The Ride

A man of medium height and build walked down a lonely stretch of gravel road toward a highway. The sun was almost hidden behind the faraway blue mountains and the man could see the vehicles passing swiftly by on the highway.

The man himself had a dark complexion which was shadowed by a dirty and tattered ball-cap. His lean body was covered in an old work jacket which should have been discarded long ago. The man had a knapsack on his back which contained all of his earthly possessions. He was unshaven and unclean, but this did not appear to bother him in the least.

He walked at a good stride, taking long steps and making good time. As he walked, he produced a cigarette from his pocket and stopped just long enough to light it. He inhaled deeply on the cigarette and continued to make his way towards the highway.

The sun was now completely hidden by the mountains. The darkness was closing in around him like some black predator seeking whom it may devour.

After what seemed like hours of walking blindly in that vast black night, he arrived at the highway where he hoped to find a ride.

The traffic had slowed down some and the highway itself was a wrinkled old face upon the earth. The asphalt was cracked and the painted lines were faded almost to the point that they didn’t exist. The man walked along the shoulder of the highway. A car passed him, then another. He walked backwards down the highway with his thumb out. A van passed him slowly, and then a car slowed down and stopped. He ran to his savior, and just as he got close, he heard laughter from inside and then the car sped away from him.

The man cursed in a soft voice and gave the car ‘the finger’. He lit a cigarette and continued to walk, thinking about the mean trick that had just been played on him. He could still see their taillights as a small truck pulled up to him.

The man opened the door and the driver said,

“I’m Tim. You want a ride?” The man nodded and replied,

“Thanks Tim. You’re just in the nick of time; my legs are getting mighty tiresome.” Tim chuckled as the man got in. They pulled back onto the highway and climbed back up to speed.

The man looked over at Tim. He could see that Tim was much older than himself. He had a thin, lined face and he was sporting an untamed beard with flecks of gray in it. His hair was down to the collar of his faded green flannel shirt.

“You got a name, son?” Tim said without looking at him.

“Folks just call me Jack.”

“Well Jack,” Tim said. “Whereabouts you head’n?” Jack looked at him hard.

“Anywhere but where I’ve been.” Tim glanced at him for a moment then fixed his eyes on the road ahead of the speeding truck. “Think I might catch a little shut eye. ‘Night Tim.” Tim nodded to him and continued to drive. Jack rested his head on the seat and closed his eyes, letting the blackness swallow him.

Tim looked over at the man called Jack. He had a strange feeling about this young man, he didn’t quite know what to think, but he was curious about him. He just had this feeling. He could smell trouble on this man. Tim continued to think about Jack as he drove off into the night.

When Jack awoke, the sun was just starting to come up and the truck was pulled off onto the shoulder. Tim was in the ditch using it as an outhouse. Jack stepped outside the truck and stretched, and then he too went to use the outhouse.

When they were both done, and standing by the truck, Tim said,

“I’m a mite tired. You think you could drive a spell? Do you have your license?” Jack nodded.

“I have a license but it’s been a long while since I drove anything.” Jack could see how tired Tim was. “I could drive a spell,” he said. They both got in the truck. Jack looked over at the tired man. “Where you going?”

“You just keep on this road. We ain’t going to be there for a long stretch of asphalt.” Jack nodded and started the truck. He pulled onto the highway and continued on their course which was taking them south. He cracked the window and lit a cigarette.

Jack remembered how he used to love driving. It gave a person time to think, sort things out. He had always enjoyed the feel of the steering wheel in his hands, and he enjoyed it now with the mountains off to his right. They are so incredible, he thought. He was on his way to Mexico and it appeared that Tim might be going that way too.

He didn’t have much money and if he was going to stay in Mexico for any lengthy amount of time, he was going to have to get some. He looked over at Tim, who was dead to the world of the living, and lit another cigarette while he thought of his plan of action.

It only took a minute or two to pass through the town that Jack had been anticipating for the last twenty miles. He was somewhat disappointed that the town was not much more than a gas station and café with a few scattered houses. It was a dusty town and Jack did not see one person anywhere.

He continued on, and nine miles out of the town, he came upon a lone gas station. Jack looked at the fuel gauge which read a half tank and this small truck only had one fuel tank. He pulled into the station.

Jack got out and stretched his legs and back. He looked at the run-down gas station. It was a dusty, weather-beaten building standing alone in the world. The paint on the sign was chipped and faded; one of the windows had a web of cracks through it. There was nothing and nobody else around.

The man called Jack pulled his weathered cap down a little lower then opened the door of the truck and rummaged through his bag until he found his snub-nosed .357 pistol. He checked the load and slipped it into his pocket. Tim was still asleep. He’s really out of it, he thought. Jack then went to the pump and filled up the tank. As he was pumping the fuel, he noticed a length of rope in the back of the truck which he coiled up and carried on his shoulder. He walked to the door of the station and stepped inside.