Road Trip, 1974
"Let's fuck her!" he whispered. The "he" in question was an acquaintance I had met at the mall where we both worked in Phoenix. The "she" was a sweet lovely thing that also worked in the mall and just happened to be the object of my affection. My nineteen year old mind saw her as excellent girlfriend material and I did give it a shot albeit unsuccessfully. His comment caught me off guard as I didn't really see her in that kind of lThe funny thing is, I can't remember this guy's name for the life of me. I choose to call him "Jim" for the sake of simplicity and also because I don't want to continue calling him "that guy". His wife's name was Debbie. She was short, petite and the cutest thing you ever saw. But Jim was almost a cliche of your 1970's stud. He was about as tall as me, six feet, but he was handsome and wore his black curly hair in an afro which surprisingly looked really good on a white guy. He was always in bell bottoms and a nice paisley button-up shirt. He was a hit with the ladies and he knew it. He confessed numerous affairs to me and I listened to his ramblings as an rubberneck watches a train wreck, in horror and with fascination. One in particular stands out. He regaled me with the story of how he seduced a woman in his living room while his wife, Debbie, was asleep upstairs in the bedroom. I don't remember how he'd met her or got her to come to his house but suffice to say it's kind of irrelevant so let's cut to the chase. They were naked, rolling around on the floor in flagrante delicto when Jim's wife walks up to the foot of the stairs, looks down upon the debauchery and calmly walks back into the bedroom. Jim and his young conquest quickly get her clothes on as Jim shoves her out the front door. He was busted. He knew he had no recourse but to confess to his wife and just take his medicine like a man. He waited until she was asleep again and snuck into bed. Waking up the next day was much like any other day. But much to his surprise there wasn't an emotional bloodletting or any mention at all about his illicit fornication. Later on that day Debbie did mention that she'd been mildly disturbed by a dream she'd had the night before where her hubby had been having sex with someone else on their living room floor. "Oh honey! How could you think such a thing? Give Jimmy a kiss." It was precisely at this moment that "Jim" knew that he led a charmed life. How he skated by on that one is still amazing to me. This was the man that I would spend a weekend with that could only be called unconventional/bizarre/strange. Let's just say that Jack Kerouac has nothing on me.
Jim approached me one day with an offer I couldn't refuse. He wanted some help driving back to California to retrieve an old Austin Healey sports car that belonged to him. I was a huge aficionado of old British sports cars so I really had no choice. We would be driving to Oxnard where the car was being stored. This was convenient as I had lived there and knew people that I wanted to catch up with. So I get a free ride to Oxnard and all I have to do is take shifts driving a late model Ford station wagon pulling a trailer. Pretty straightforward. The day before the trip he comes into the audio store where I worked just to touch base and see if I was ready. One of the women who worked at the Macys cosmetic counter happened to be in the store and when she saw Jim she flashed a big smile and said "Jimmy, can I come with you guys?" "Ball us all the way" he replied as he flashed that shitty grin right back at her. She gave him a knowing glance that said she knew exactly what his game was yet she played it anyway. Clever girl.
We set out on Interstate 10 on a Friday evening heading west to California as the sun was making it's way toward Asia. We chased it just for fun, seeing if we could delay the inevitable nightfall. I say "we' but it was really just me. I don't think Jim was poetically inclined unless he was drunk. Or stoned. Anyway... we headed west. In the back of my mind I knew that this adventure was probably a bad idea, my traveling companion while not quite a raving lunatic was still capable of rash and mercurial behavior. I don't mean pulling girl's pigtails and telling the odd fart joke either, that's my job. And what was I worried about anyway? We'd head to California, pick up his Healey, have a few laughs and that would be that. And that's how situations descend into disaster, you're lulled into a false sense of security and then BAM!, you realize that a pit bull has his teeth wrapped around your balls. Check please.
Did I mention that Jim was packing heat? Oh yeah, almost forgot. The back seat of the station wagon was folded down so one could crawl back there and fully stretch out. Ostensibly this was for sleeping but I figured if Jim had spotted a comely hitchhiker he would have entertained her out back while I drove. Lucky me. So he reaches back and pulls out a hunting rifle. "Oh good" I thought. Let's really apply ourselves and maybe, just maybe, we can be on tomorrow's Six O' Clock News. Since I don't know squat about guns I give the rifle a cursory once-over and say "Nice piece" while not really knowing what I'm talking about. This is standard guy speak. Pretend you know what you're talking about so you can impress a slightly older and more experienced alpha male. Little did I know that we would soon be using that gun.
