A Journey And An Obligation

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Just Old Al
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A Journey And An Obligation

Post by Just Old Al »

Author's Note: Every last word of this is the truth - except for the bits that aren't.

Chapter 1 – What possessed me to do this?


“Why are you doing this again?” Daisy asked, less than patiently.

“You know why – I’ve told you. It’s a favour to… a friend. He’d do it himself…but he wants me to. And I can’t refuse. Let’s just leave it at that.”

On the surface, the request was simple. Inspect and buy a car in Atlanta, and ferry it to northern Massachusetts, then fly home.

His friend had made all the arrangements. The payment for the car was in escrow in Atlanta, and the temporary plates were there as well. All he had to do is inspect it and make sure it wasn’t about to break in half from rust (he’d been told emphatically that nothing else mattered as long as it ran and drove well) then drive it 1100 miles to northern Massachusetts.

Easy-peasy. A couple of days on the road, and then home. A nice road trip through a bit of the United States he had had little contact with, and then a visit with an old friend, then home.

The flight was uneventful, Minneapolis to Chicago to Atlanta. As it was a short enough run, Al hadn’t bothered to get first class, and regretted it. The pushing, shoving and general cattle-car attitudes made him pine for the days when air travel wasn’t a bus with wings. Frankly, he’d have preferred to be on his bus…but driving that out would just leave him with two vehicles to deal with.

Music and writing filled the time in the air and waiting – another few chapters in his memoirs were filed, with a sense of wry amusement. No one knew he was writing this, and that it and his journals were slated to be given to Buck if and when, with instructions for publication. Paranormal, of course – no way in the world was he going to destroy the secrecy his family lived with and he’d learned to respect.

Soon enough, the journey was over, and along with his fellow inmates he was summarily released into the teeming confines of Atlanta Hartsfield.

It was an utter madhouse. The corridors were choked with passengers arriving, departing and generally milling about, and the waiting areas all overflowed with people, not having been designed for the planes they now serviced.

Al shouldered his way through, finally reaching the long underground passage to the baggage area. He’d packed a bag, figuring he was going to be away for a few days, and of course packing tools and emergency materials in case his charge decided to let him down. With luck, he’d never open the bag, but it was here.

He also carried a small, personal item – a twig from Ialin’s willow at his home, its end in a tube of water. Once before she’d traveled with him – and he hoped this would let her find him here to do so again.

Making his way down the half-mile of corridor to baggage claim and eschewing the train (he’d had enough of packed spaces and overcrowding for the moment) he collected his bag (finally) and walked out into the blazing heat and humidity.

95 degrees, and 80% humidity. He’d been in deserts, and the great plains of the Midwest, but this muggy heat was just draining – and had him hoping that the air conditioning in his charge worked, if anything did.

Walking out to the passenger area, he dug out his phone, selected a number, and dialed.

“Mr. Dillingham – I’m at pickup area P2 – where are you?”

“Al, I’m down at P7 – and drop the mister – my name’s Jesse. Come on down – the truck and I are here.”

Oh, well, THAT’s convenient. If it makes it here and back to Dillingham’s place I am pretty-well assured it will make it where it needs to go – especially in THIS heat.
Al mused. Nice when the customer cooperates.

Starting to wilt in the heat, he unlimbered the handle on his portmanteau and wheeled off toward the passenger area. As he got there, he spotted his quest – one of the last of the Land-Rover Discovery Is – a 1998. Seeing it, Al remembered the conversation with his friend.

“Mate, I can get you Discovery Is all day every day fifty miles from your house – what’s so special about this one?”

“Al, it’s not what it is that’s special – it’s what it isn’t.

It isn’t rusty. You know as well as I do that that’s about as rare as rocking horse turds – and a lot harder to come by.

My daughter’s always driven LR products – and her present one is about done from rust – I got it too late and couldn’t check the tinworm. This one is going to get proofed nine ways from Hades and hopefully we can keep it as it is. She likes the D1s – I could buy her a D3 or D4, but that’s not on.”

Al remembered the speech – so like his own, but subtly different – a little greyer, a little shallower and very tired. He also couldn’t fault the sentiment – not given what he’d done for Cinnamon.

As he approached, the car’s owner stepped out and waved. Al smiled – this was going to be fun. He loved buying cars, even when they weren’t his to keep except for a little while.

Jesse Dillingham was a tall, stocky black man – Al was reminded of his friend McAdams. Greeting him, he in turn was greeted with the musical drawl of a native Georgian – and immediately liked the man.

“Thanks for picking me up – it’s going to make my life a lot easier.”

“No problem Al – glad to see you, and glad my big girl here’s going to be going to a good home. Let’s get in out of the heat.”
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The two men climbed into the cab of the Discovery, and Al was appalled. He’d known the car was a diamond in the rough – but he hadn’t realized how rough that diamond was.

Keeping his face quite neutral, he looked about. The dash was fine, other than a nick or two and the expected sun fading. The centre console was missing its burled walnut trim, the bare plastic showing instead, with a few stray wires poking out around the edges of the shifter bezel.

