Two Lanes Wide: Another Small Teaser

Handing me a key I managed to draw the lucky room number six. Perhaps lady luck was starting to actually improve. Or she was simply throwing me a tiny crumb. The number six for holds a very special and lucky place in my heart. We'll get to that a bit later. I then placed the 40 dollars and some change for the evening’s rent on the counter.

Opening the door to the room was perhaps the final adventure in a series of events gone south that day. Even the Gideons stayed away from this shit hole. No cracked black leatherette bound signature bible here. No sir. Funny how the lack of a bible cemented a bit of reality. Something I like to call “no good could come from this room” feeling in the pit of my stomach.

The initial survey of the room proved to be dismal to say the least. Wooden paneling covered walls, a fist sized hole punched in the bathroom door, and a once golden shag carpet complete with random undisclosed grapefruit sized stains. Those stains. So pungent was the thick odor that for the second time that night I almost hurled that half digested ham sandwich. The next step was to vent in some fresh air. Next up was the ice run. Rather simple task. Too bad the most simple of tasks can often turn out to be a multi car pile up on the freeway of life.

Laying in the bottom on the ice bucket was the largest hairiest cockroach I had ever laid eyes on. He seemed to hiss at me as I poked him with a half chewed plastic drinking straw. This was no ordinary cockroach. Could be he made his way East on the Santa Fe Railway. Maybe from somewhere down in central Texas. This is about the time those pesky voices in the back of the head told me to cut bait. Not often I ignore those voices. Especially when they make sense. Had the hour been earlier or another motel in sight I would obeyed the voices. At this point the 40 dollars and spare change seemed rather irrelevant.

Simple rule of nature.

Where one angry Texas sized cockroach lives.........there are bound to be an entire pack of angry cockroaches.

Heading back to the office I expressed my obvious concern to Jim Bob.

“There's a cockroach in my ice bucket.”

“Uh huh......you say there's a cockroach in your ice bucket eh?”

“Yeah...he ain't no ordinary cockroach either.”

“Oh.....how so?”

“Well.......I might be a bit tired......but I swear.......he looked up at me....”

“He looked up at you.....?”

“Yeah....he looked up at me.”

“Then what'd he do?”

“Well....he looked up at me....and he.....”

“He.....”

So intent was this conversation that again we were darn near nose to nose. I was getting a whiff of that chew. Jim Bob continued to wipe the nasty ass tobacco dripping from his lower lip onto his flannel covered sleeve.

“What say there mister......what did that cockroach do?”

“Well....he........sorta hissed.”

“Ya say he......”hissed” at cha?”

“Yeah......he sorta “hissed” at me.”

With a gleam in his eye.......the solution was swift and relentless.

A six pound ball peen hammer and five gallons of bug killer in a rusted out gas can.

Two Lanes Wide: A Small Teaser

 For the past few weeks or so I have been promising an update on the status of the book. Did I say weeks? One of you in particular (you know who you are) has been relentless....let me state that again.....relentless in the quest for blood!  For those of you that have not been following let me explain. The blog was spawned out of many mini tales from my road trips. Over time I expanded the tales. So much were the tales expanded that a book was in order. The book is in the 2nd rewrite. Below is a small teaser. Hope you enjoy. If all goes well the 2nd rewrite will be completed in the fall of 2011. Then off to the presses. As always feedback is encouraged.

 -Bruce
 

Walking over to the police cruiser I made the near fatal mistake of opening the front side passenger’s door. The look from the Marshall said it all. I gathered I was not welcome in the front seat. Best to retreat to the comfort and safety of the metal lined cage like back seat.

The ride over to the trailer park on the south edge of town was rather peaceful. This little town on any other occasion would have been rather quiet and serene. Not this day.  The side streets were lined with large oak trees standing tall along side a perfect sidewalk. There were dozen’s of clean and quaint houses all with freshly mowed front lawns. Not too far off one of these streets the Marshall turned onto a busted up old gravel road. So much for peace and quiet.

A half block down that road the peacefully atmosphere was shattered by a rather vicious half breed junkyard dog barking while chasing the cruiser. The Marshall stopped the cruiser as the dog was jumping up and down. The dog by this time was frothing at the mouth.

“See that dog boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Screw up in the next few minutes.......and I'll let him have your skinny ass.”

The Marshall continued with this little freaky side trip into the abyss while leaving the dog in the dust. The air was now still as we dodged each and every softball sized pot hole. Stopping at the edge of the trailer park the Marshall turned around and looked directly into my eyes. He let me know exactly how he felt about the situation at hand.

“Something about you I don’t like there boy. I can tell you’re a trouble maker.”

I started to assure the Marshall that I was in fact not the trouble maker he was so convinced I was.

“I’m just a might……”
Before I could even get the last word out of my mouth the good Marshall interrupted.

“You shut your mouth there boy………I ain’t ah finished yet. Not sure what it is about you…….. I get the strange feeling your hiding something. If n’ there’s anything ya all want to tell me……….now’s the time……giving you a get out of jail card boy.”

The next words struck a particularly eerily chord with me.

“The truth will set you free boy.”

I’d heard those very words a time or two in the past. Once the good Marshall was finished the cruiser again started to move. A few trailers later we arrived at 27 Bryer Patch Lane. A sickly looking scrawny hillbilly met us at the front door. He was swigging a beer can in one hand and a rather nasty smelling home rolled cigarette in the other.

