I’ve Driven Further Than I Thought!
One day after our bar-burger lunches Larry suddenly said, “Let’s go!”
“Where?”
“Camping, remember? I told you yesterday.”
“But I’m happy here,” I said. Blackouts be damned; I would have remembered if we were going camping.
“Suit yourself,” Larry said, and he left.
“He won’t leave without me,” I told the bartender, even as Larry’s bike revved outside. “He knows I love camping.”
I took another sip of my beer, waiting for Larry to come back inside, but he did not. Instead, his bike revved up and roared away.
I chugged the rest of my beer and went outside in time to see Larry’s bike rounding the corner and leaving town.
“Fuck!” I said. I stomped and fumed, but the Harley roar dimmed until I could no longer hear it.
I had three dollars in my pocket, so I walked across the street to the gas station. “Virginia Slim Menthol Light 120s,” I said to the guy behind the counter, putting down my $1.25. “And do you have any fucking idea where someone might go camping around here?”
The cashier raised his eyebrows then slid the cigarettes across the counter. “Nope,” he said.
I stormed out. I’ll fuckin’ find him, I thought. I went home, grabbed four beers and a two-liter of Diet Coke out of the refrigerator, and hopped in the car. I shoved my AC/DC 8-track into the player, blaring Highway To Hell at full volume.
I wasn’t as drunk as I wanted to be, but I was not as sober as I should have been. The tires squealed as I peeled out, furious at being left behind, with no idea where I was going.
I made a left at Main Street – the way Larry’s bike had gone when I’d last seen him – and started driving into the country, hoping to stumble upon a campground. Furious and chain-smoking, scream-singing the angriest songs I could find, I drove and drove. I drove out of Pitcairn and out of its nearby suburbs. I drove until I didn’t see houses anymore.
I started to calm down when I realized I was amongst the trees and fields and nature that I so adored. I started to enjoy the drive, the music, and my mission to find Larry, though I had no idea which way to go.
Sometimes I aimed for the sun – as it set. I followed roads with alluring tree canopies. As it got darker … and darker … and darker, I kept driving. I didn’t see a single sign for camping anywhere.
I drove through the night until I saw a sign that said “MOUNT UNION” with a little arrow. I couldn’t believe my good fortune! I’ve driven further than I thought! I thought. I might as well go see my college!
Newly elated, I followed the arrow toward Mount Union. I drove and drove, but didn’t see anything familiar. After many miles, I finally drove right into Mount Union … which, apparently, is not only a college in Ohio. Mount Union is also a very small borough in Pennsylvania.
Dejected, I drove through the Pennsylvania countryside. In the dark, I could see nothing.
Then, quite suddenly, I noticed that the Camaro’s gas gauge was dangerously, precariously close to the letter E.
I had absolutely no idea where I might be, or where a gas station might be, or how I might find one in the dead of night.
So I simply pulled over onto the side of the road, as lost as a lost person can be, and lit a cigarette.