THE BIG RIDE/TEMPTRESS

MORE from the road––an 8-day cross-country-and-back-to-California hitchhike trip where I tried to sort out my first marriage (1968). Excerpted from my 2017 memoir: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0777FHXX2

THE BIG RIDE 

Probably the best ride I got while heading toward the East Coast and my final destination of meeting up with Dickie at the Rhode Island School of Design in Providence, was out of Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was mid-day when a young guy pulled up in what looked like a new Oldsmobile. He asked where I was headed and when I told him “East Coast, Rhode Island” he gave a thumbs up and announced that I had a ride ’all the way to Philadelphia! He explained that he was driving the car there for some elderly person and asked if I would mind driving while he caught some shuteye in the back seat. He added that I could help myself to the homemade cookies in the tin on the front seat. Suddenly I was cruising at 70 and 80 miles per hour, floating on a plush leather seat that had electric adjustment motors in all directions, and stuffing my face with chocolate chips. And by pushing a little button located just below the brake peddle I could change the radio stations, finding just the right song to suit my mood. Everything was deluxe. I adjusted the speakers so that the sound was only in the front seat area, in consideration of my benefactor, who was unconscious in a matter of minutes. Daylight ended with a gorgeous sunset, colors bouncing off the distant red cliffs and arroyos. 

Driving steadily into the night (my emotional problems supplied me with more than enough adrenalin to remain awake), I had the strange experience around 3 AM of finding tears rolling down my face for no apparent reason. What was happening? I finally understood when I was able to identify the music that was playing on the radio. The exact recording of the “Wedding March” music that had been played when I got married in Nashua, Iowa was being broadcast. Somehow, because of the openness of my psyche, that music had penetrated my subconscious mind, providing the soundtrack for the ongoing movie that was my life. For the rest of that night, as my companion slept peacefully behind me, words and images bubbled to the surface, passed through me and out, a purging of emotions that had been trapped within me for years. I was glad that I was the only one awake, to witness my tearful state. 

It didn’t take long to get to Philadelphia. That fancy car had made high-speed driving almost imperceptible. I got dropped at an off ramp early in the morning, maybe 7AM, and after watching the Olds speed away, I hiked down into the city center to catch the next highway north. Strangely, I found myself right at the little roadside cottage that exhibited the Liberty Bell. A black man was mopping the tile floor as I peered in. He informed me they weren’t open yet, and kept at his job. It seemed odd to run into such an important American icon as that Liberty Bell at that early morning hour. It seemed more like a 3- D hologram just for my amusement than like something actually real. Grade school images quickly joined in. I heard the words, “Give me liberty or give me death,” tried to remember who said them (Patrick Henry), saw people pictured in historical engraving out of my history books. How could anyone be completely free who had a memory, I asked myself? Yes, my physical being was standing there in Philadelphia...but my mind was somewhere else, spinning in rewind, reliving important events connected to my marriage. 

As I traveled the couple of blocks toward my connecting highway, I saw another black man (quite an old guy) pushing a wooden cart full of onions down the gutter. He was straining to keep that heavy cart moving along.  Which movie set was this guy from? I felt like I was watching part of Gone With The Wind, where the slaves were working on the plantation. This old man was wearing a dirty pair of worn overalls, no coat for that chilly morning, and no shoes – his feet were wrapped with rags, string and newspaper. America the beautiful. 

TEMPTRESS 

With a few more rides I found myself within striking distance of Providence, Rhode Island. It was on the third traveling day that I stood in the rain about 80 miles out, when a new blue Ford mustang coupe pulled up. The window rolled down to reveal what looked to my sleep-deprived eyes like the most beautiful woman in the world. She invited me to sit in the car while we figured out if the route she was taking was useful for my destination. It wasn’t, but her attractive face (gleaming eyes, luscious lips, etc.), and obvious womanly curves, urged me to just forget all my plans and join her in whatever fun she had in mind. She kept rubbing her shoulder against mine while examining the map (her perfume had engulfed me by now), I felt like I was being tested, the gods throwing everything they had at me. Was I out here to seriously examine my marriage, or was I there just to have sex with the first woman who came along? I got the feeling that I could somehow be devoured by this woman. 

I imagined a clichéd scenario from numerous horror flicks I’d seen – lonely country road (the back road itinerary she had pointed out on the map), rain pelting down (which it decidedly was), night approaching, deserted farmhouse, evil men waiting for victim lured there by Mustang- driving vampires, etc. Still, it felt pretty crazy to watch her drive off as I remained in the rain and cold (I can still see her red lips and alluring smile glowing in my mind’s eye...). How different would my life have become if I’d taken that fateful ride? We’ll never know.