The carpets were adrift – not terribly worn but nothing anchored. The front seats were torn, and the stitching popped long past repair. The day/night mirror had cracked and lost its fluid, and the headliner was loose in sections. More worrying, the CHECK ENGINE and ABS lights were on – never a good sign.

I was warned about this, and I knew what I was picking up. This old girl is way overdue for some love – and a lot of it. My friend will be busy for a good long time with THIS one.
Al thought to himself, with a wry note. He’d bought trucks like this before, and had no room to criticize.

“She’s a beauty, Jesse – quite an old girl, indeed. You owned her long?”

Jesse’s face darkened. “No, I’ve had her less than a year. She was my ‘escape vehicle’ when I got out of the hospital – I’d been in there for two months, and at home for a year before that.

Since I got out, she’s been a fun vehicle for me – but I need to get something a little bigger. I’m sorry as heck to let her go, but…I can’t keep two.

I’m really glad your friend saw my advertisement – I’d had some interest in the old girl, but for one reason or another no one had bought her. I was just as glad – no one was going to show her any love, or it seemed like it.”

Al had noticed the window sticker when he got in the car – a support group for a serious neuromuscular disease. He could see what was happening, and understood the issues.

Jesse in this time had guided the car out of the airport, and onto the highway toward his home. Despite its shabby appearance, the car handled well – no noise, and good pickup and road holding. Jesse accelerated smoothly to 70, and the car sped along the road.

As they went, Jesse filled him in on the history of the car.

“Since I bought it, I’ve cleaned up a lot of little issues it had. It’s had a full service, all the fluids and filters changed, and it’s been on a strict diet of the best I could get for it. She’s high mileage, but doesn’t use oil or leak much.

Your friend knows about the big issues – a bad heater core, bad rear window motors, and the interior. His big interest was the fact she’s rust free – he says he can deal with the rest.”

“He can, rest assured. Really, all I need to do is have a poke at the normally rusty spots, and if they’re as good as they seem to be I can release the escrow and we can complete the transaction.

I’m quite impressed – she moves right along.”

“She’s a great road-trip car – a month ago my wife and I took her to Florida and back – over 700 miles. No problems, no issues, and ran well at 70. When your friend asked if it was up to a ferry run to New England I said yes – no doubt.

She’s all serviced, and ready to go. I checked everything this morning, and topped up what needed it.”

Al was pleased – despite the condition of the interior this was a caring and not duplicitous owner.

A highway run, some stop and go (when the temperature gauge never ascended) and several miles of back roads saw the pair at Jesse’s home. With this, Al went into action. Doffing his fedora and putting on a ball cap, he opened all of the doors on the truck, and armed with his tactical flashlight went to work.

Armed with a Phillips screwdriver he began to poke and pry. The carpets were lifted (and some small amounts of rust found but nothing concerning), the chassis checked, the wheel wells sounded and the rear floor given a regular thrashing with the screwdriver.

All was sound. Even areas expected to fail in the best-kept Rover were sound.

He crawled out, walked over to Jesse, and held out his hand after peeling the rubber glove off it.

“I think we have a deal.”

45 minutes later, banks called, papers exchanged and the car loaded with water and snacks (at Jesse’s insistence) Al pulled out and headed for Route 575 – and New England. Before this, the pair had conversed about the best route – Al having never been in this area and never shy to ask for directions from a local.

Jesse answered the question with a question.

“Al, how much time do you have?”

“My time is my own, more or less. Don’t really want to play tourist, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“At this time of the day, 75 North is going to be a horror show with traffic headed out of Atlanta. If you want to avoid a good chunk of it, I have a suggestion for you.”

“Please, do tell!”

“Go up 575, and get off at Route 140. 140 will take you over and up to 75 much further along – and most of the commuters will be gone by that time.

140 is a classic old highway – two lanes, 55 miles an hour, and it goes through some of the prettiest country around. If you want to enjoy Georgia, go that way.”

Al certainly did want to enjoy it – so he did. Almost.

575 was not an issue, asking at the gas station where he stopped to fuel up (slowly – the tank wasn’t right) got him there.

140, on the other hand, was a snake – it tended to crawl off and hide on a regular basis. He wasted several miles and more than a little patience getting free of the Canton area before 140 settled down to become a quiet country road – and Al was in his element.

The road hugged the terrain, rather than cutting through it. The countryside was rustic, and beautiful – green and lush despite the searing heat and humidity. The Rover took the curves like the thoroughbred it was, and the big V8 had no difficulties with the hills.

Thirty miles later, Al bid 140 farewell and climbed on 75 into Tennessee.

Mile after mile flowed by and Al entered Road Mode. Sips of water and high-protein snacks taken sparingly kept him awake and focused, and the miles and scenery rolled by. Farms, hills, churches with huge crosses facing the highway, city and country rolled by.

