As bad as things were with Dad, I had a roof over my head, clothes in my closet and food on the table. He was a horrible father; nevertheless, he provided for me. There was certainty in my life, and I knew, more or less, what to expect every day. There were so many things I took for granted and, fucked up as it might have been, I could count on school, community and a sense of place. That all changed when I put a bullet in his chest.
I’d grown up near North Vernon, a small town in Southern Indiana. The population was under eight thousand in the town, with a county population of less than thirty thousand. I was a very smart kid in a rural backwater in the middle of nowhere. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Lowe’s had a regional distribution center! Big deal. The county high school and middle school were nearby, too, and those had been my salvation. The rest of the county was all farms. Actually, there was the old mental hospital outside of Butlerville from back in the day, but that had closed down a very long time ago and was now being used as a training facility by the military. Actually, the area was rather picturesque, with extensive limestone deposits that had been carved by the meandering Muscatatuck River.
The primary highway that served our town was old U.S. Highway 50, which used to be the main route connecting Washington, D.C. and Sacramento, California. In Indiana, it connected Cincinnati with Vincennes, but it was long ago supplanted by Interstate 71, which connects Cincinnati with Louisville, and Interstate 64, which connects Louisville to Evansville and then St. Louis. There was also State Road 7, which connected Madison, Indiana, on the Ohio River, with Indianapolis, passing right through our town.
Now I had a decision to make. The quickest route out of Indiana was to head south on State Road 7 to Madison and cross over the Ohio River into Kentucky. The next quickest route was to take U.S. 50 east into Ohio, but that would put me right in Cincinnati. I might be well-read, but I was still a country boy who’d be out of place in a big city like Cincinnati. I’d been to Indy a few times, and it was motherfuckin’ huge. The thing I noticed right away about Indy, though, was that you didn’t see many kids by themselves. They were either with their parents or with groups of other kids. In my small town, it wasn’t like that. Not that you didn’t see a couple of kids together — best friends, usually — but there was nothing unusual about a kid being by himself. For one thing, there weren’t so many of us, so we’d learned early on how to keep ourselves occupied. More importantly, everything was easy to get to, on foot or by bicycle. The farm kids didn’t have it as easy, but most of them had motor bikes, four-wheelers or even horses. In the city, the nearest store could be miles away from their suburban homes; thus kids were dependent on their parents to go anywhere.
No, I needed to avoid the cities, at least for now. I didn’t act like a city kid, and alone on a bicycle, particularly during school hours, I’d stand out. So, heading east on U.S. 50 was out. Heading south on 7 was the quickest way out of state, but then what? I could undoubtedly get my supplies in Madison, which had a Walmart Supercenter similar to ours, but the town wasn’t much larger than North Vernon, and on the other side of the river was just farms. I didn’t know the area well, and I’d probably end up passing through Louisville, Cincinnati or Lexington, which kinda formed a triangle of cities that were maybe thirty miles apart, and I’d be in the middle of the triangle.
Although it would take me much longer to reach the state line, heading west was probably my best bet. I could reach Vincennes in a matter of hours, and then I’d be in Illinois. Therefore, in the rapidly fading light under a moonless, overcast sky, I headed west on County Road 150 until I reached U.S. 50. Turning onto the old highway, all I had to do was to follow it west. I could take it all the way to St. Louis. I wouldn’t even need a map for that; I couldn’t get lost. Of course, I’d find a route that went around St. Louis before I actually got there. St. Louis was even bigger than Indy, I think.
Where was I gonna get my supplies, though? What about breakfast, lunch and supper? The town of Seymour, famous as the boyhood home of singer-songwriter John Mellencamp, was perhaps an hour or maybe two away by bicycle. It was more than double the size of North Vernon and home to a large Walmart Supercenter and a Home Depot. The town was right off Interstate 65, and there was a large truck stop as well as a number of hotels and restaurants. I was familiar with the town because it was the place where Dad and I did most of our shopping.
I was tempted to stop in Seymour for my supplies, since it would have everything I needed, and if I made tracks, I could even get there in time to do my shopping before Walmart closed. However, because it was the main place Dad and I did our shopping, there was a chance I’d be recognized. Some of the cashiers at Walmart seemed to know me and always said hello when we checked out. Being recognized was not a risk I could take. If I was spotted in Seymour, the police would know I’d killed my father, and they could figure out I was headed west. Perhaps I should turn around and head north on 7, to Columbus. Columbus, Indiana, was where we went when we needed to shop for nicer things like so-called Sunday clothes, whatever that meant. Let’s face it, Walmart and Target weren’t good places to buy a suit.
Columbus was a small city that was famous for its modern architecture, with buildings designed by the likes of I.M. Pei. Columbus was also the headquarters of Culver Diesel, a huge multinational conglomerate. I guess the company was originally founded there. Otherwise, why would one of the biggest makers of diesel engines, electric generators and the like be headquartered in dinky Columbus? The trouble was, Columbus wasn’t dinky enough for my purposes. It was a city, and going there would only take me deeper into Indiana. I guessed I could head west from there, through Bloomington, the home of Indiana University, but that would take me well outside of my comfort zone. Bloomington wasn’t Indy, but it was a far cry from being the country. No, for now I’d stick to heading west on U.S. 50.
