It was like riding a bus. He always feels that the bus cannot go any faster, so he might as well relax and enjoy the ride. In short, he is not in control. Control is important to some people, to him, essential.
So as he drove east back from N.M, and the canyon before that, he saw smoke emanating from the long hood of his 1972 Dodge Charger. A pit stop at a ma & pa told him three to four days till the thermostat would arrive from Albuquerque. More importantly, it would cost $36, and that was not going to happen on his wallet.
Every twenty-one miles, all the way to Chicago, he would add a gallon of water. No problem. With plenty of plastic jugs and a Labrador that happily used every stop for a squat, he just played music and enjoyed the ride. Just like on the bus. Until he entered Texas panhandle.
The first odd sight was the lack of cars on the road. He decided to stop for a six-pack and size up the strange weather that was brewing. Shopkeep was closing up quick, “big storm coming, you need to find shelter very soon.”
Down the road a spell he pulled off into a rest stop. He and his best friend sat up on a picnic table sipping and watching the wickedest sky imaginable. He thought it interesting and perhaps appropriate that they should die out here under such a big sky, away from all, and alone. The dog was very steady. This kept him calm as well, for another beer or two. Then when one corner of the shelter roof tore lose, they dove into the floorboard of the back seat of the Charger.
He felt the wet nose of his companion and caught site of the early morning sunrise. They stretched, scratched, peed, and boarded the overheated and thirsty horse for the next leg of the journey. They were on the road again, for the next twenty-one miles anyway.
