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Last Days of the 20th Century, Part 2 |
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The
Grand Canyon. Courtesy Lever Rukhin. |
After Santa Barbara, and daybreak, I searched the landscape, the ocean, the people, the yellow lines painted on the asphalt. The spirit of the times could be seen anywhere I looked. It radiated in the faces along the road, in the cars I passed. With a structure or some plan, I could interview people and perform my investigation.
I didn't know what to look for exactly, but continued riding, hoping I'd know it when I found it. Maybe a beautiful girl would give me the answers to the questions. Or an old man somewhere. No, a beautiful girl would be better.
The important thing was to keep riding. I accelerated with the confidence that I was riding toward some sort of greatness, I could feel it, I was, yes, I was… out of gas.
I coasted to a stop beside a blue sign with a yellow call box underneath. I stood by the side of the road watching the yellow of the now-afternoon sun bounce off the wrinkled hills. The whiskers of brown grass on the Coast Range hills swayed in the ocean breeze coming in from the ocean behind me. Unbelievable, I thought, shaking my head with disgust. I imagined being stranded without fuel in a faraway country that had no yellow boxes beneath blue signs.
I lifted the receiver in the yellow box and a heard a woman's voice courteously inquired if my vehicle was still on the highway or off to the side.
"Off to the side," I answered.
"Then please hold," she said and the line went silent. Her voice returned a few moments later and I explained that I was trying to go around the world but my motorcycle had run out of gas.
She recited some poorly memorized lines about being cautious on the freeway."Walking down the side of a freeway is extremely dangerous, so we suggest you accept the proposal of a tow truck bringing you a gallon of gasoline."
"That sounds great. Lady, let me ask you another question: what do you think the last days of the twentieth century are all about?"
Silence.
"Portrait
of the Artist as a Young Shadow." Courtesy Lever Rukhin. |
"I-I don't know," I heard her say. "Nobody has ever asked me anything like that. People usually just call screaming with anguish or bugging me with their car troubles."
"Just tell me whatever comes to mind."
"Hum. I guess I'll have to say the soul and salvation of the last days of the twentieth century is about wearing your seat belt."
"What?"
"That's right, that's my answer. Wear your seatbelt whenever you are in a car, wear an emotional seatbelt in a relationship, wear a seatbelt on your open mind after church—wear a seatbelt everywhere! Keep your mind, body and soul always in check with what it's going through. If not, one day you'll go right through the windshield of your sanity and wind up as a hood ornament."
"Excellent. Let me ask you this: how much will a gallon of gas cost?"
"$70."
"What? Thanks anyway!"
I scribbled her comments into one of the empty spirals and retightened the baggage on the back seat. I gripped the handlebars, squatted, and grudgingly began pushing Fulcrum.