I began the driving duties, Jim took over a couple hours later. The white lines and scrub brush flew by at a dizzying clip. We drove at night by design, it was summer and the Arizona heat can put some incredible stress on a car's cooling system so we took no chances especially considering that we would be towing a vehicle on the way back. This gave us a chance to get used to the trailer sans Healey as a sort of dress rehearsal. Things were going pretty good. That's when Daisy Duke's brothers decided to make their acquaintance. Jim noticed the headlights before I did. At first they shadowed us but when they tired of this they closed from behind really fast. It sounded like they had some heavily modified Detroit iron and I guessed it was an Olds 442 with a Holley, high-rise and headers. This thing could move with neck snapping acceleration putting us at a huge disadvantage. They pulled up next to us, rolled down their windows and flipped us off. I turned to Jim... "What are they doing?" He grimaced as we watched them stick their heads out of the window. Now we can see our tormenters. Two stringy-haired rednecks yelling their fool heads off at complete strangers while motoring along at 72 MPH in the middle of the Arizona desert at 1 AM in the morning. We figured they'd been drinking and we wondered if they were trying to drive us off the road, perhaps to rob us or maybe worse. The year before I had seen the movie Deliverance and had nearly been traumatized by the rape scene. I had visions of being trotted out into the desert to be de-flowered by a wild eyed redneck and wondered if he'd make me squeal like a pig or some other barnyard animal. I tried to put that thought out of my head while these two troglodytes continued to rant and rave. Now, on the side of the tracks where I was raised when someone does this sort of thing you try to ignore them in the hopes that they'll get bored, give up and go way. Jim didn't come from that side of the tracks. Jim barks "Roll down your window!" I comply then he flips them off and with the wind buffeting my hair he screams "Fuck off you cocksuckers!" "You want some of this?" "Yeah, fuck you!" I felt like a bystander as Jim yelled epithets past me in their direction out the window. For two miles they taunted each other then suddenly Jim says "Give me a sec". Jim climbs over into the back seat area, I hit the gas to keep up while Jim fumbles around in our sleeping area in the back. "When I give the word you turn on the map lights. Got it?" I nodded in the affirmative as Jim reached for the hunting rifle. Now, the last I checked it was illegal as hell to brandish a firearm but this didn't deter Jim. He climbs back into the front passenger's seat. "Now!" he screams and I hit the two toggle switches turning on both the map and courtesy lights. Jim holds up the rifle and brandishes it in their direction yelling "What do you think of that motherfuckers!!" My heart is pounding as I see see their eyes get big as pie plates. All I can hear now is the screeching of tires as they slam on their brakes and fade into the Arizona night. Half a mile back I can see them pull off the road and disappear for good. Jim looks at me and screams "Wooooooooooooooo!!!!!" "Took care of those faggots!" I was drunk on this demonstration of power and stupidity. I was nineteen so I hope I can be forgiven. I laughed along with Jim knowing that while the good guys won this time it could just as easily have all gone south. But at that moment in time it was all laughs, bravado and high fives. Such is the young man's curse.
An hour later we cross the California border and I realize that my heart rate has returned to normal. I keep scanning the rear view mirror for cops though. There were hardly any other cars on the interstate except for us so that would make us easy to spot by the Highway Patrol. It's not like I really expected those losers to rat us out to the cops, I mean, what would they say? "Ooooh, ooooh! These really mean guys with a gun wouldn't let us run them off the road!" But still, I watched the road behind us. Our first stop in California would be in Orange County at the home of Jim's father-in-law. We were to pick up the driveshaft of The Austin Healey there at his in-laws before making our way up the coast to pick up the car. For some ungodly reason the driveshaft had been removed from the car, perhaps for repair. We arrived there at 5AM. I was bleary-eyed from the all-nighter and just wanted to doze off for a bit. Jim's father-in-law graciously offered us something to eat and soon after I passed out on the couch for a two hour snooze. When I awoke I stumbled out to the kitchen for some orange juice and could hear Jim out in the garage. I stuck my head out there in time to see him putting the driveshaft on the trailer and tying it down with rope. I would have offered to help but I was still traumatized by my brief stint as an outlaw the night before. At that moment I had the presence of mind to think that one day I would be able to have a good laugh about this. I guess I was right.
