Deliverance
In 1992, I took off in my Lynx to explore the deserts of the American southwest. I wandered around and around, for weeks, or maybe months. I slept in the car... beside it, under it. I cooked food on the hot engine ...I saw the Golden gate bridge, Big Sur, and Death valley. Eventually, I ended up somewhere in the wilderness of dry Arizona, hanging out with the road runners, cacti, and gila monsters. I never found the Lost Dutchman's gold.
So there I was, flat broke, in my parked car sitting behind some desert gas station in the middle of nowhere. The gas tank was empty.
A stranger approached. He was a scrawny, older, rustic country-boy lookin hick. "You from --------?' (he had apparently noticed my car tags).
After talking a few minutes, it was agreed. We were going in the same direction, so he would help out with gas money. He gave me about $10 dollars, I put gas in the car, and we took off.
He was from West Virginia. He had been living in the LA area for a few years- now he wanted to visit his home, and then go to Florida. He was pleasant enough, even if he was a little dumb. Across New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma we went. It was winter, and freezing, until we got to Arkansas. Once, my shampoo froze.The entire time, he slept upright, sitting in the front passenger seat ( that would have driven anyone crazy). At times, we would go to small town police stations, to get some food and fuel vouchers (called 'get-out-of-town-money'...You walk into a police station and ask for cash, because you are indigent...after checking you out, they send you on your way with the vouchers; you leave the area,to become somebody else's problem.I doubt very many places do that anymore).
We entered West Virginia. Spooky. Steep hillsides, mist and cold fog everywhere; winding roads surrounded by skeletal, sick trees. The Indians never lived there, avoiding the place as much as possible.
Logan. A very strange place. Shacks scaffolded upon the mountain, streets that don't have room for two-way traffic....Moon-faced people... serious inbreeding. Their faces actually shined in the dark. Their twisted frames spoke of a degeneracy derived from a misbegotten lineage- they did not walk- they shuffled and slinked. The sides of the valley were so steep, it must have been dark 20 hours a day, and darker in the winter.
We wound our way up some twisting streets, past dilapidated hovels. I parked the car about 25 feet from the 'house'...since I was on a steep incline, I shoved some large rocks behind several of my tires, to make sure that the car would not roll away. Putting the rocks in place up against the tires was a fateful move that in just a few short hours would almost result in my murder.
Inside the shack, his family greeted me- we ate baloney sandwiches, and watched some TV- one of the 'Superman' movies was on. The place was populated with about five hillbilly men, one youth, and a matron. In my chair, I closed my eyes to doze a minute. From around the corner, in the kitchen, I heard the youth talk to the guy I rode in with- "Thats a real nice car he has- I can't wait to drive it" They mentioned several other things. Uh-oh. I decided I had better leave- right away. It was almost midnight, and snowing. I got up from my chair, and announced that I wanted to take a brief walk around, to stretch my legs. The idea was met with instant hostility, scowls crept across their collective creepy faces. "Tomorrows another day" I was told- You can walk around town in the morning"
I got up and halfway ran toward the door. They made a meager attempt to block my exit- I guess they did not want to totally give the game away, just yet. I left, and walked fast past my car- it was too close to the house, and with the rocks under the wheels, I did not have time to just get in and crank the engine and go- I felt that they would really attempt to prevent my exit if I took the time to escape in the Lynx. I walked down the road, yelling to them that I would return in fifteen minutes.
I ended up along some railroad tracks, wandering around in the snow, wondering what to do next. About one hour went by.
I found a firehouse. I approached a police officer that happened to be visiting the two or three firemen on duty. He was fat- he looked like he could not chase any criminals down. I guess they had a all-night donut shop out here in the coal-mining boonies. He listened to my concerns- I told him the basic story, and that I wanted him to oversee the situation while I got me and my car outa there. He ran my social, and drove me back to the shack. I removed the rocks from behind the car tires, as the inhabitants of the hovel streamed outside, yelling and shouting. I started the engine and roared away, while the the mutant hillbillies screamed for me to stop and come back.
About a mile later, the same cop that helped me out put his flashing lights on and pulled me over. He spent the next 15 minutes examining my papers, making sure that I was the owner of the vehicle. I prayed that he wasn't related to the house of freaks.
