Animus es ipsa desperatione sumatur.
Tirons notre courage de notre désespoir même.
SÉNÈQUE


Day 55

am (Killing heat)

pm (Killing heat)

Rides = 4
Arrival = Amarillo
KM travelled = 851.7
$ spent = $4.50
Time passed on the road = 6 am - 11 pm
km walked = 6

Oddly enough the day started pretty well. At 5:50 am the sun rose over the truck stop. The tall Shell sign which was illuminating the whole area was less bright, less attracting. The caravans were already moving out of the oasis. Thomas was sound asleep in the lounge, in one of those coin operated television seats. I woke him up to tell him that I was going. He grumbled and went back to sleep. Outside the air was cool. I took my place on the shoulder of the Interstate 40 turning my back to the sun and flagging my thumb to the incoming traffic. I quickly got rides that brought me into the vicinity of Albuquerque.

I did know it yet but I was just about to get the lift that would mess up my trip in a big way. A blue Buick slowed down and stopped for me about 200 feet ahead. I ran to it and after a brief exchange of information with the driver, in the genre of where are you going, etc., I jumped in. He said he was going to Amarillo and then to Forth Worth, Texas. He was drinking and his driving was showing signs of it. He talked about his Korean War, and about his stint with the Hell's Angels. He looked mean. At some point he said: "Do you have any weapons, like a knife or a gun?" I replied, "No gun but I have a knife." I showed it to him. He glanced while taking a sip of his beer and said: "That's a short one, I have a bigger one that that." He bent forward and grabbed something from under his seat, that looked more like a small machete than a knife. "It's fucken' sharp, it's like a razor blade." And then he kept pulling stuff from under his cache, a American fist and an assortment of knifes. Then he brought forward a Billy Club with a sharp piece of metal on it's tip, "Last year, I hit a guy on the head with this thing." He knew a lot about weapons and their power of persuasion over people. At some point he started to talk vehemently and not in good terms, about the recently signed Salt 2 Treaty, between the US and the USSR. He was upset and probably because of the beers, his driving was getting worse. I was hoping that he would slow down. I was driving into New Mexico with a mad man. My prayers were soon answered. A police car came in rushing from behind with its siren and lights on. Like a good citizen my driver stopped right away. But before we came to a full stop, he had time to call the Police Force all of the possible insults in the book. The police came to the window and asked to see his driver's licence and added, "You were all over the road over there, are there any problems?" My driver said that he was trying to light his cigarette and that the lighter fell on the floor. I was surprised that nothing was said about the beers. The officer gave him a warning and wished us a good trip.

As we crossed the border between New Mexico and Texas I made the mistake of commenting on the beauty of the sunset. He said that I should take a photograph. I told him that I did not have a camera and he got mad. I told him that when I started this trip I decided not to carry a camera, not because of the weight or anything like that, but because I thought that taking pictures might interfere with my ability to remember events. He said, "That's fucken' bullshit!" I did not push it. We entered the state of Texas.

We were around Amarillo when the driver said that we should stop for a beer in a bar that he knew. I agreed. He parked his Buick in front of a nondescript building; the bar so and so. I got out and as I was getting my packsack out of the back seat of the car, he rushed by me saying, "Oh leave that stuff in there, we're just going for a beer or two." I told him that wherever I went, my packsack came with me. He really wanted me to leave my stuff in there, saying: "Come on, leave it and come on in, I'm gonna introduce you to some fine Texas ladies." I argued as much as I could but at the end, I agreed to leave my stuff. I took my side bag with me although he wanted me to leave this one in the car as well. We went in and sat at the bar. He ordered two beers and paid for them, then he said he was going to the washroom. I kept drinking my beer and talking with the bartender, there weren't any waitresses. After a while I started to wonder where my driver was. I went to the washrooms myself and found them empty. I ran outside and saw that he was gone!!! I could not believe it. All my stuff, my money, my passport, even that slab of petrified tree was gone. I ran back inside yelling that I had been robbed. The waiter called the police. It took about 45 minutes for them to show up. When they arrived I told them everything I knew about the thief: The Buick was a 1968 or 1969 model, blue colour, there was a CB radio in the car. The guy was 41 years old, 6 ft tall and 180 pounds, he told me that himself. His car was licensed in New Mexico and he received a warning near the exit for Santa Rosa by an officer who was wearing badge number 99. I had noticed the badge number of the police and even mentioned it to him at the time, "Wow, you are almost number 100!" That did not make a big impression on him. Anyway I was sure that with all of this information the police would be able to find him. That was not going to be the case. The police treated me like a subspecies, a hitchhiker, a insect, a bum. I went to sleep at the Salvation Army.

- Daniel


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