Taurus

Whenever we leave town I get really excited. It doesn't matter if we're heading to Anaheim to see Disneyland or Seattle to see friends or South Dakota to see family or when we're just taking visiting guests down to Skid Row to make a spectacle of the homeless and hungry. I love being at home but I LOVE me a good adventure. The idea of traveling down a long and lonesome road, not sure what dangers and excitement lie ahead. A hitchhiker? A tourist attraction? A blown tire? Around every bend could be the abandoned nail in the road that will cause you to stop in the middle of nowhere, perhaps in the middle of the night, completely helpless save for your cunning wits.

When Jade and I lived in Denver, Jade's mom made a big move herself into the mountains of Colorado. She and a friend purchased a beautiful piece of estate on the very plateau of this monstrous hill overlooking eternal valleys in all directions. You talk about Heaven on Earth, this was it. Dogs and horses pretty much ran free. The house was an elegant log cabin and was kept warm by a fire place. There was nobody around (literally) for miles. You could remove your clothes and take a stroll through the front yard in the middle of the day if you so chose. The thing, however, that I found most often stopped me from walking around naked was my mother-in-law. I realized that strutting through the front lawn with the cocktail weiner and hackie-sack exposed was, perhaps, a bad idea. Regardless, you get the idea. Complete isolation. If a snow storm hit, you were trapped until the plow dug you out. Think, "The Shining".

It was a Friday and I had just wrapped up my classes for the week. Jade and I were heading to the mountain resort to spend the weekend with her mom. It was about a three hour drive, easily, and Jade had made it the day before. She finished her classes on a Thursday and decided to just get out of town a little earlier. I packed my clothes, always indecisive about what to bring on a trip - any trip. I never want to be OVER packed. That is a nuisance. But, more than anything, I don't want to be UNDER packed. What if I realize, too late, that I need a sweater? What if I realize, too late, that my sweater doesn't match my jeans? What if I realize, too late, that I really really really want to be wearing my cords rather than jeans? Are these THE two t-shirts I want to be stuck with for the next three days? How many pairs of underwear will I need? Two. One for Friday / Saturday. One for Sunday. I decide to bring three in case I have an "accident". This fear is founded upon nothing but I am aware of it's existence and potential. I love to fart loud and hard and this sometimes puts me in danger of surprises. I pack one pair of sneakers then decide to toss in my flip-flops for good measure. I take a pair of shorts to sleep in and then decide that if I'm taking shorts I should take a night robe. I take a jacket since it would be unfair to JUST bring a sweater and I also bring a beanie and a billed cap, one pair of sunglasses, one pair of seeing glasses, two pairs of socks, no three, just in case I step in a puddle I want a clean back-up. I bring a book and then decide to bring a second one just in case I finish the first one. I bring my journal, my sketch book and my idea notebook along with three separate pens. I pack a school book incase I'm feeling academic and an individual notebook for that. I don't bother with deodorant or toothpaste, assuming they'll have it there, but I do put away my toothbrush and prescription pills that keep me from having petite mal seizures. I don't own a wallet so I stick a few bills in my pocket along with my driver's license and credit card. I finally shove it all into a black plastic garbage bag and head out of the dorms, realizing, halfway down the hall that I've forgotten to burn my four new "Road Music" CDs and that I may as well grab a vest while I'm back.

I'm on the road. I'm leaving Denver behind for the next few days and am on my way to destination: Canon City......well, it's about an hour into nowhere OUTSIDE of Canon City but CC is the final stop for all things civilization. So I'm in my new (to you) Ford Taurus, which, for all means and purposes has been a completely reliable car. I purchased it in South Dakota just after high school and drove it to Colorado. It's gotten me all around The Mile High City and I've never had to do anything to it short of put gas in it and change it's brakes, which actually, is another story altogether.

I exit the city and am driving down a two lane freeway heading south. The drive is smooth and the temperature is A-OK. To the left of me I notice a waist high cement wall begin - the sort of wall that is announcing road construction. To the right of me I notice the same stone wall begin, barricading us into our auto-stalls. None of this is strange or out of the ordinary. In South Dakota they say we have two seasons: winter and road construction. What WAS strange, however, was when the cement wall to the left of me began to slant towards us, slowly blocking out the left lane completely. At this point there is no shoulder to the road. It is completely edge-to-edge lane. I am in a line of herded mechanical cattle following the butt-end in front of me. I am being led to a slaughter and I am smiling about it. Vacation! Adventure! Excitement!