He let me go. I drove away, leaving the state about an two hours later. You cannot pay me to return to Logan West Virginia.
So there I was, flat broke, in my parked car sitting behind some desert gas station in the middle of nowhere. The gas tank was empty.
A stranger approached. He was a scrawny, older, rustic country-boy lookin hick. "You from --------?' (he had apparently noticed my car tags).
After talking a few minutes, it was agreed. We were going in the same direction, so he would help out with gas money. He gave me about $10 dollars, I put gas in the car, and we took off.
He was from West Virginia. He had been living in the LA area for a few years- now he wanted to visit his home, and then go to Florida. He was pleasant enough, even if he was a little dumb. Across New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma we went. It was winter, and freezing, until we got to Arkansas. Once, my shampoo froze.The entire time, he slept upright, sitting in the front passenger seat ( that would have driven anyone crazy). At times, we would go to small town police stations, to get some food and fuel vouchers (called 'get-out-of-town-money'...You walk into a police station and ask for cash, because you are indigent...after checking you out, they send you on your way with the vouchers; you leave the area,to become somebody else's problem.I doubt very many places do that anymore).
We entered West Virginia. Spooky. Steep hillsides, mist and cold fog everywhere; winding roads surrounded by skeletal, sick trees. The Indians never lived there, avoiding the place as much as possible.
Logan. A very strange place. Shacks scaffolded upon the mountain, streets that don't have room for two-way traffic....Moon-faced people... serious inbreeding. Their faces actually shined in the dark. Their twisted frames spoke of a degeneracy derived from a misbegotten lineage- they did not walk- they shuffled and slinked. The sides of the valley were so steep, it must have been dark 20 hours a day, and darker in the winter.
We wound our way up some twisting streets, past dilapidated hovels. I parked the car about 25 feet from the 'house'...since I was on a steep incline, I shoved some large rocks behind several of my tires, to make sure that the car would not roll away. Putting the rocks in place up against the tires was a fateful move that in just a few short hours would almost result in my murder.
Inside the shack, his family greeted me- we ate baloney sandwiches, and watched some TV- one of the 'Superman' movies was on. The place was populated with about five hillbilly men, one youth, and a matron. In my chair, I closed my eyes to doze a minute. From around the corner, in the kitchen, I heard the youth talk to the guy I rode in with- "Thats a real nice car he has- I can't wait to drive it" They mentioned several other things. Uh-oh. I decided I had better leave- right away. It was almost midnight, and snowing. I got up from my chair, and announced that I wanted to take a brief walk around, to stretch my legs. The idea was met with instant hostility, scowls crept across their collective creepy faces. "Tomorrows another day" I was told- You can walk around town in the morning"
I got up and halfway ran toward the door. They made a meager attempt to block my exit- I guess they did not want to totally give the game away, just yet. I left, and walked fast past my car- it was too close to the house, and with the rocks under the wheels, I did not have time to just get in and crank the engine and go- I felt that they would really attempt to prevent my exit if I took the time to escape in the Lynx. I walked down the road, yelling to them that I would return in fifteen minutes.
I ended up along some railroad tracks, wandering around in the snow, wondering what to do next. About one hour went by.
I found a firehouse. I approached a police officer that happened to be visiting the two or three firemen on duty. He was fat- he looked like he could not chase any criminals down. I guess they had a all-night donut shop out here in the coal-mining boonies. He listened to my concerns- I told him the basic story, and that I wanted him to oversee the situation while I got me and my car outa there. He ran my social, and drove me back to the shack. I removed the rocks from behind the car tires, as the inhabitants of the hovel streamed outside, yelling and shouting. I started the engine and roared away, while the the mutant hillbillies screamed for me to stop and come back.
About a mile later, the same cop that helped me out put his flashing lights on and pulled me over. He spent the next 15 minutes examining my papers, making sure that I was the owner of the vehicle. I prayed that he wasn't related to the house of freaks.
He let me go. I drove away, leaving the state about an two hours later. You cannot pay me to return to Logan West Virginia.
posted by Zero at 1:56 PM
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