. The logic and necessity of this is not persuasive, tho' we make a couple of aborted attempts.
These end with him falling on the hard ground. He is about my size and build, perhaps a little larger, but he seems incredibly heavy. Maybe it is my own drunkenness (tho' suddenly I feel all too sober), but it is as if his frame is composed of something denser than mere flesh.
I am tiring of this and tell him I am going to get blankets. He repeats that he does not want me to leave. 'I love you' is interspersed with 'Love you!' I did not have the presence of mind to keep an exact tally, but I'd guess the 'Love you's won the ballot.
My flashlight quits working during this ordeal and I find my way in the nearly pitch dark up a slippery rise to his trailer. Muhammed seems disinclined to go to the mountain, so . . . . After a couple of trips I end up with his two ragged blankets, a pillow and his mattress.
Tho' he complains he is cold, his body insists on rolling off the mattress. It seems like an hour, but was probably only 15 - 20 minutes I ham huddled there with him in the cold and dark, reassuring him and trying to keep the blankets on him. After another pathetic attempt to get him on his feet and headed to his camper, I am ready to give up.
I get a spare down sleeping bag from my trailer and wrap that around him, over his blankets. I finally go to bed. I try to sleep. Thoughts of him attacking my truck or trailer are balanced by thoughts he will die of exposure.
It is this latter that keeps me from following my instinct which is telling me to just drive off and leave him to his fate. I check him a couple times during the night when his moaning wakens me. He is off the mattress, but huddled under the sleeping bag. I let him be.
I wake at 0530 and at 0600 decide to investigate. The mattress, his sandals, towel and blankets lay alone20 yards from the trailer. Up near the hot spring pool and his truck is my unoccupied sleeping bag. I take a quick bath in the hot spring and dress. As I am about to leave, I look back. Jake is now fully clothed and kneeling near his truck, moaning quietly as if praying to a toilet that is not there.
The start of my motor as I rumble off does not change his posture.
_________________________________________
*Unfortunately I've had to change the name to protect his privacy. The name he actually used was much funnier. I've change a few other names to preserve 'Jake's' privacy.