We set out again after spending the entire morning at Jim's in-laws. Our drive up the coast to Oxnard was, thankfully, uneventful. I remember how crazy the traffic was on Highway 101 through Hollywood and wishing that we'd taken Pacific Coast Highway instead. But no matter, it was good to be back in California. My time in Arizona had been miserable and even though this was only a weekend foray I was still dreading my eventual return to Arizona. California was still a great place to be in 1974. The Healey was being stored in a carport at the Gardenia Apartments near where I used to live, close to the intersection of Gonzalez and Ventura Roads. Finding the car was easy, we just pulled into the parking lot and cruised through it until we spotted it there in the middle of the second row of carports. Now, an Austin Healey 3000 is a pretty heavy car despite it's sports car pedigree. It was a handful for the two of us to push the car out of the carport but thankfully Jim had a winch so pulling it up onto the trailer was no problem at all. It was in decent shape so I could see why Jim wanted to keep it. Now that we'd collected the car we had some time to kill so I agreed to meet Jim here in two hours while I walked over to an old friend's house to visit and catch up. By the time we left for the return trip to Arizona it would be around 7PM. Driving at night and beating the heat was still the main objective for us. In the back of my mind I wondered if Jim's gun would have any bearing on our trip home. I wouldn't have long to find out.
I was tired. I needed a good long snooze but I had another night's drive ahead of me and in the back of my mind I couldn't help thinking that Jim had more surprises in store. At about 10PM my unrepressed friend climbs out back into the sleeping area while I'm driving. I'm thinking he just wants to sleep which suits me fine. Phoenix was a good four hours away at our current rate of knots and the Healey was safely stowed and making the journey quite well, thank you very much. I yawned, which was my first mistake because you never yawn with Jim in the general vicinity. Next thing I know Jim has the right-side front window rolled down halfway and he's pointing the rifle out into the inky abyss. "May I ask what you're doing?" He looks at me and very matter of factly replies "Just shooting at traffic signs." This time I wouldn't try to talk him out of it because that would be futile. Instead I implored him to only take out the 55 MPH speed limit signs which were hated by the car culture of the time. President Nixon imposed the 55 MPH limits after the first arab oil embargo in order to curtail American fuel consumption. Nobody really knew if the damn thing worked but one it did do was turn an entire nation of drivers into scofflaws. Nobody really took it seriously and personally I despised those 55 MPH signs with every fiber of my being. So go ahead! Shoot the goddam things for all I care. The concussion from the first shot rang in my right ear but I guess it's something you get used to. For a ten mile stretch there wasn't a speed limit sign that was safe. Jim must have taken out five or six. "OK, your turn." I gave him a puzzled look, "Seriously? Me? I can take a shot?" "Hell yeah, get over here." Jim got in the front seat and took the wheel. I climbed out back and laid down in the prone position facing forward. The barrel of the rifle rested on the halfway rolled down front window pane. I got used to the gunsight which was sharp, clear and I would soon find out, very accurate. "Here comes one now!" I heard Jim declare from behind the wheel. There it was, a pristine 55 MPH speed limits sign coming at me on the right side of the freeway. I sighted it up and remembered Jim's earlier admonition to squeeze the trigger slowly and before I knew it BOOM!, the sign was no more. Now, let me provide detail here. I was looking through the sight all the way and when I squeezed off the round it hit the sign in it's lower half, below the point where it's bolted to the standard. It may or may not have made a hole in the sign but the part I found funny was that the bullet hit the sign so hard it folded over on itself, right in half. Both of us roared in astonishment! "That's one hell of a shot!" I boasted. In a remarkable display of self-control I refrained from shooting any more. "I've had enough" I sleepily mumbled. My reluctant acceptance of Jim's invitation to shoot was merely a ploy to get him to give up the gun. Now maybe he'd lose interest especially if I stayed back here pretending to sleep which in effect forced him to drive. Might as well keep him busy because who knows what he'd do if he had free time on his hands.
We arrived in Phoenix at dawn. Jim's wife Debbie met us at his house where we'd unload the Healey and I'd jump back into my 1966 MGB to return to my apartment. I was relieved to be finished with this trip. It would only be years later though that I would be thankful to Jim for providing me with a compare and contrast situation. I could be like him and be immoral, deceiving, treacherous, criminal and shady. Or I could be... me. And the funny thing is I still don't understand what that is. I never saw Jim again.
note: For legal purposes the above account may or may not be the figment of a writer's imagination depending on if there is a statute of limitations and also depending on who wants to know.
Comments