As the day progressed, hunger intruded. Breakfast had been in Minneapolis, and lunch hadn’t happened, so dinner was on his mind. Not having Clara, he’d end up eating fast food, but that was fine.

“Oh, THAT will do.” He said, satisfied, as he saw a sign – “FOOD – this exit” that had a Steak And Shake logo.
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Pulling off, he locked the Rover and entered, sitting at the counter. A burger, pile of French fries and a chocolate shake were produced, and happily enjoyed while Al chatted with the others at the counter and read a bit.
Meal done and conscious of the need to keep moving, Al took his check and headed for the cash register.

Standing in line (the place was busy) he noted the people in front of him, as one who lives by details will do. A harassed father of two, and a young couple – the latter put a smile on his face.

No more than 17, it was obvious they were out on a date. Her shy smiles and his neat dress and respectable manners marked this as surely as anything. The young gentleman had taken his girl out for a burger, it seemed.

With the harassed father done paying for his meals and dragging off his squalling brats, the young man stepped up to the counter, produced his check and handed it to the clerk – and went for his wallet.

And froze.

Patting his pockets, the young man began to colour – he was obviously missing his wallet. In the car, in the road – it was anywhere but on his person – and with it his money.

The clerk, not unkindly, asked, “Trouble, son?”

“I can’t find my wallet.” His tone, a bit panicked, was matched by the rising colour of his embarrassment. His young companion looked panicked as well, and said “I didn’t bring anything – you told me not to!”

With this, Al stepped forward, and laid a 20-dollar bill on the counter. “I’ve got it.”

He was immediately challenged by the young man. “No, sir. No. No need to do that. I’ll have my Dad come down and bring my money – I got paid today, and I can do this.” His young companion said the same – “My Dad can come down – no thank you, sir – we don’t need it.”

Al looked at both of them and was proud – good, solid kids.

“Kids, I am on a very long trip. I stopped for dinner here, and I won’t be back this way again. Let me do this – it will be good luck for me on my trip.”

They took him in – his slightly odd dress, the obvious English accent, the plea to be allowed to help – and the young man relented. “Thank you, sir.”

His young friend then spoke, the musical drawl of Georgia also strong in her speech. “With your permission, sir, we’ll pay it forward.”

“You have my permission to do just that. Thank you for wanting to.”

With that, they left and Al paid their and his tab, much to the amusement of the young man behind the counter.

Leaving the parking lot and resuming his trek up Route 75, Al thought on what he’d seen and heard. Young ones…bless them. With kids like that in the world things were good.

Chuckling to himself, he imagined a scenario. Should they marry, he could hear the conversations in front of the fire on occasion. “I remember our first date – you took me to the Steak And Shake and forgot your wallet, and that old gentleman paid our check for us. We’ve paid it forward, often – but we never even asked his name.”

Ruminations like that occupied his mind for many miles, as Tennessee slipped by under the Rover’s wheels.

Altogether too soon night began to fall, and with it Al’s spirits began to wane. Taking an exit, he found lodgings for the evening on the outskirts of Chattanooga, Tennessee.

Changing, answering a few emails and preparing for the next day, he finally slipped between the cool sheets and turned off the light.

“Good night, Ialin.”

“Good night, Al.”
Last edited by Just Old Al on Mon Oct 31, 2016 12:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: A Journey And An Obligation

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 2 – A long and sometimes bumpy road.

The next morning began before dawn, as was Al’s habit now. Dressing, grooming, packing and back out to the Discovery, with a cup of coffee in an insulated mug. Trencherman though he may be, it was too early for breakfast, and this was a good time to get miles under his belt.

Ever eager the Discovery responded to the key, roaring momentarily then settling to a muted throb of power. Lights on, windows open and seatbelt on Al rolled to the fuel station, filled up (this tank was a royal pain in the posterior) then back onto I-75.

The air had the promise of heat, a dampness that while cool and refreshing now, held the potential for great discomfort. However, while the air was still cool he was going to enjoy it. Closed windows and 70 MPH was all well and good, but he was a definite proponent of wind in the face motoring when possible.

Even with the wind in the cabin, the flutter and the scent of the pixie was unmistakable. She fluttered forward against the windblast, and Al closed the windows, adjusting the vents to provide a good flow of the outside air.

“Good morning, Ialin! Good to see you. I wasn’t all that sure the twig was going to work.”

“Where my tree is, I am. Keep it well watered, and we can plant it when we get home, or put it at your friend’s place in New England – it will do well there. Willows handle temperate climes well.”

She looked closely at him. “You didn’t sleep well last night, did you?”

“No. I was active too long, and didn’t attempt to relax before I tried to sleep. You know my mind – if I don’t spin it down, it stays active and I don’t rest.” That said, he guided the car into a construction zone – lights brightly lit as the work went on.

“Well, when you pull over for breakfast if you feel like a rest I’ll keep an eye on things. You need to - INCOMING! HOLD YOUR COURSE!

WHAM!

