Blog 12

False Security

It was one trillion degrees in Kansas, and there was not a single tree for days to escape the sun; you could see for miles in any direction. McKinley and I decided to kick Kansas in the ass by riding in the middle of the night, but, even then it was in the 90's. Still, it was cooler under the moonlight. 

We were riding along a very long, desolate, stretch of road. The only thing visible in the middle of the Kansas night were factory lights, so it gave a false sense that people were out there, somewhere in the vastness. 

It’s like there’s a city out there! 

I heard something running alongside me, but my shitty headlight only illuminated my wheel. I had already been used to riding at 4 or 5 am, so hearing animals scuffling in the brush was typical. Whatever it was made a loud yipping noise, a sound unfamiliar to me. 

McKinley, what the fuck is that!?

Its presence felt dog-like, but I knew it wasn't a dog; the bark was different than anything I’ve heard. I stood up and cranked harder on my pedals, rocking my bike left-to-right, left-to-right, the saddle tapping my inner thighs. It chased alongside us for maybe a minute, but a minute can be a long time; whatever it was decided we weren’t a threat.

Back to focusing on the false city ahead, the false sense of people out there in the great wide open. We’d be in a town in ten miles.

Almost no cars passed us, but a pick-up truck did, and pulled to the side. A male driver got out and waited for us to get closer. 

You girls shouldn’t be out here, it’s dangerous. Why don’t you put your bikes in my truck and I’ll drive you ahead. 

Shitshitshitshitshit. 

Uhh, no thanks, we’re just fine. Have a good night.

I couldn’t see his face because it was swallowed up by the darkness, but I was terrified. My only immediate weapon was dog spray, dangling off of my shifter cables in front of my handlebars. The faceless man got in his truck and drove off into the desolate Kansas night. I focused on the promise land of people ahead. Just keep pedaling, I thought. 

Yawn yawn yawn. We had only been riding for a few hours, so it was way too soon to crap out. My circadian rhythm was telling me it was time to sleep though, not ride a bike. 

I’m exhausted, McKinley. I don’t know how I’m going to ride for the next eight hours, I can barely function. 

We landed in Scott City and sat down on the curb of a vacant gas station, figuring out our next move. A police officer pulled in and grilled us with the normal what-the-hell-are-you-doing questions; admittedly, we looked homeless and out of place.

Well, we’ve been riding since Oregon. We’re exhausted. Some yipping, dog-like animal chased us back there. Any idea what it was?

Oh, that was definitely a coyote, we have lots of them around here.

We felt like total badasses, warriors of the night. 

You girls can sleep in the park, and just be careful that the sprinklers don’t get ya.  

We pitched our tents in a park on the edge of a town that didn’t feel completely safe. Here we are, land of the people, I thought. I pictured the false city skyline as I drifted off to sleep. 

Blog 11

Brainstorming for Short Essay 2

I'm not married to this idea, but it's a start.

Being chased by a coyote on my bike in the middle of the night.

It was one trillion degrees in Kansas, and not a single tree for days to escape the sun. McKinley and I thought we should just ride in the middle of the night to escape the heat, but even beyond midnight it was still in the high 90's; the pavement was still radiating all of that heat back at us.

We rode along a very long, very desolate, stretch of road. All I could see was lights of a factory in the distance which looked like a city skyline; that's all that's visible in the middle of the Kansas night, factory lights. I heard something running alongside me, but my weak headlight only shone down at my wheel. I always heard critters in the night, so I didn't think much of it. Just then it made a barky-yippy noise that was unfamiliar to me. I stood up and cranked on my pedals, but I only felt slightly nervous.

Hours later we rolled up into some random town and sat down on the curb of a vacant gas station. A police officer pulled in and asked us why we were in a random gas station in the middle of the night with fully-loaded bikes. We told him about our trip, and then asked him if he knew what animal made a barky-yippy noise. I mimicked what I heard.

Oh, that was definitely a coyote! He said. We have lots of coyotes around here.

Shit!

After some investigation on YouTube, it was confirmed: a coyote chased us. For some reason, he dropped off and eventually left us alone.

We felt like badasses.

I'm really happy I couldn't see what it was at the time, because I would have shit my pants.

Blog 10

New Identity

Cabin fever plagued me. I had been cooped up writing all day, so I went out for a walk to stretch my legs while the sun was still shining; orange and red leaves littered the ground. 

I walked to the top of my street and made a right, heading down the Boulevard. A right on 14th, and then a right on Monroe, following my usual quick route. When I reached the high school, I saw him walking towards me. Great, I thought, he's going to try and talk to me, and I wasn’t interested. Shaggy and greasy and dirty; same stained clothes he always wears. Pack of Newport's in his left breast pocket. His usual routine is picking up cigarette butts off of the ground and smoking what's left of them. Behavior of a bum, I thought. Who does that?

He stopped me. No dog today? I smiled, having just heard his voice for the first time. I don't know that he'd ever seen me walk my dog, because I rarely walk him these days. He's 15 and arthritic, so we don't walk together much. I left him at home this time, he needed a break. He replied with a smile, and I saw a warmth in his eyes that I didn't expect. His eyes were swallowed up by years and years of aging; deep, cavernous wrinkles–signature of a lifetime smoker. His teeth, rounded out by, well, I don’t know what rounds out ones teeth. Age? His hair looked like it was slathered with lard, and he was in need of a haircut. His clothes, like they hadn't been washed in decades. But his stained, short-sleeved button-down was tucked neatly into his filthy, creased, navy blue pants. His silver hair, slicked like he’d just stepped out of a 1940's ad. I could tell he craved conversation at the way his gray, cloudy eyes, locked on to mine.

I always see you walking all over town, I said.

Well, I like to give my wife a break. I walk all day.

Your wife? I thought. I’m not sure he even has a wife, because I’ve only ever seen him alone. I imagined him going home to an empty house, the result of being a long-time widower. 

Are you from Spain, he asked.

No, Italy. Well, I’m not, but my ancestors are. Where are you from?

Greece, he replied.

I always thought he looked Russian or Polish, but not Greek. I could hear his familiar Greek accent weighing heavily on his speech though, so I knew it was true. The wife, I'll never know if it's true. Maybe he was never even married.

Do you ever go to the Greek Store on the Boulevard? Their food is great, I told him.

I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it was something about the politics of the store, or something of that nature. He frequents a Greek store in another town. We talked for a few more minutes, but he was hard to understand because of his accent. 

Well, I have to get back home. You have a good day, I said. It was nice talking to you.

He smiled.

Nice talking to you, too.

I continued past the high school, making my way further down Monroe. My heart was beating rapidly, telling me how good it felt to share a moment with this man. He looks scary, but has a warmth that you can only know if you look into his eyes; they invite you into his soul. 

When I got home, I realized I didn’t know his name. Next time, I thought.