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Show RFVER All the romantic road nonsense that we'd imbibed, all ourinnocent enthusiasm swelled us up with joy: the four of us were on the road. I've been back and forth across America many times since, but I don't recall a stranger cross-country adventure. We spent our first night at an abandoned radiator shop outside Winnemucca. During the night a tremendous wind came up, blowing off the desert like hell itself, a genuine dust storm. Next morning our clutch burned up twenty miles outside of Battle Mountain. We felt more like Okies all the time. The van-we'd christened it Prometheus after the Firebringer and god of foresight-was a very slow boat, even when it ran. Topped out, it could barely crack fifty. The exhaust fumes that filled the back of the van proved to be real headbenders. We met up with Rick at the bus station in Salt Lake City and crammed even more junk into the already top-heavy van. We bought fourteen hotdogs for two dollars and drove on into Wyoming and the night. The Chevy's rear end was in a bad way. Toward mid-morning we stopped in an empty lot off the dirt streets of Medicine Bow and let Rick attack it. We were already bleary and travel worn. Next to the field was a gas station, and I think Rick did a number on the bathroom of the place with grease, because when I eased over to wash up an old one-eyed cowboy turned gas jockey yelled at me, "You, you!" "Yeah?" "You with that goddamn white van?" I owned up to it. "Well now then listen, and listen good. If I see any of you get on this side of this fence, I'm gonna get my shotgun and blow you away! And if there are any -53- |