A large stone sailed out of the darkness, starring the passenger’s side of the windshield and skittering off the right mirror before clattering into the darkness. Unseen in the predawn darkness, soil and rocks were tumbling from the tailboard of a dump truck up ahead.

Al quickly evaluated the situation. If he had attempted to dodge other items would have gotten him – he saw the brief flashes of other debris in his headlights and heard it THUNKing off the front of the car. Changing lanes and getting behind an artic, he shifted lanes to the far outside and accelerated, getting out of the cone of debris being shed by a careless construction trailer.

Shuddering, Al passed the lumbering truck, and pulled back into the second lane. After this, he gave way to a small case of the shakes. Taking a pull from his coffee cup, he remarked, casually, “Think you could have given me a bit more notice on that, pixie?”

“If I’d had it I would have. Be glad I warned you as I could – my powers aren’t fantasy – just probability.”

She hesitated.

“Al, just be careful on this trip.”

He frowned. “Is this Mother Pixie talking or is this a warning?”

“Combination of both, really. This is a long run, on busy highways, and not really for pleasure. You’ll be tempted to put the pedal down and move along, and I can’t blame you. Just be aware of your surroundings, please.”

“After what just happened that’s almost a given. I will keep it in mind.”

With that the two, shaken but unhurt, settled in for the drive – and sunrise.

Soon, there were glimmerings of light on the horizon as they made their way up Route 75 toward I-81. As the sky lightened, the surroundings showed them old, worn mountains – the beginnings of the Appalachian range that they would spend time threading through. Because of that and the road wandering, the sunrise played peek-a-boo with them – rising, setting again, rising in another spot as the road curved through the hills.
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An hour later they saw their first accident.

A flare of brake lights showed on the road far ahead, and Al tapped the pulsing brakes of the Discovery to slow. As they came up, off to the right were the massed blue and red lights – the state police, local ambulance and fire. These surrounded two vehicles, one almost crushed, and the other inverted in the median. The medics worked, performing their life-giving miracles on several people. All were attended, and none sheet-covered, Al noticed relievedly. While no stranger to death he preferred not to happen on it on an early Saturday morning.

Slowly the traffic crept by, bizarrely highlighted by the occasional phone flash as people exercised their ghoulish nature and recorded the wreck. Both in the car were silent as they drifted past – neither felt the need to comment at that second.

Bringing the car back up to speed, Al remarked, “I see your point. This is going to be an interesting drive.” Ialin nodded, her eyed filled with pain for the occupants of those vehicles.

Two hours later, another accident. The flare of brake lights, the slow crawl past the carnage (this time an SUV piled into a Jersey barrier, front end crushed). Again, neither said anything – both were too absorbed in their thoughts to enunciate them clearly.

“Any ideas?”

Ialin stirred – the proximity to imminent death and suffering dimming her normal cheerful disposition.

“What are your plans for a route?”

“I was planning I-81 out to Route I-78, to I-287 in New Jersey, to I-87 and thence to 84. 84 through Hartford and up to I-90, then I 90 to I-495 and into my friend’s place.”

Ialin pondered a moment.

“Is this going in toward New York and the metropolitan area?”

“Yes. It’s 30 or 40 miles shorter than the upstate route, but busier.”

“Al, humor me. I don’t have a good feeling about it, especially given what we’ve seen. If you can avoid metro areas do it as much as you can.”

“It will make the trip at least an hour longer, perhaps more.”

“Would you rather finish your trip late, or finish it in a box in the cargo hold of an aircraft taking you home?”

“Well, that was rather harsh.”

“Harsh perhaps, but true. This is not a race, nor is there a firm deadline. You budgeted four days for this, and it looks like you can do it in two long ones. Any way you look at it, you’re still ahead of the game. Humor me – stay away from New York.”

“As you wish. For the moment, though, let’s just take it as it comes. I think our present route is just about the only one we have.”

“Agreed.”

Ialin stood, walked down the console and began to poke at the radio and the iPod in the cupholder. Music filled the car – REO Speedwagon.

If you’re tired of the same old story, turn some pages.
I will be here when you are ready to roll with the changes.
Keep on rollin, (oh, yeah) keep on rollin’
(roll with the changes)
Keep on rollin’ Keep on rollin’
(You’ve got to learn to roll with the changes)



Al laughed delightedly. “Trying to tell me something?”

The pixie looked shocked. “Who, me? Tell the master of the house anything? You are the Captain, my captain – I am but a humble paranormal galley slave to your exaltedness. I listen and I obey, O master.” She curtsied, a strikingly graceful gesture for a pixie wearing light, gauzy fabrics.

“You are a lying sack of pixie dust.”

“Whaddya think I am, Tinkerbell? Disney couldn’t afford me.” She chuckled and continued to work with the iPod, setting up a playlist.

One song followed another, all upbeat, all having to do with the road and travel. With this, the mood in the car lightened, the depression of seeing the accidents lessened on the pair. Neither relaxed their vigilance, however, as the previous events had proven so necessary.

