How to Drive Rapidly in Complete Darkness

I had a two-fold mission that night: get to Killeen as quickly as possible while killing as few woodland critters as possible. The road was already littered with the skunk, deer, and occasional wild goose corpse that one comes to expect, driving the backroads on any given moonless night in Texas. I was determined not to add to this number–at Any cost.

Winged insects, though, were not so lucky. I have a passionate loathing for mosquitos, and any harmless butterfly, moth, or dragonfly that makes unfortunate contact with my windshield is excusable, so long as a few mosquitos share the same fa-OH MY GOD A SKUNK ON THE ROA-

That was all there was. A flurry of black and white striped fur, and a few unpleasant-smelling moments to take home. I had Grand Theft Auto’d the little fucker. He had run out of the tall grass at just the wrong moment, just like the Pokemon do in video games, and after that… well let’s just say Pikachu would’ve been shooting thunder bolts through a straw.

How to Drive 1,380 Miles in 22 Hours

It was my turn at the wheel, the sixth hour, and dawn was threatening over the Arizona desert. I could hardly believe it. I had slept fretfully for the past five hours in the passenger seat of our 1986 Volvo, and it felt like I had tried sleeping for ten minutes at a rock show. A very heavy, slow-moving rock show that forced semi-trucks into the fast lane as it crawled onto the freeway. This was no time for me to be operating heavy machinery… but at least the initial Danger had passed.

Anyone who has done serious ridesharing will tell you that you will never feel at east with somebody until you’ve taken a turn at their wheel. On long roadtrips like this there will come that inevitable moment when one person says to the other, “well I think I’ll close my eyes for a bit” and just a little bit of him wonders if he’ll wake up drenched, still groggy from the drugs, strapped down in handcuffs somewhere in Juarez with only one kidney.

Twisted thoughts… but this is Trust, and it’s the only thing that matters in these sorts of cases. It is very important to build Trust early on, because afterwards you’re allowed to take pictures of your driving partner in front of the big cactus, and so forth.

As the dice rolled, I had slept first, in those first dark hours between midnight and pre-dawn: the sacrificial offering. Thankfully I still had all four limbs when I woke up just outside Pheonix, so I switched to the driver’s seat and took the reins. Now it was time for the sick thoughts to run through my driving partner’s head. Who is this freak? What was in his bulgy bags? And why did he keep running that crochet needle through his hair? I could see he wouldn’t sleep much, which was partially because I, like him, refused to drive any length without music.

So we had Iron and Wine, Blonde Redhead, Phillip Glass, Morrissey, Bob Dylan, and the constant windblasts of the Arizona desert through our open windows. That was our Music of the Night.

I’m Going to Killean(?)

Somewhere in that caffeine-induced blur of a brain-struggle, I decided to let the logistics make my choice for me: How would I get there? Where would I stay, and who could I get to pick up the story? If I could answer these questions within the next hour, I would go.

I didn’t have the money to fly or pay hotels, a mere two large in the bank (that’s hundreds, mind you). This would be a patchwork operation, wrinkly suits from the closet and no credentials; a slowly sinking ship of folded newspaper among the ironed hulls that the sinking newspapers would be sure to send.

Speaking of which, someone I knew from the LATimes informed me that they were sending their own staff photographer, so as of yet I had no guarantee that any story I produced would see the light of publication. On top of that, none of my Couchsurfing requests had gotten back to me yet. Then I learned that the freight van I had hoped to ride in had already left, that they were in fact some 70 miles east of LA with no plans of stopping until Arizona.

When I look back, I think that was when I knew I was going. I had no way to get to Texas, nowhere to stay, and no way to show my work, but my mind was already racing through what to Do upon arrival; I had made the synaptic leap between revelation and sudden impulse. Setbacks were no longer setbacks, but Dangerous Objects to be Ignored at All Costs.

Which is a decent summation of my recent life. For now, we start here.

9:05PM, Thursday November 5, 2009