Ridin’ in the Dark
by Rusty La Violette
“Don’t know why we gotta leave so early, for heaven sakes! We still have 2000 miles to go on this darned campin’ trip!” Madge yanks at her helmet strap and turns on her microphone.
“Just git in the hack so we can git goin’.“ John checks the tent-trailer hitch and latches Madge into the sidecar, confining her complaints in the fiberglass capsule.
“Remember! Take the Highway 141 turn-off! ” she says. He just nods, as usual, then fires up the engine. Better watch for the turn myself ‘cause that man rides on ‘mental automatic’.
The power poles hypnotically zip past as Madge struggles to keep watch, but the engine's rumble and sidecar’s rocking soon lull her asleep. Miles down the narrow road, John cranks on the brakes and screeches to a rough stop. Madge wakes abruptly. “Crying in a bucket, John! Now what’s wrong?”
He looks around. Steep bank up the left side. A deep ditch of tall weeds on the right. Twenty feet back, the cut-off to Highway 141. And no room to turn around. He pauses, then cuts a sharp right, twists the wick and drops down through the ditch, up the short bank and onto the highway, dragging weeds and rubble into the belly parts of the rigs. He doesn’t even look down at her. Knows she’ll be wide-eyed and shouting.
“Probably should git my helmet earphones fixed...be easier on the rig. But then, I sure do like hearin’ the engine purr, and the other being––silent.”
[Rusty La Violette is. That's all, just––"IS".]