They exited Tennessee into the long slog through Virginia. They were now on I-81 – the longest leg of their trip at more than 350 miles. It would take them from Tennessee, through Virginia and Pennsylvania all the way to Scranton – where the road would turn East on Route 84 and from there into New York State and New England.

As they traveled, the terrain constantly changed. In southern Virginia they were well in the grip of the Appalachians, and the road frequently split from two to three lanes with the right lane for the convoys of trailer trucks to slog up the long, steep hills.

Even the Rover with its fuel injected V8 worked hard on these hills, and Al listened attentively. One of the graces of this trip was going to be the report he was going to be able to give his friend on the car’s performance – which even with the EFI fault had been stellar. Al was beginning to like his mount – perhaps it was time to add one of these to the stable for casual driving. Why not – Rowdy had one, though considerably newer than this one. He’d have to think about it when he got home.

That bloody petrol tank, though – THAT would have to be fixed. 15 minutes to put 15 gallons of fuel into a tank was just scandalous. To be fair, though, Jesse had warned him it was ‘a little slow’ – as had his friend. However, describing its fueling characteristics as a little slow was like describing the War Of The Roses as unfortunate or Marylin Monroe as attractive.

“Al, you haven’t been touching your arm – why? Don’t need to do that to stay in touch anymore?”

Al grimaced. “No, dear pixie, it’s because I left my stones and crystals at home. I would not have been able to carry them on the plane in their pouch, and the thought of some uniformed monkey pawing them as they ‘inspected‘ my tool kit in my luggage filled me with revulsion.

Daisy and I talked about it, and we decided for a few days I could be trusted out and about. I do sincerely miss them, though. I can still feel her with me, and she me, but it’s a faint echo of what it should be. I miss them, and I miss her. Home in a day or two, though, and we can get reacquainted properly.”

Ialin snickered. “Oh, yes, I have NO doubt you’ll ‘get reacquainted’. Won’t be seeing you for a while, anyone will.” She snickered again, and Al coloured slightly.

“Wretched pixie. Can’t anyone have a nap without you thinking the worst?”

“Not with you I can’t. You’re as bad as your partner – he’s just more honest about it. That reminds me – what’s he think of your little wanderjahr?”

“I told him what I was doing, and the first words out of his mouth were ‘riding shotgun’ and ‘armor piercing’. Silly man’s been a bit twitchy about trips since the incidents when we were hauling Master Prroul to San Francisco…thinks people are still out to get us.

He’s demanded an ear as a souvenir if anyone is foolish enough to try and mug me. I told him he’d have no such thing – that I was not and never will take barbarous souvenirs like that.”

“He’ll never change, you know.”

“I hope he never does – love him like a brother just as he is. He and Anne are the salt of the earth, and I’m blessed to know them just as they are.”

With that, they rode along with the music as the miles of Virginia rolled along. Unnoticed, the star in the windshield grew and grew – the crack elongating upward and downward.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: A Journey And An Obligation

Post by Just Old Al »

Author's Note: Remember, every last word of this is true...except the ones that aren't.

Chapter 3 – Travel, Dinner And Endgame

The long slog continued – up through Virginia, a short stint in Maryland, then into Pennsylvania. Harrisburg was circled, and then Hershey passed while Ialin made jokes about quality chocolate and Al laughed in disgust.

“Milton Hershey should have been burned at the stake for what he did to the production of chocolate. High caffeine, little cocoa butter, dry, chalky…nasty. Not a patch on Cadbury or Lindt.”

“Yes, but compared to nothing at all, it was a marvelous innovation – bringing chocolate at an affordable price to the masses. And you have to admit, with his town, the schools, manual training schools, orphanages and the like he did a marvelous job sharing his largesse.”

“Altogether too true. You have me there – I will completely agree.”

Al had been in Hershey once, long ago, during one of the car shows evaluating a purchase for a customer. Neat, tidy, with the streetlights shaped like chocolate drops it was the epitome of a company town – a properly run one.

Hersheypark….that was a memory best left buried.
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They proceeded down the highway, with the character of the roads and the quality of the driving diminishing. In the deep South the drivers had been polite, speed limits observed and driving a pleasant experience – but not here.

Al cruised at a steady 70 (the Discovery was unhappy over 75) – and the traffic often flew by him at 80 or more. Enforcement there was, but not enough.

Then there were the accidents.

They’d seen two more, neither trivial. Another rollover with just one car this time, and a three-car pileup. The latter, chillingly, had had a covered figure on the side of the road, and the tailback of traffic had been long, indeed.

The mood in the car sobered again. Both occupants were on edge, and the reminders of mortality were not unheeded.

Al concentrated on his driving, but the day’s events were draining him even as the strains of driving were. Ialin, riding along, sensed his need for concentration and held her peace.

Finally, they reached I-84 and the slog East began in earnest. With the sun slanting behind them the miles flew, until the border to New York was reached.

