Stories Of The Road.
I have spent most of the last 50 years as an artist/potter. Most of that time was dedicated to selling my wares at Art shows all over the country. In my travels I have encountered some weird, funny, frightening and surreal people and situations. I thought I would share some of them with you. They are in no particular chronological order.
Angels Of The Mojave: ca. 1998.
It was summer and we lived in Tucson
Arizona. The show scene in the southwest was dead for the summer due
to the heat, If I wanted to make a living I would need to seek venues
in more moderate climes. I was headed to the San Francisco Bay area
for the Los Altos Art And Wine Festival. My old 1983 Ford van was
loaded to the top with pottery and display materials. Hopes were high
for a successful show.
I cut across the Mojave desert in
order to bypass Los Angeles. The old Ford was running fine through
San Berdoo and Adelanto. I was making good time. I turned west onto
highway 58 at Kramer Junction and headed for the town of Mojave, some
30 miles distant.
Just as I passed Boron the Ford
started acting up. I noticed that it would seem to bog down and
starve for fuel if I pushed down on the throttle too hard. It was
still working fine at cruising speed so I decided to make it to
Mojave where there were auto parts and services. The situation was
getting worse. The van was getting slower and any throttle above an
idle would cause it to starve for fuel. The fuel pump was giving up.
I was down to idling along at 20 miles per hour. Just as I decided to
take the next chance to turn around and make for Kramer Junction the
worst happened.
Road construction! The highway
narrowed to a single lane in both directions. Concrete barriers were
set to funnel traffic to one lane. The barriers were set up on either
side of the lane to form a corridor that was about 10 miles long.
There was no place to pull onto the shoulder or exit this corridor. I
was stuck nursing a sick, ever slowing, vehicle with no place to get
out of the way. I felt truly sorry for my fellow travelers stuck
behind this, now 15 miles per hour, Tortoise. In this case the
Tortoise would have to finish first before the Hares could resume
California speed. Oh yeah, those horns really helped speed me up.
Close to 45 minutes later we emerged
from the concrete tunnel. I pulled off the road at the first wide
shoulder I came across. I exited the vehicle and faced the traffic
that had been bottled up behind me. I shrugged my shoulders, meekly
waved and mouthed , "I'm Sorry”. I was greeted with honking
horns, rude hand gestures and a string of nasty epithets being hurled
in my direction. I have heard all those words before but not in such
creative combinations.
As the angry circus parade faded
unto the distance I turned to the problem at hand. I loosened the
fuel line and turned the key to engage the starter. Barely a trickle
of gas seeped out. I needed a fuel pump and the only place to get one
was Mojave and Mojave was 10 miles away. Cell phones were not as
common as they are today and I didn't have one.
I put on a bright red T shirt (for
better visibility) . I grabbed the warm half-bottle of Dr. Pepper and
with Sammy Davis singing, “What Kind Of Fool Am I” ,(in my head),
I started walking towards Mojave. The town in the distance seemed to
dance and shimmer in the heat waves rising from the asphalt. My gray
hair and full beard were wildly disheveled by the desert wind. I
couldn't imagine anyone would offer me a ride. In fact I would be
suspicious of anyone that would offer a ride to someone that looked
like I did. I was happy that my wife and son hadn't accompanied me on
this trip.
I had only gone about 50 yards from
the van when a pearl white Cadillac sedan passed me then slowed to a
stop about 100 feet down the road. I wrestled with mixed feelings of
elation and apprehension as I approached the Caddy. Was this a golden
chariot sent to deliver me from this treacherous desert ? Or was it
something more sinister?
I approached the car cautiously. The
heavily tinted passenger window slowly rolled down. When I peered in
the window I was stunned. Inside there were no gang bangers, serial
killers, highway robbers or kidnappers. There was only a young mother
and her daughter of about six years old. The mother asked if I needed
help. I told her my story that I needed to get to an auto parts store
in Mojave. She said,“We're going that way”, as she unlocked the
door and invited me in.
We introduced ourselves. The mother
was Ruth and the little girl, in the back seat, was Angie. As Ruth
pulled the Caddy back on the road she said, “I hope you're not a
serial killer. When we passed you Angie said, “You're not going to
let Santa die are you mama? So I just had to stop”.
I assured her that I was just a crazy potter on my way to a show. I spent the next few miles explaining to Angie that I wasn't Santa but that I would put in a good word for her if I ever came across him. I certainly felt like it was Christmas right now.
I assured her that I was just a crazy potter on my way to a show. I spent the next few miles explaining to Angie that I wasn't Santa but that I would put in a good word for her if I ever came across him. I certainly felt like it was Christmas right now.
Too soon the ride was over. Ruth
stopped in front of an auto parts store and we said our goodbyes.
Angie leaned close and whispered loudly, “I know you are really
Santa”. I whispered back, “I know you are really an angel”. She
giggled.
I watched them drive away towards Tehachapi before turning my attentions to the problem at hand.
I watched them drive away towards Tehachapi before turning my attentions to the problem at hand.
The store was well stocked and the
new fuel pump was in my hand within minutes. My mind turned to the
question of how to get back out to the van. I would need more water
to drink if I were going to walk ten miles in the desert. I figured
that no one was likely to give a lift to a guy carrying a fuel pump
while walking in the desert. I spied a display of plastic gas cans
and hit on an idea. People might be more likely to stop for someone
that had run out of gas.
I bought a one gallon plastic gas
can and filled it with water (killing two birds with one stone).
It was time to test my luck. I left
the parts store and trekked the eight blocks to the city limit sign.
With some trepidation, I crossed the threshold and was once again on
my own in the desert.
I had only walked about one hundred
feet past the city limit sign when an old pickup ground to a stop
beside me. A grizzled old face hollered, “Hey...... you need a
lift? It's a bad day to go for a stroll in the desert. Hop In.” He
said his name was Jacob, but everybody called him Jake. He was on
his way to work at the borax mine and was late. I feared his truck
was in worse shape than my van. It shuddered, wobbled and groaned as
we sped along at 85 miles per hour. It only took a few minutes to
cover the ten miles to where I left the van. He slammed on the brakes
and we came to a grinding squeaky stop. “ I'll have one of the guys
from the early shift check on you. Good luck and adios”. He was
gone in a cloud of dust and a shower of gravel.
Replacing the pump was not a hard
job it just required a lot of crawling around with the ants and a few
well placed cuss words. A half hour later I was on the road again.
The old van was running like new.
The rest of the weekend went
smoothly. The show was profitable and the ride home uneventful.
Every time I lose faith in humanity, which is often, I think of the three angels of the Mojave and I feel
better.
