A Taste of the New Book
Sometime around October, my new book of short travel stories will come out. To bridge the gap, here is a taste of what is to come. It is a story based upon an experience related to me by someone I met on the road quite a few years ago in Canada. I hope you like it - it's a freebie.
Sometime around October, my new book of short travel stories will come out. To bridge the gap, here is a taste of what is to come. It is a story based upon an experience related to me by someone I met on the road quite a few years ago in Canada. I hope you like it - it's a freebie.
Iron Horse
It was back when he was living alone in the shack. A long hard winter had kept him in one place – forced him inside. Inside was
against his nature, as was staying in one place, but he’d have died otherwise. The rusting metal cabinet he’d managed to drag into the shack had got him off the
floor at night, but even with all the junk, the old blankets and newspapers, the cold
managed to work its way through and into his bones.
It had been a still night with not much wind and
he’d slept well until the early hours. Something had woken him. Something out
of the ordinary - not a wild dog or a twister. He stuck his head out from
under the ragged blanket. For a while there was nothing. Pretty quickly his
head started to ache from the cold and he began winding the blanket back around
him, then he heard it. The rumble of a big old motorcycle engine, somewhere out
there in the hills. It was moving slowly, labouring over the rough terrain. Joel sat up. Were they coming for him?
Joel had always known it was a risk to camp out in
the shack. Apart from the pipeline, it was the only structure for miles and it
stood near the track. Anyone passing would be drawn to it. A month back when a
water company pick-up had passed, he’d messed up the interior in a panic then
quickly buried himself in the sand like a desert gopher until the intruders had moved
on. The bastards had taken the binoculars he’d left hanging inside. This time
he decided he’d stay put.
“How do?” Said Joel, thrusting out his hand in the
manner of a man who was the proud owner of a property. The biker had parked up
right in front of the makeshift doors. He’d dismounted but left the old motor
turning over.
“What d’ya have, mail for me?” asked Joel, with a
smile.
“Saw the shack way back, when I cleared that
ridge,” said the old man, gesturing back into the hills.
He was a sight for sore eyes, Joel thought. Like
something from an old western – some kind of medicine man or fairground
horseman. His long grey hair and beard were dusty from days or weeks riding
through the desert. He wore no crash helmet. In its place a battered old cowboy
hat. He had a cowboy’s bedroll too, strapped to his handlebars. The bike was
probably as old as he was. Both looked in need of a good clean-up and some running
repairs.
“Nice old bike… once upon a time,” said Joel. “Why
don’t you turn her off so we can talk?”
“Ah she’s ailing a bit,” he replied, “kickstart
arm’s sheared the spindle. I have to bump her. At my time o’ life that’s a bit
of a challenge. Knees have gone south. Gone in the garbage is the truth of it.
These ones is tai-tanium they told me. Take some getting used to. Ache like an
angry whale in cold weather. I'da been better off with the old uns. This your
place then?”
The old man tried to make more of the shack with
his sweeping arm gesture than it really was. A generous thought, which Joel
spotted and was grateful.
“Yeah, I kind a laid claim on it,” explained Joel,
casually. “Was hiking cross country, heading up to Canada eventually. Clean
air, rivers, fishing, all that. I done my time working in the city and I had enough of
it. I though deserts, you know, they’re always hot. Well not
here they’re not! When the winter set in I couldn’t survive in the tent. That’s
when I came across the shack. I just pitched up behind her for a couple of days,
keeping outa the wind. One night I was so cold I thought I’d die. I went
delirious – right outa my mind. In the morning I woke up in the shack. She
saved me. Saved my life for sure. Go on turn her off, I’ll bump start ya after. I got
some coffee and a camp stove. Just one cup but I’ll drink from the pot. Name’s
Joel. Glad y’stopped by.”
The coffee took some time to boil. The old guy
introduced himself as Richard.
“They call me Kit.”
“How long you been travelling, Kit?”
“Travelling most of o’ my life,” said Kit. “No
plans to stop, neither.”
“Ever had a wife, Kit?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither. Girlfriends, lady friends and what
have you but no wives, no thank you!”
“Oh I’da had a wife if one had a been willing!”
said Kit. “Just never worked out that way. Couldn’t change my roving ways I
suppose. So Ruby there’s the nearest I ever had to a wife.”
Kit nodded towards the old Harley Davidson,
clicking now and again as she cooled off.
“Hah, well she’s a fine old lady, Kit, I’ll say
that.”
“Won her in a fight,” said the old man, chuckling.
“You’re joking now?” said Joel, pouring half the
coffee into a battered tin mug.
“True as I sit here! I was with a bunch of other
guys out west. We were a band I suppose you could say. Troubadours. Bunch of
outlaws on bikes turned up at the bar we’d agreed to play in that night. Sons o' bitches said
it was their local bar and we should git out of town.
The owner he hid behind the bar counter. Customers slipped out the back door. They
was all afraid of these guys. I was fearless back then – a bit stupid was the
truth. Anyhow I asked ‘em who the leader was. A huge barn door of a guy with a
big scar across his mean face stepped forward. I said I’d arm wrestle him and
if I lost we’d leave town. While we sat down and prepared, Little Lonnie our
fiddle player was round the side pulling the electric cables off their bikes.
Meanwhile the owner’s wife had called for the cops. While I was being beaten at
the arm-wrestle by the big ape, Lonnie was under the table cuffing the ape to
the big steel table leg. When the cops came they had to chase him a mile into
the brushwood, dragging the table behind him. Yep, them outlaws went to jail. Bikes
was impounded. Cops told me if nobody else come forward, we could make a claim for
‘em. After a month that’s what we did. Ruby was the best of ‘em. Yep, I had my
eye on her from the start.”
“Love at first sight then?” said Joel.
“Yep, that’s the story! She’s an old lady, but
she’s never let me down.”
Kit drained his coffee.
“I hope y’make it to the border, Joel. I really do. Want my
advice, get y’self a set of trucker's cards and bum lifts by night. Cops'll leave y'lone. Y'ready to bump her?”
Joel got to his feet. Kit did the same but more
slowly and with a prolonged groan.
“Tai-tanium my ass!”
People I've Met On The Road should be out – in the first instance as an e-book – by the end of the autumn (2016). Sorry for the wait.
Check out Mark Swain's other books at:
Mark Swain on Amazon UK
Mark Swain on Amazon .com
and on this blog (add your e-mail to receive updates)
Mark Swain on Amazon .com
and on this blog (add your e-mail to receive updates)