It happens at about the point when I can't see the beginning of the cement wall behind me and I can't yet see the end of it in front of me that my trustworthy Ford Taurus decides to have it's very first panic-attack (they grow up so quick!). It sputters and spurts. It coughs and lurches. It leaps and then I'm left pumping the gas, wondering why nothing is catching. I'm slamming my foot into the pedal, staring at my floorboards like I'm lit up (on drugs). The car is slowing down.....60......55......50.....at 45 the guy behind me starts to honk, alerting me, just in case I hadn't noticed, that I am now moving at a snail's pace along the coasting freeway. 35.......30......27........the cars behind him are honking. Perhaps they think I'm narcoleptic and have fallen asleep at the wheel? Perhaps they think I have Alzheimer's and have forgotten where I am? Perhaps they think I'm just some punk kid pulling some jerk-prank on weary traveler's? What they don't know is that it's just me, alone, in my car, screaming at my feet pressing the pedals. It's just me alone swearing and hitting the console, shouting Nazi-like commands at a piece of machinery that won't listen. It is just me alone, getting suddenly very hot and sweaty on a nice day. 20.......15.......11.....I'm sure I'm just going to stop. I'm just going to roll to a gentle stop and I will sit still in the seat for a moment and I will whisper to myself, "God, why hath Thou forsaken me?" I will step out of my car, place my sneaker on the hot tar and I will be torn to pieces and burnt at the stake by the modern day angry villagers behind me. They will pull out their modern day torches, ie guns and they will burn me with their modern day flames, ie bullets.

8.....5.....in the not-too-distance I see the end of the cement wall. In my panic and mind-chaos I hadn't been watching to see when the road would open up again. I try rocking my body back and forth, giving my car that extra bit of momentum to reach it's destination. And here it was. And just beyond the cement wall, what do I find but a tow truck. A four-wheeled angel. It is sanctuary. Salvation. Heaven. Why hath Thou forsaken me? NEVER! I was but weak in faith. I pull over and a row of roughly seventeen people, young and old, black and white, weak and strong, flip me off, give me dirty looks or just plainly shake their heads in disgust. But no one stops. No one pulls over, thinking, "this young man is all alone on the freeway, having automobile problems. We should help." Instead they drive. I bet if I was a reality show star they'd all stop. They'd be lining up to help me. I kick a rock on the ground and pretend it was all of them. I tap it into the road and watch it get run over and I smile. Take that, you bastards.

I walk over to the tow truck and ask the guy for a quick jump. I say my car's all messed up but I think some juice would just get me to the gas station. He says sure. He sells it'll cost me twenty-five bucks. I tell him I don't have twenty-five bucks. I tell him I have roughly three and a credit card. I ask him if he can run the credit card and he says no. I ask him if he can just help me out. I tell him "that's my car right there - the one right there - the gray one". It's approximately eleven feet away and the only one that's not moving so I assume I don't need to be anymore accurate. He shakes his head and says no. He says he could get in some real trouble. I say please. I say I just need some help - person to person and he gets inside his tow truck and leaves me alone, on the road, wishing I were a reality star.

I watch this new boss bastard drive away and I pick up another rock and stare at it. I picture it's his head and I throw it out into the middle of nowhere. I glance around and notice, about half a mile up, that there's a cop writing someone a ticket. I look back the other way and just see a steady stream of people passing me, now pretending I don't exist. I'm beginning to get hungry and thirsty (I always pack the proper wardrobe and never the proper food supplies) and so I begin walking towards the police car. Certainly a man of the law, a protector of freedom and all things good would help a sort of dimwit in distress. Six blocks is really a lot further than you think. I begin to wonder if he's going to finish that ticket soon and get back in his car and drive off. I begin to wonder what I would do if that were to happen and I begin to jog and then to run. By the time I reach him he is indeed crawling back inside his car, oblivious to my shouts of, "Hey! Hey! Guy! Officer! Dude! Wait! Hey!" I finally get to him just as he turns the key in the ignition and I tap on the glass. He looks at me and I think briefly that I see his hand go to the butt of his gun. I motion for him to roll down his window and he does so, just a crack.

"Yeah?"
"Sorry....I just.....(this is me panting).....I just.....my car.....it's all messed up....I just need....a jump.....can you help......I'm sorry - I just ran......super tired......need a jump down the road...."

He looks in his rearview mirror and looks back at me and tells me he's not allowed to and I say, "WHAT!!!????" and he just looks at me from behind his mustache and sunglasses and I suddenly want to break his window and rip out his throat. I try to explain our dynamic to him. I tell him I am a citizen and that I pay taxes and that he is a policeman and gets paid from my taxes. He nods and agrees but says it's not his job and he's not supposed to use state vehicles to help people. I want to find the governor. I want to find the senator. I want to find the closest local mayor and I want to drag them out of bed and throw them in the middle of nowhere and tell them to walk home. I want to strip off their clothes and burn them and say, "Deal". I want to say "fine" to this cop and slowly walk away with my key dragging up the side of his stupid, useless car. I don't do this, though. Instead, I beg and finally, as it usually does, it works. He backs up the six blocks but, instead of letting me sit in the passenger seat or even the back of the car he just makes me walk.

When I finally get back I'm now too weak to kill this man even if I wanted to. He gives me a jump and my car starts and he tells me there's a gas station a ways up the road and that I should pull over there and put some water in my radiator. I say sure.

Huh.......nice guy.....

The next exit truly is the gas station and I do buy a gallon of water and a cold egg-salad sandwich. I pour the water into my radiator, I eat my sandwich and when a guy asks me for a few bucks for gas I give it to him, deciding that I would rather die than join the ranks of the Complete Effing Dick Hole Army. I don't even care if he's going to buy booze or broads or blow with it. I tell him what happens and he seem sympathetic before quickly running inside the gas station to buy, what? A pack of cigarettes, probably.

