Delta File

On the Road

On the RoadH

e was north of Waco, fighting white-line fever and sweeping his eyes from flat patches of cactus and scrub that stretched to a distant horizon back to the GPS program on his phone. There wasn’t much of interest in either direction. At this point, the most attractive feature of north Texas was the state’s celebrated wide-open spaces. Somewhere out there to the west was the Llano Estacado, the Staked Plains that rambled over much of west Texas and most of eastern New Mexico. It was a place Shake had wanted to visit ever since he heard country artist Gary P. Nunn include it in the lyrics of a song that outlined what the singer loved about Texas. A buddy in Lockhart told him every true Texan had to visit the Llano, but he’d missed it so far. He was tempted to make a side-trip, but he needed to keep some semblance of focus on this improvised journey. And Google Maps simply advised him the short route was run 35 North to Oklahoma City, then cut right to 44 East which would take him to St. Louis. That was the first leg.

As far as his vague plan went at this point, he thought to stop for maybe a day or so in St. Louis, maybe find the old SS Admiral stern-wheeler and take a riverboat ride. After that, straight south down 55 to Cape Girardeau. And then what? As the miles rolled on and he took the ring route to skirt Dallas traffic, Shake found himself in the middle of a mental argument between logic, which told him he could do all the required family research with a couple of phone calls, and an irresistible whimsy that pushed him to investigate in the environment of the relatives in question. If they were relatives and not just random family acquaintances or friends.

Who knew? Who cared? Well, I do. Shake laughed and cranked up the radio to hear Willy Nelson hammering Trigger through his signature song. On the road again, just can’t wait to get on the road again. He had the same feeling of limitless freedom that he experienced on his 16th birthday when he got his first driver’s license. And here he was on the road again, heading for the part of the country that he’d fled so long ago for fear he might have to spend the rest of his life there. A jagged, unreasonable fear that he might be doomed to live and die in Southeast Missouri as so many of his friends and relatives had. The damn place seemed to be sucking at him like quicksand. Irony. Can’t wait to leave and then can’t wait to get back and see if what you left still reflected the reasons you left.

Truth be told, he said to the driver of a silver BMW that blew by his pick-up with a wave from the Stetson-wearing driver, those mystery photos are only part of this quest. Some of what I’m really after, he admitted to a semi trucker who passed as Shake eased back onto 35N on the other side of Dallas, is some kind of confirmation that I made the right decision. Was I right or simply rebellious so long ago when I flew away from home against the advice of a family that thought I was just being downright uppity, looking for a life above my raising? Headed out to see what was on the other side of worldwide hills with no thought of return to what everyone else in his circle considered an expected and acceptable way of life.

Shake shut down the A/C and lowered his window. There was a sweet smell to the humid air that swept through the cab of his truck. Oke City and then hang a right with a bead on the Gateway Arch. Nothing to it but to do it, keep the hammer down and just roll through the country he loved, noting both warts and wonders.