We hadn’t been travelling more than an hour or so when the
girl driving, who owned the car, asked me if I knew how to get where we were
going. Yeah, I know. She’d already asked. Next thing I know, she was pulling over at a
rest stop so I could drive. Fine with
me.
She got in back with her friend, pulled open the tab on a
beer, and lit up a joint. It was almost
70 degrees. I cracked my window open and
drove.
“No, thanks. I don’t
smoke.”
“Nope. Don’t drink
and drive, either.” Besides, back then
my fraternity brothers called me “Two Brew.”
I wanted to get home in one piece.
The adventures weren’t quite over, however. The battleship on wheels I was driving had
seen better days, and I’m sure she was wondering what the hell she was doing
making 70+ mph on the Interstate. The
worst thing, though, was that the old girl needed new shoes. Just west of Columbia, with a sound like a
gun shot, she broke a heel, and the next thing I knew, I was watching her rear
end slide onto the shoulder and trying to keep her from falling down a rather
steep bank and hurting herself…and us.
I managed to get straightened out, slow down, miss at least
one sign, avoid the other lane of traffic, and come to a dusty stop. I realized then that the terrible noise I had
been hearing was my two travelling companions screaming their lungs out. By the time I got the car stopped, they were
both in the floorboard behind me, one on top of the other, soaked in beer, and
trying to put out a roach that was in one girl’s hair. I had to laugh. Couldn’t help myself.
Everyone managed to get out of the car without further
embarrassment. We were all laughing by
then. Relief does that most of the
time. I received all sorts of
congratulations and a hug or two for managing to keep from killing the three of
us. Both girls said they never would
have been able to control the car in that situation. They had no idea what to do in a skid. Turns out, they neither one knew how to
change a tire, either. Luckily, however,
the driver’s papa had made sure there the trunk contained a decent spare and a scissors
jack for his little girl. I was really
happy to see an X-wrench instead of the usual knuckle buster, because I the lug
nuts were welded on with rust and road grime.
After about an hour of dirt and sweat and swearing I finally
got the tire changed and the trip resumed.
The party soon cranked up again in the back seat. We did stop for food a couple of times. My luck continued to hold, and my new
sweethearts popped for my meals since I was doing the driving. It was getting dark by the time we got to
Tarkio.
If it had been earlier in the day, I might have gone on a
bit north, just pointed them west on Highway 2 to Nebraska City and hitched the
remaining few miles to Shenandoah, but I felt like staying in Tarkio that night
and opted for directions instead. They
seemed almost reluctant to have to drive themselves. Wave goodbye, girls.
I went to look for my buddies, a cold beer, and good friends
for the night. January Term was always
four weeks of party anyway. They were
happy to see me, and happy to know that I’d be back at school for another
semester, too. The next day I’d go on
home and see what I needed to do to make that happen. The last chapter starts the next story.
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