And there it was:
Melville. Winchester. Higginbotham. Grosvenor. Penobscott-Jones.
The Fourth…
Can you imagine? Terrible thing to do to cute, defenseless baby! (And was cute baby, too, once pointy-headed newborn syndrome subsided, wrinkles smoothed out, expression moderated to one recognizable as ancestor of present calculated innocence.) No wonder chose new name earliest possible opportunity.
Well, identity safe as far as I’m concerned. Nor will “Adam” ever learn I possess truth from me: Some knowledge simply too dangerous…
On other hand, blackmail long a respected component of diplomatic toolkit.
And “never” is long time…
Greetings, Posterity, from Beautiful East St. Louis. Having wonderful time; wish you were here. And other clichés. (Actually, trip quite dull [i.e., uneventful — may it so continue… ].)
Adam, reckless propensities under control, proving marvelously smooth, precise driver when not showing off (or perhaps satisfying show-off urges by displaying different aspect of motoring skills): Operates van-cum-trailer rig as though born with shift knob in mouth instead of silver spoon. Glides along roads without drama; slips through holes between obstructions where I would have sworn wasn’t room. Possesses uncanny eye for solidity of terrain; plus flicks neatly in, out of four-wheel-drive, low-low range, without stopping, losing momentum: Haven’t used winch at all — despite added load, trailer.
Must admit, however, fact we spent bulk of time slicing across continent in nearly straight lines, tooling effortlessly along railroad tracks at 60 mph, bypassing highway clutter altogether, may have bearing on ease of travel. Adam’s invention works just as advertised: Line up rig on grade crossing, lower guide wheels, set speed control, select cassette, plug into stereo, lean back, relax, enjoy watching scenery unroll.
Terry delighted to be back on road. Does so love riding in cars. But for first few miles on tracks, wasn’t at all sure he approved of no-hands driving. Stood uneasily on stand, shifting weight, bobbing head suspiciously, flitting to settle feathers. Peered out windshield with first one eye, then other. Occasionally muttered “How ’bout that” in worried tones. Seasoned traveler; knows improper driving when sees it…
Hard to believe, after own experience at post-Armageddon cross-country traveclass="underline" Adam and I arrived in East St. Louis — just under thousand miles — only three days after leaving Baltimore! Could have made it in one, but not hurrying; rising when feel like it, eating well (love that kitchen!), performing kata, sparring, scrounging, quitting early, giving Adam time to practice on Moog, etc. But even at this rate we’ll be at Mount Palomar in another week. Isn’t that great?
Good night, Posterity.
Good morning, Posterity. Reality back — with a vengeance: Don’t know how could have forgotten how much fun rivers can be. Evidence suggests Ole Man Mississippi took advantage of flood-control engineers’ absence to flex muscles this spring. Must have been some thaw: One bridge left — clogged solidly with cars, trucks. High-water mark suggests crest wasn’t all that high, but something sure took rest out. Perhaps river recruited help — string of fully loaded barges careening along in melt-swollen current would fill prescription, and plenty available. But…
Adam cut speculation short by pointing out that figuring way to remove obstructions from bridge more relevant issue on which to focus curiosity — please pay attention.
(Been unbearably pleased with himself since rail-riding rig proved successful — and “unbearably” surely operative word. Despite this, haven’t destroyed him yet; treating situation as opportunity to strengthen character, exercise in self-control. So far.)
Good night, Posterity.
Bridge cleanup not so tough! Though surely looked as if might be to begin with: First vehicles in way all had dead batteries. Then refused to start upon being jumpered. Adam suspected watered gasoline — condensation from temperature changes, length of time abandoned.
(His reaction to frustration entertaining: Unaccustomed to failure [classes experience with me as “work in progress”]; regards even possibility might not triumph as personal attack on vaunted resourcefulness. Looks vexed. Grows a little defensive. Sometimes even pouts. But never gives up.)
Presently climbed onto commuter-bus roof, surveyed problem with hands on hips. Shortly got down, looking smug. Claimed had answer. But wouldn’t tell me plan; wanted to “surprise me.”
Located East St. Louis Yellow Pages, flipped through to “Machine Shops.” Underlined half dozen addresses, visited in order. Found what was looking for at third stop: vitamin-fed forklift truck — really big.
Managed to get monster running; returned to bridge (not quick trip; shop some miles away). Adam directed me to follow in rig as he assailed blockage. Ran forks under first car, lifted, set to side, moved on to next.
Progress quicker once got up onto bridge approach: Adam simply hoisted, tilted forks, pitched over side. Didn’t waste time, efforts: Cleared single-width path just wide enough for van, trailer. Soon into rhythm of forklift operation, drilled rapidly across bridge. Started crossing near noon; descended into St. Louis before dark.
Too late to continue then, so spending night on riverbank. Adam plans to locate railyard, pick up maps, get us “back on track” tomorrow (something about phrase seems to make him happy; wonder if be offended if I tore out his tongue…).
Goodness gracious — what a day! Whole complexion of travel now changed. Should have anticipated this; certainly would feel same way if were in their shoes. But shock, just the same.
All right — enough rambling; on to proper, orderly narrative while events fresh in mind:
Adam disappointed to learn St. Louis, despite (or because of) role as national-rail-network hub, impossible to get out of by rail. Same problem often encountered on roads near big cities: too much dead traffic. Endless switchyards, switch after switch set wrong; stopped trains, locomotives, isolated cars and/or car strings everywhere. Simply no room to move.
So found city map; began working our way out on streets. Not difficult, considering past experience, but not quickest travel thus far enjoyed. Adam’s driving skills even more apparent here, as squeezed around, between abandoned cars, trucks; popped into four-wheel-drive, low-low, to climb curbs; bypassing obstructions down alleys, along sidewalks. Necessary to use winch only once; then only to haul another car out of way, not unstick us.
Not bad, by and large; and afternoon found us well into semiresidential area, past worst of downtown congestion. Adam finding this type of driving sufficient challenge even at low speeds; plus remains ever conscious of trailer contents’ scatterability, fragility. Accordingly, were proceeding at entirely reasonable pace when, trotting in preoccupied manner from between two buildings, came rhinoceros…!
Prepoceros? Of course! But precise moment rhinoceros, size of house, discovered ambling across street directly in one’s path, bad time to debate probabilities.