“Al, you need to stop. You’ve had nothing but protein snacks since breakfast, and that’s just not a good idea if you want to continue after dark – and I know you do. Now pull over somewhere, and get some food. Tank’s nearly at a quarter anyway – you’ll need fuel.”

“No, I don’t disagree. You’re right – it’s time for food and fuel. You going to be all right for a while? I really need a sit-down meal, and not fast food. Today has been…draining.”

“I’ll be fine – I’ll deal with my needs while you deal with yours. Now find a place, settle in and have something decent to eat. The Shoney’s chicken-fried steak you had for breakfast was decidedly not that.”

Al chuckled. “No, indeed. I am not above a good chicken-fried steak – but that was not it. Dousing it with gravy certainly did it no favours.”

With that, exit signs were seen, and Al pulled off into Port Jervis, New York. The signs for restaurants were many, and most pointed to the left. One sign pointing to the right caught his attention ‘Arlene n’ Tom’s – Home Of The Meanyburger’

Well, this has possibilities…worth a shot at least. Might not be open – but if it isn’t I can just backtrack.
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The building was much like most old diners – the original railroad-styled building had been added to and remodeled, almost indistinguishable under clapboard and beige paint. The interior, however, was the same – yellow paint and worn tile that had been the epitome of fashion thirty years before, but the years had not treated well.

The counter, though worn, was spotless, and studded with cake holders each displaying their wares to the patrons at the counter. The smell from the kitchen, while not to Rosalita’s standards, was mouth-watering and the atmosphere comfortable.

The stools were inviting, and rather than settle in the adjacent dining room Al pulled up a stool, parked his fedora on another and made himself comfortable. The few other patrons in the diner looked over, nodded a greeting, then went back to their discussions or dinner, depending on which was more interesting.

“Hi! Looking for dinner or just coffee?” the waitress asked.

“Dinner, please. Been on the road for way too long, and need a good meal.” Al liked the place despite its lack of modern décor. It had a frowsy, worn feel to it that was comforting – like an old afghan thrown over the back of a couch.

The waitress – Meredith by name, from her name tag – handed him a plastic folder with the menu, and a printed sheet with the evening’s specials. Scanning both, the comfort food was obvious. Pork chops, meatloaf, pot pie – all the diner standards were there, along with the usual burgers and quick fare.

“So, hun, what can I get you?”

“I think the meatloaf, please. Mashed potatoes and green beans with it, and a Dr. Pepper.”

Meredith nodded. “That’s really good – had it for lunch myself. Be along in a few minutes.” She returned with his drink and left him in peace.

Opening his tablet, Al read, while listening to the other habitues. On the far end was a man having his dinner and watching videos on his phone, while another gent and the cook swapped complaints about the local government – ones that sounded much like small-town life anywhere.

To Al’s left an older biker couple argued. Tuning in without really meaning to, Al was amused by the interchange.

“And I TOLD you – just forget about it and we’ll deal with it when we get home! Now you just wait HERE – RIGHT here – and I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, dear.”

The woman left, and Al turned to her husband and said. “I’d be careful if I were you – she looks dangerous.”

“Nah, I can outrun her.”

“Yes, but you really need to be careful of the preemptive strike. One minute they’re nice as pie, the next…WHAP!”

The man mock-pondered the seriousness of Al’s words, then nodded. “You’re right – they get vicious when they’re cornered.”

Both men laughed, and Al held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you – I’m Al.”

“Bill.”

They chatted pleasantly for a few more minutes, till Bill’s wife returned, buttoning her vest.

“OK, let’s ride. We’ve got places to go.”

“Yes, dear.” With that, the two walked out, and a few minutes later Al heard Harley engines pulling away. Chuckling quietly to himself, he went back to his tablet and his ruminations till Meredith deposited a laden plate in front of him.

It was magnificent. Homemade rustic mashed potatoes, fresh green beans and two large slabs of meatloaf topped with homemade mushroom gravy. This was accompanied by a homemade dinner roll, and pats of butter in an iced dish.

Jackpot!


Spreading his napkin in his lap, Al turned to.

The potatoes were wonderful – a small amount of garlic and chive, and made with fresh butter and cream. The meatloaf was obviously made in the kitchen in front of him, and was dense with beef and pork, and lightened with a careful hand in the mixing and additions.

However, even as he ate, his mind was on the road.

“Everything OK, hun?”

“Perfect, dear. Thanks for asking, Meredith. Just thinking about my traveling, and where I’ve got to be.”

“Where you headed?”

“Northern Massachusetts – started out this morning in Chattanooga, Tennessee.”

“Damn, hun, you’ve done some miles! You eat up what you have there, and I’ll get you a coffee and some pie. Travelin’ like that – you need your belly full and some good coffee to go with it.”

“Thanks, dear – pie sounds like a great idea – and if I can get a coffee to go too that would be great.”

She nodded, and Al turned back to his meal. Reading as he ate, soon his plate was empty, and removed and replaced with a slice of apple pie, and a china Navy mug of coffee with condiments.

