It was a massacre, a gory sight. Never before in all my alterations of Duke had the back seat been torn out and its hidden contents revealed. Ripley would have stared in disbelief. Five pounds of Idyllwild, CA tree bark, two rusted and unidentifiable canned food items, one black comb, several chewed up trinkets, and one live mouse. No kidding.

Tex retrieved the keys, but as they say, things happen in three's. Car breaks down, keys locked in the trunk.. what's missing here, God? Oh, of course! How about let's have a wiring fire. So we did that. With Tex shuffling things around in the cockpit, a couple of wires, one positive, one negative, decided to get together and spark up some more fun for us. Smoke, realization, epileptic dance, burned fingers, melted black licorice, yikes.

Somewhere in all that, I rebuilt the carburetor and Tex removed and tested the modulator. The former was dirty as shit, and the latter failed Napa's test and we replaced it. A bunch of young Mexican boys rode up on their bikes and hung out awhile whilst we packed up the car again. I asked them, "Are you boys Catholic?" a question that clearly stumped every one of them, as though the answer involved algebra or something. Not waiting for answer I said, "Please pray for us."

We pulled out onto Umatilla's main drag and another cop appeared and did a U-turn to come back our way. Thoroughly sick of being tailed by cops, benignly curious or out to get us, it didn't matter anymore, I pulled immediately into a gas station to call their bluff, so to speak. Kinda like, "Let's have it out right here and now, mutha fucka! Enough of this hanging on my ass til you can invent a crime for me bullshit."

I pumped gas and Tex went and did the PR thing with the law. Turned out they were cool enough, just curious. Gassed up, we headed down the road stopping briefly at the Circle K at the end of town so Tex could get beer and ice. Now it was judgment time. I hit the gas and prayed. We reached thirty-five and Duke hiccuped again. FUCK!

Well, so much for that, I thought. Looks like it'll be a few daze in Western Oregon while we figure this shit out, maybe get Ned to come out with his trailer and tow us back. The cold beer that had tasted so good a second ago suddenly seemed flat. Duke hiccuped again and again. And just when we hit that fatalistic plateau of "Oh, well, we're fucked and there ain't nuthin we can do about it," Duke went quiet on us.

My foot on the accelerator remained firm and our speed slowly began to climb. Forty-five now and not a hiccup in a minute or two. Now fifty and no hiccups for five minutes. It was miraculous, but over the course of the next quiet ten minutes of driving and climbing in speed, it became apparent that Duke had changed his mind. Maybe, just maybe, he was going to make it after all. We drank and the beer tasted cold and wonderful.

It wasn't long before we were confident enough to seek a diversion. Tex pulled out the computer and I began to dictate to him. He typed about five words per minute, hunting and pecking hunched over like a blind man searching for spilled cocaine in a shag rug. It was funny and it was a welcome distraction. I thought-wrote, crafting my sentences more carefully than ever, having all the time in the world whilst Tex carved them out of stone. I laughed and smiled, driving confidently now, bereft of hope but chock full of arrogant determination to make it to Portland that night. Tex typed and the sun set in the west.

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Last update April 1, 2004