I fire up my ride and push on, praying hard, that something like this doesn't happen again. The going is good and I'm listening to my "Road Mix 3" CD and all is well. The sun is just setting and it's beautiful over the mountains, outlining them in red, turning them into black silhouettes. I cruise through Canon City and am officially past civilization. The traffic goes away, people are scarce, homes are few and far between. The sun drops like a ball and night falls around me. I take a left off the main highway onto Tallahassee Road, marked simply by a cross with white paint scrawling the sloppy letters. I drive a solid thirty five minutes into nothing. I am driving between hills. I am taking rights and lefts on unmarked roads, navigating from memory, getting lost in the mountains. I am in the shroud of darkness and, besides the shine of my headlamps, there is no light, save a few stars and besides the hum of my motor, there is no noise, save for nothing. Solitude. I have entered no-man's land and I am alone. And now, it is at this moment, this time of shining realization that I feel the beast below me sputter and spit and go heavy. I pump the pedal and nothing, just as before. I swear and I curse but I do so quietly, fearing the sound of my voice against the backdrop of nothing. It sounds too foreign to me so I zip it.

The car rolls to a stop and in front of me I see fifteen feet of dirt road and then black space. Behind me I see the dirt, reflected red from my taillights and to the left and right of me is a sea void of any characteristics. Steam is rising under my hood and I have no water left and I curse myself for not buying another jug. I lift up the hood and suddenly, from far off, but not far enough, I hear a noise and I turn in that direction. A footstep?

W....T.....F.....

I get back in my car, hood still up and I pull out my cell phone. I'll just call Jade and June and they'll come help me out. I must be only twenty minutes away now. I can keep cool for that long. I can be brave. I can be a big boy. I flip open the phone and I am getting zero reception and I think that the noise was definitely a footstep and that somewhere, much like "The Truman Show" there are people watching my life right now, only instead of a funny drama, my life is a horror movie. I am that first character to get killed off. The one who gets the ax in the first ten minutes just so you know what you're up against. I am the nameless drifter, receiving nothing more in the credits than "First Victim".

I roll the window down, just a crack, and remind myself of the officer and can suddenly sympathize with him. The desolate mountain range. A strange, desperate wanderer suddenly knocking on your window, wild eyed and covered with sweat. I roll the window back up and just pray that that I don't die. I wish my dad were here, not as a protector because he probably fights just as well as I do, but as a mechanic. I want him to be hunched over in front of the hood of my car, twisting knobs, pulling levers and saying, "there ya go" and then I'm off. But he's not and I've never gathered any sort of automotive wisdom from him and that decision I am now firmly regretting.

I get out of my car and wander back to the hood, hoping that I see something obvious. Maybe a squirrel stuck between some gears. Maybe a......I don't know. I don't even know what it's supposed to look like when NOTHING is wrong with it. Who am I kidding? And then another footstep and then something is being thrown. An acorn? A rock? I turn into the darkness and I shout, suddenly, and without thinking, "HEEEEELLLOOOOO!!!!????" and my voice echoes and bounces and rolls off the hills forever, again and again, bouncing through the valleys and there is no answer and I think, "Duh, Sasquatch doesn't talk....and even if he did, it certainly wouldn't be in English". And this was my conclusion. I was sure that day, in that darkness that there were one of two things hunting for me. Was a serial killer probable? No. POSSIBLE, but not probable. PROBABLE was The Elusive Sasquatch. I was positive a hairy, eight foot tall, mangy beast was going to come strolling from the darkness, seen only too late and twist my head off my shoulders with a swift swipe and a howl. OR.....the other thought was zombies. I have a strange and exotic fear of zombies. I understand that they don't exist and I understand that it's foolish to believe, as an adult, that the dead walk among us, but I am afraid that I will be the person that discovers them. I will be, oh, let's say stranded on a dirt road somewhere, someday.....in the mountains perhaps? And I will hear a noise and my car will be exhausted and my phone will be charged but useless and I will discover the walking dead, one, two, three of them, perhaps once buried in shallow graves. I will run through the woods blindly, not knowing where I'm heading or where I came from. I won't be able to see anything and I'll probably either a.) get lost and fall down a pit, break my leg and starve to death, b.) get caught by a horde of zombies in another part of the mountains or c.) get trapped by Sasquatch and have my puny head twisted off.

I shut my hood, get back in my car and try the starter. Nothing, nothing, nothing, SOMETHING! It roars to life. I give it a second, not wanting to rush what may turn out to be my only chance at survival. I slowly pull it into drive, coast, coast, coast, gas, and then I'M OFF! Lefts, rights, lefts, break off when necessary, follow the long driveway up the curve of the hill and breach the plain. The house has many windows and they are all shining with light, beacons of hope in the darkness. I pull up behind Jade's car, say, "Thank you, God, for not allowing me to die tonight by the vicious and savage hands of Sasquatch or by the rotting black teeth of zombie men and women". I get out of my car and head inside. Everyone is happy to see me. Everyone is wondering where I've been. Everyone is saying they've been calling me and couldn't get through.

"Yeah", I say, "tell me about it".