Again Al turned to, savouring the homemade pie and French vanilla ice cream it had been topped with. The coffee was industrial and a bit weak, but he was in no mood to argue – the rest of the meal balanced it nicely.

All too soon the plate and mug were empty, And Meredith returned with the check and his carton of coffee.

“I hit her with cream and sugar – noticed what you added. That OK?”

“Stellar. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“Anytime you’re back this way, hun, come on by. Been here since ’73, and figure we got a good few years yet.”

Exiting the restaurant, Al noticed sunset had happened while he was eating. The streetlights were on in the twilight, and the traffic had gotten busier. With that, he settled onto the torn seat, buckled his belt and lit up the Rover V8.

A flutter announced his traveling companion, and Ialin settled back onto the seat, carefully parking herself on his map book to avoid the torn leather.

“Damn, Al, this thing is rough. Why is your friend wasting his time on it?”

“Lots of reasons. First is, it’s for his daughter – not that I understand that sentiment at all. Second, he’s a lot like me – he sees the good in something even if it’s battered and worn. Cinnamon’s D-90 is an example – that took a lot of work but now it’s a showpiece.

Third, like me he just can’t give up on a challenge. This will keep him busy for a few weekends cleaning it up.”

“So, like you he’s a masochist.” She giggled and settled back on the seat, putting her hands behind her head.

“Well, I guess you could say that.” Al chuckled as well – the appellation was a little too close to home – and far too true.

With that, they sped up the on-ramp to I-84, headed East.

The Gods stepped in.

Just before Danbury Connecticut, the Rover entered another construction site – busy at night, with Klieg lights on brightly illuminating the scene. Ever careful Al pulled to the second lane, away from the work site and the entering traffic on the ramp. A tractor-trailer truck, less than mindful of its environment, sped up and came parallel with the Discovery.

With that, a Ford Fiesta entered the highway in front of the Diesel – and promptly braked.

The Diesel’s driver immediately cut left – straight into Al’s lane – with him there.

With the sudden motion of the truck into his lane Al performed the only actions open to him – he cut far left onto the narrow strip of graveled median and buried his foot in the Discovery’s fuel injection system.

The transmission downshifted and the big V8 howled as it hit 7,000 RPM. The big car slewed on the graveled surface, Al balancing its antics by the feel of the seat of his pants. Closer and closer to the drop-off of the median the car slewed, with the need to stay upright being balanced against the near-certain death if it plunged into the median at speed.

Finally, the forces of nature and centrifugal force balanced, and Al was able to bring the car back onto the paved lane, ahead of the still wobbling tractor-trailer. The suicidally oblivious Fiesta was nowhere to be seen – and frankly Al didn’t care what happened to the idiot.

Pulling away, Al looked over at his companion.

Ialin sat bolt upright, back shoved back against the seat and hands clutching the sides of the seat back. She turned a pale, wide-eyed face to him and said “What in Hades just happened, Al?

Fighting his rapidly-beating heart and bladder control, Al replied, “Damned if I know! Where in Hades were YOU?

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you. I thought you saw these things.”

“This one was completely out of left field. No way in the world to know it was going to happen – no precursor activities to give warning. This was just plain damn stupid happening.”

“Fat lot of good YOU are!”

“Thanks a lot, old man! Remember who gave you warning in Hampton and has covered your sorry arse on more than one occasion!”

Al sobered, and realized he’s well and truly put his foot in it.

“I’m sorry. That was adrenalin talking, and more than a little stupidity. Forgive me?”

*THWACK*

“HEY! Not while I’m driving!”

“You deserved it. This stuff is not an exact science – you can’t rely on it. You are, however, forgiven.”

“Heathen pixie. Man apologizes, begs forgiveness and THWACK – off the head with a roll of blueprints. Evil pixie.”

She giggled, then sobered. “You OK? By the way, what kind of driving was that? I swore this thing was going over.”

“That, dear lady, is called thorough familiarity and full-time four wheel drive. With a rear-wheel drive car we’d have spun into the ditch. Front wheel drive…better but likely the same. With this thing all four were digging, and she clawed us out of there.

And THIS is why I swear by my Rovers.”

“Indeed. Let’s not do that again, though.”

“No argument.”

With that, the rest of the trip was nearly anticlimactic. 84 was busy, and busier as Hartford was approached. Hartford was an old highway system, with twists, turns and exits in horrid places – a trial to a man too long without rest.

On they went, finally into Massachusetts. I-90 to I-495, and North.

Just before midnight, they ascended a small hill on a quiet suburban street. Half-way up, Al pulled to the side and stopped.

“This is where we part company, Ialin.”

“I know. Take care, and be well. Make sure you rest on the way home. It’s been a long trip.”

Al held out his hand, and Ialin touched it, briefly, then faded from view, a slight tinkle of her laughter on the wind.