“This him Marshall?”
“Yeah…….this here’s the troublemaker. Boy…this here’s Betsy Sue’s half brother Chester. He’ll make sure you don’t go causing any more problems."

Take good care of him Chester…..I”ll be waiting outside here boy. Now don’t you go making any more trouble there boy….….understand?”

Fact be known I was in no mood for any trouble. All I wanted was to get out of dodge. Never to return. Of all places to blow a radiator. I decided to make peace with Betsy Sue and her rather inbred hillbilly looking half brother Chester. And inbred was about the only way to describe Chester.

Poor bastard stood around five feet and some spare change. On a good day with his water logged clothes on Chester might have tipped the scales at just over a hundred and fifteen pounds. He was rather gaunt like….and he reeked of pot. The only thing more hillbilly than the size 48 belt wrapped two and a half times around his 24 inch waist was the mint smelling puddle of drool inside his lower lip. As he turned around I could see the tell tale signs of a faded circular patch on his left back pocket. Chester was Skoal man.

Once inside the trailer I could see the half empty beer cans that Chester used as a spittoon. Pure nasty. Not much to do but face the music and hope the band played a fast tune.

Walking past the black velvet shrine in the living room we paused to pay homage to Elvis. Three doors down the hall beyond the taped up broken window Chester paused outside of Betsy Sue’s window.

“You be nice boy……..else I’ll personally tar and feather your hide.”

“Best pack a lunch and bring an army Chester……might be a long day.”

It was at this point in time the familiar banjo music began to play out in my mind. Approaching the bed I could see Betsy Sue laying there in her bed. She didn’t look so good. One black eye, a swollen face, broken nose, and bandages wrapped around her head and one extra large neck collar. The bleak story of the damage unleashed from a ninety nine cent bar of wet soap on the floor of the bathtub in room number 9 at the Shady Rest Motel.

Summer Road Trip - 2011

53' Wayne Gas Pump - Painted Post New York

    This gem was outside of Painted Post New York. There was a collection of gas pumps, old signs and just about anything else you would find in a broken down scrap yard. In typical fashion the sky was raining down like a cow pissing on a flat rock. While I was composing the image the thunder clouds were banging all about. Once composed the clouds opened up just enough to allow for a shot. Must have been living right that day.

   The second and third day brought miles of miles of missed opportunities. A good half dozen potential shots behind gates chained together with 100 pound locks. What wasn't nailed down was protected by nasty looking dogs with spiked collars. After three days I was getting a bit bummed. I did have the gas pump shot. This brings my tally to 7 old gas pumps. The magic number is around 9....or 12. There is logic there in the numbers. More on that later.

Coca~Cola Mural - Ft. Loramie Ohio

  The fourth day on the road started to shape up as expected. Prior to finding this mural I'd had zero encounters with the local law. That was about to change. While I was welcome to the town my camera was not. Must have been a local ordinance banning ultra large format cameras. The local Marshall was not amused with the truckers engaging the "jake brake" to slow down and take a peek at what I was doing. A jake brake is essentially using the baffles of the engine to slow the truck down. Noisy as hell. The Marshall and I had a discussion over this little freak show and decided it was best I move on. Or rather he decided that. I went ahead and continued to get the shot. The details that follow are minor in nature for now. More to follow. 

Piqua Milling Company - Piqua Ohio

     A few days down the road I ran right smack into the Piqua Milling Company....and the local biker water hole. Appropriately known as the Hole In The Wall Saloon. In typical fashion I inadvertently picked a fight with a scrappy biker. Like most scrappy bikers he had a backup crew. After some tense moments this simple misunderstanding was put to rest and I managed to get a shot of the building.   

Cropped view to show 8"x20" proportions

  

    After three solid shots, 6 days and 1,400 miles the road trip was a success. I'll be the first to admit that three shots over a six day span seems sparse. When looking for urban shots of this nature one thing is certain. Finding is one thing....capturing on film is a horse of a different color. The next two days were dry. Not one single scrap to shoot. On the last day I'd all but given up hope and was ready to pack it in. With temperatures in the middle 90's there was no joy in composing an image under the dark cloth. Yet this is the game. So with 800 plus miles to go I picked another desolate road to troll. Six hours later I wondered if this was yet another mistake. Awaiting in Queen Pennsylvania was my answer.

   Imagine my surprise when I pulled into the town and caught a glimpse of this car in the front yard of a scene typical of the 50's. If you click on the image the first detail of importance is the rebel flag in the left window of the house. The next details is the monster truck in the yard. The flag was bad enough. I had sort of a sick feeling in my stomach. Truth be known I was even debating approaching the front end of the car. Once I did I knew I had to photograph it.

 

   After talking to the neighbor I was assure the owner was a "nice young fellow". I'd heard that a few times in the past. I did manage to set the camera up and compose an image. The owner did show up and he was a nice young man. This one was a bastard to get on film. Took a good solid two hours in the heat. 

   The above image is a rough idea of the final composition. After the shot I packed up and headed home.

   This road trip was one of my better ones. I traveled 3,250 miles in 9 days. The images are unique as was the experience. This was the first time I stayed in a former Brothel. Maybe on the next post I can shed more details. The Brothel, my encounter in Defiance Ohio with an old man beating me with his cane and the expanded version of the hole in the wall saloon. Stayed tuned for more sordid details. For now I am simply too pooped.