Anyway:
The old Yota blew a cam seal somewhere in Maryland but I kept heading West. I figured I stop and fix it along the way but it didn't happen although I tried. At one point it stopped leaking! And every once in awhile I would clean the oil of the left front brakes at a truck stop. I kept a couple fire extinguishers within easy reach.
I came into Peyton Co because I had an old friend nearby, I pulled up to a little general store, I could feel the weight of maddening East Coast humidity was gone, the girl inside was smoking and didn't seem to mind me using her phone and drinking beer. I had torn my phone in half and thrown it in the Pokamoke many miles before.
I was sitting outside by the BBQ when two older gents struck up with the " do you know where you are going to go when you die". The one guy had an heir of an indignant complacency ,of a wanting used car salesman, and I obliged him half ways and off the cuff. I put up with his spiel while I winked at the girl who ran the store. She was dumb but not so very much.
The man who played Jesus to a T finally had enough of me; I had asked what his son did for a living he told me he worked the ministry in the area. I retorted, So he fleeces these poor people so he can walk around in riches!?"
He started to leave, his partner, the farmer, the one with the worked hands and back who stood quiet and subjective while his friend boasted of his glory put a little red glass heart in my palm and closed it making sure I felt him closing my fist upon the jewel with a rehearsed caress. He did it as to make a statement, or maybe to strike a chord. Whichever, it was cute. The both had rehearsed and practiced a lot.
They gave me some books to which I asked their names, numbers and addresses. I know them better than they know me.
I will always feel the slow softness of his hand on mine. It does not disturb me, I just know it.
Shysters the both, one knew it, the other did not want to believe he knew it.
No luck did I have reaching my friend from the phone at the general store in Peyton Co. I liked that town very much, there was something about it that made me feel comfortable, I had intentions, which did not prevail, of stopping back. When the ice cream guy told her to check the invoice she said not to worry and flitted about in her short denim skirt and smart eyes not concerned with such trivialities. I did not intercede though the want was there.
I asked the hot chick where the closest library was, it was 10 miles west in Falcon and so I went.
I pulled my old beat Yota into the parking lot of the public library and noticed a little woman dressed like a cowgirl, bent woven cowboy hat and all. A skinny thing with a daughter younger than mine and a gun bigger than mine which she displayed for along with her loud voice which was obviously meant for me to hear every word. I mean, she didn't speak directly to me, but she wanted me to hear her every word. But was not in the mood to talk to such a nutjob at the time BUT she spoke to her daughter so that I would hear everything about her life. Maybe I will go back to talk to her but I think that will be a loosing proposition I am sure. Bitches be crazy and that you can not win against lest thee succumb.
There was a big sign on the library door stating no guns where to be on the property. But I watched this lithe young woman carry on with her dogs, her Subaru covered in mud, her daughter and her life which she continued to bellow out to me for the hours I was there. No body would talk that loud about nothing unless they wanted something.
Its true she drove me mad, to the point I will never forget this little thing, all dressed up with nobody to shoot but only to harp at her daughter incessantly and loudly but kindly.
Its true my gun , unloaded, locked in one box with the bullets locked in other would be no match for such a creature unless I deployed an underhandedness I am not capable off. I suppose its a good thing to see such a woman standing guard at the local library.
Its true that sometimes times to much is enough.
I just used the computer and the phone and when my friend showed up we went to where they sold liquor and guns and had a couple beers, it was getting late. I set off to find a campsite and he went to his job.
I pulled into a camp site off the road, the type RV's are for. I was walking towards the office when a mid nineties white F150 roared up to the gas pumps out by the road. A tall seemingly drunk ************, and again with the cowboy hat, stomps out and starts jerking with the shut down pumps all the while muttering things about pot farms and such.
The lady in the office was afraid, told him the pumps were shut off for the night and looks at me as if I traveled with him. I just asked her if their where any campsites open. She said that there weren't, handed me a camping brochure and got the hell out of there. I went into the latrine to piss and the nut followed me in still muttering incomprehensibly. We pissed together, I told him there was a gas station back in Falcon but he shook his head vehemently and said, " NO!"
We both walked back outside, well, I walked, he, well, it was more of a flat footed jerk for him. He was saying something about not having enough gas to get to wherever he was going and started to leave.
I said, " Hold on a minute buddy, I have 20 gallons in cans in the bed, do you have any money?"
He routed through his wallet and came up with 10 bucks. I poured 5 gallons of go juice into his Ford while he did his flatfooted jerk around and around.
As I was pouring the gas his voice became sullen and composed like a college professor and he said, " I have a little rock I can break off if you want"
Rock? I asked him, " Do you mean METH!?"
He casually affirmed.
At first I was going to say no but I thought about the drive back home and thought it would be good nonstop so I said SURE!
As I drove back to Falcon to get smokes I realized why the dude didn't want to buy gas there. The station was chock full of coppers and me with my meth, out of state plate and virginal face that could be mistaken for a 16 year old when I am 50.
I can't say for sure where the sun came up on me but I found myself in Manitou Springs at the public library talking to some dude in a striking blue dress. I said, " That is a nice dress" before I made eye contact. And after that we minded our business until I shuffled off to wash the oil off the brakes of my old Yota.
I looked across the street and saw one of the pot stores, it was called Maggie's Farm of all things and I just had to try it. I went in and took a number. I was headed inside where a hippy was bellowing his wares. I just ask for some pot, he bellowed more and more about which was which was what was what. I got out of there thinking how much the state making off these people with their liquour, guns and drugs. My head was spinning and I wasn't even stoned yet!
I finally found a campsite 150 miles later. I put my old old Yota in low loc and strolled past newer trucks scrambling and fussing up the mountain out younder where there are little laws to a site with a big fire ring and a view of the upcoming eclipse.
I made some jokes about the thrashing shiny trucks and was met with great animosity and indignanty to which I still wonder but not really.
I built the fire, shot a skewrel, packed a 5/8ths deep well socket with high potency pot and METH. I don't know how many days transpired. My lips split and burned like hell. Maybe once or twice somebody would drive by, looked at me and sped away.
I remember a couple asking me which way was down, the woman recognized my accent from Pennsylvaina and she looked at me wild eyed as I grasped her mates cheeks between my hands and sang, singsong, about how fat they were.
There was a family down below firing off hand cannons intermittently. I had shot the skewerel with silent air pistol while their young flax hired children climbed up to my range to where a more careless one could have left them helpless and in true despair.
It wasn't long until the people round knew I was cantilevering up there, picking firewood from places they could not, walking my little old truck into and upto places they could not and breathing a sort of breathe they thought to be detrimental.
I think I ought to have some sort of trophy!
After awhile I came down from that particular mountain of which there have been many. I put one of the fire extinguishers to use dousing my fire. I had fashioned climbing gear out of 550 cord and lopped off pine branches the regular drunks could only reach by risk of death.
I went to a Walmart, got some ointment for my lips, a new phone a couple tires for my old Yota. I might have scared them while I was eating bannanas, guzlling orange juice and talking WAY to loud.
And then I drove back home.
One place I found soft was Marshall Illinois. I slept on moss 5 inches thick! TWICE!
Look, I think my lips got blistered from the meth. METH!? Jesus! I would be hard pressed to do that again.
How ever once you get a bit further north things seemed a bit more normal. It is a very different world though from Arkansas. I had fun though but, there were not many people like me there and a few noticed lol. I had bear spray 2 knives on my hip and a machete as well, so I suppose at least 4 of them knew how it would go down should they press the issue. Thankfully no nightly news was made "just sayin"