Pulling back out, Al pulled into the driveway of a modest ranch, one of several on the quiet suburban street. Shutting down the Discovery in the spot left for it, he stepped out, deciding to leave his bag in the car for the moment.

He walked to the door, and the light went on, the door opening seconds later.

“Come on in, Al, I’ve just put the kettle on. Heard you coming up the street.” An old man in a Hawaiian shirt and drill trousers stood there, smiling in welcome.

“Good to see you. Never thought it would ever happen, with one thing or another..” With that Al stepped inside and the door closed.
Last edited by Just Old Al on Tue Nov 01, 2016 4:17 am, edited 1 time in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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AmriloJim
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Re: A Journey And An Obligation

Post by AmriloJim »

They're on the streets of Amarillo as well, mate. Had to negotiate around the same firetruck/paramedic unit twice today.
First time, the FD unit cut across traffic three cars ahead of me to provide cover for the guy who failed to yield while turning into a lot. The engine effectively put me and a half-dozen other drivers into a box canyon, forcing us to edge our way into the center lane while dodging drivers looking up from their cellphones as they came up on the scene.
Later, the same truck was behind a three-car accordian act. Light traffic this time, so no drama; just an observation that the crew was earning their pay today.
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Re: A Journey And An Obligation

Post by lake_wrangler »

An interesting trip. At first, I wondered why go North on I-75, when he could easily go North-East on I-85, followed by I-95. But then, I-81 was mentioned. That is indeed a much better choice. Better scenery, fewer large metropolitan areas. A much more pleasant drive indeed.

I have to admit, though, that I was surprised to see I-287 and I-87 being qualified as driving in Metropolitan areas near NYC... In my mind, it's more of a skirting the metropolitan area than driving through it.

Of course, now I'm curious about using I-84 to reach I-81 from I-87... I may just have to use that, when I drive down from Montréal, QC, to Charlotte, NC, this summer...


By the way, how exactly does one "buck" one's seat belt? ;)
(Third instalement: Al "bucked" his belt, rather than "buckled"...)
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Just Old Al
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Re: A Journey And An Obligation

Post by Just Old Al »

lake_wrangler wrote:An interesting trip. At first, I wondered why go North on I-75, when he could easily go North-East on I-85, followed by I-95. But then, I-81 was mentioned. That is indeed a much better choice. Better scenery, fewer large metropolitan areas. A much more pleasant drive indeed.

I have to admit, though, that I was surprised to see I-287 and I-87 being qualified as driving in Metropolitan areas near NYC... In my mind, it's more of a skirting the metropolitan area than driving through it.

Of course, now I'm curious about using I-84 to reach I-81 from I-87... I may just have to use that, when I drive down from Montréal, QC, to Charlotte, NC, this summer...
I-95 was right out. That is one ugly road to deal with, with the beltways around the major East Coast sities (Baltimore, Washington, NYC et al). He and I discussed it and that route was discarded in milliseconds as strikingly unsuited to a relaxed drive and an unknown car with potential issues.

As far as NYC goes, I've driven the inner beltway there (287/87) many times - it is VERY busy and not a pleasant drive at all as those areas are thoroughly metropolitain. Given her warning and the less than intimate relationship with the car he decided to go further out and up. As she said, longer trip, but easier all in all till you got right in by Hartford.

Getting home late is far better than getting home in a box - and they saw far too many accidents on that trip.

That car, after some extensive work, is a sweetheart. I've been driving it for a few weeks now that it's cleaned up and the majority of the bugs are out of it. Still fighting with one last set of problems - the damn fuel tank filler. Once that's done, it goes to my daughter after having been slathered with anti-rust oil.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: A Journey And An Obligation

Post by Warrl »

I just reread this piece and, this bit:
Soon, there were glimmerings of light on the horizon as they made their way up Route 75 toward I-81. As the sky lightened, the surroundings showed them old, worn mountains – the beginnings of the Appalachian range that they would spend time threading through. Because of that and the road wandering, the sunrise played peek-a-boo with them – rising, setting again, rising in another spot as the road curved through the hills.
reminded me of something I wrote a while back: Chasing the Rainbow. And yep, it really happened (certain details were embellished).
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Re: A Journey And An Obligation

Post by Just Old Al »

Warrl wrote: Tue Nov 01, 2022 12:14 am I just reread this piece and, this bit:
Soon, there were glimmerings of light on the horizon as they made their way up Route 75 toward I-81. As the sky lightened, the surroundings showed them old, worn mountains – the beginnings of the Appalachian range that they would spend time threading through. Because of that and the road wandering, the sunrise played peek-a-boo with them – rising, setting again, rising in another spot as the road curved through the hills.
reminded me of something I wrote a while back: Chasing the Rainbow. And yep, it really happened (certain details were embellished).
Wonderful bit of writing, Warrl. Yes, the Sun was playing peek-a-boo with Al on that run - rising, setting, rising again somewere else, traversing the sky and generally behaving in ways quite unlike those an astronomical body should.

I miss that car - it was a wonderful machine.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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