I could wait to get some basic supplies, but I’d need food, and what about a bike lock? I couldn’t even go to the bathroom unless I could lock up my bike. For obvious reasons, that couldn’t wait. The truck stop in Seymour probably sold things like that, and they probably wouldn’t know me from Adam, even though that was my name. I could always get something basic and then get a better lock along the way. Plus, it was open all night, so I wouldn’t hafta rush to get there.
I wasn’t expecting to see much traffic, but I noticed a steady stream of headlights coming the other way. Lookin’ behind me, there was a steady stream of headlights off in the distance behind me as well. I definitely would want to get a rear-view mirror or maybe two — one for each handlebar. A more serious issue was that I just wasn’t outfitted for night riding. I didn’t have a headlamp, so I could barely see ahead of me, and I didn’t have adequate reflectors on my bike. My winter coat was black too, and I was wearing jeans.
As I was thinking about that, a set of headlights came up from behind me, much faster than I’d been expecting. I barely had time to pull off to the side of the road before the headlights morphed into a huge, tandem semitrailer. The air flow around the thing was so strong that it literally knocked me over and into a ditch by the side of the road. Getting up, I didn’t seem to be hurt, nor was the bike damaged from what I could see, but in just the time it took me to get back up, three more huge semis passed by. Fuck! Suddenly it dawned on me that truckers must prefer to drive at night. When I thought about it, it made sense. Why deal with slow-moving cars and even slower moving farm tractors if you didn’t have to?
Obviously, it wasn’t gonna be safe to ride my bike at night, even with the right equipment. As much as I wanted to put some distance behind me, that would be of little import if I got myself killed in the process. I recognized where I was and knew there was a driveway not more than fifty feet ahead of me, and so I headed right for it. There was a spur off the driveway that led into the adjacent woods and ended at a pond. During the summer, we often used the pond for skinny dipping, but in winter, it would be pretty much deserted. I pulled off into the woods and made a pile of leaves and twigs to use as a mattress. Using my duffel as a large pillow, I lay down, but I was wide awake. It wasn’t all that late, and ordinarily, I wouldn’t go to bed for at least a few hours.
I realized I hadn’t had any supper, but I wasn’t the least bit hungry. In my mind, I kept replaying the shooting of my father. I just couldn’t get it out of my mind. At some point I must have fallen asleep because I woke up suddenly, thinking my dad had his hands around my neck. It had seemed so real; my heart was racing, and I was breathing rapidly.
I couldn’t tell what time it was as I didn’t have a watch and had ditched my phone. It was still an overcast, moonless night. At least, it wasn’t raining or snowing. I did hafta piss, though. Urgently. I got up and moved away from my makeshift bed, unzipped and let loose my stream. I got hard as I finished the last dribbles. With nothing else to do, I grabbed hold and started to stroke. I’d been jerkin’ off for a while now and did it just about every night — and often during the day, too. Afterwards, I had no trouble getting back to sleep.
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The next thing I knew, it was light out and a light snow was falling. Already, I was covered in what looked like powdered sugar. Shit!
Getting up, I brushed the snow off me and then relieved my bladder nearby. I kinda needed to take a dump, but the thought of doing that outdoors without a way to wipe myself didn’t appeal to me at all, so I shouldered my duffel, walked my bike to the driveway and pulled back out onto the shoulder of the highway. I had to be careful ’cause the pavement was wet, so I slowly brought myself up to a safe speed and headed west.
There were hardly any semis at all now; I was passed by the occasional car, pickup truck or SUV. Even those produced enough airflow to push me to the side. U.S. 50 might be the quickest way west, but I was beginning to wonder if I’d do better stickin’ to county roads. Those tended to run in straight lines between adjacent farms, but often ended in dead ends, I reasoned that I probably wouldn’t, and I’d need a detailed map for that, in any case.
It took me about an hour to get to the outskirts of Seymour. I actually spotted the sign for the TA Travel Center high above the Interstate before I actually saw any other signs of civilization. When I got to the store, I dismounted my bike and wheeled it inside with me. I was afraid I’d be stopped and made to leave it outside, but no one seemed to be payin’ attention to me, which was good.
I quickly found the aisle with bicycle equipment and was pleasantly surprised by the selection. They even had a Kryptonite New-U Evolution Mini-7 bike lock with cable that was reasonably priced and came with a year’s anti-theft protection. There was no way I could register the lock, let alone collect on it if my bike was stolen, but the fact that they offered the insurance at all suggested it was probably a decent lock. I also liked that it not only was inexpensive, but it didn’t look expensive. An expensive lock tended to draw unwanted attention to even a cheap bike. While I was at it, I picked out a helmet, a flagpole, a reflector kit, a basic toolkit, and a water bottle. I still needed a headlamp, a bicycle pump, spare inner tubes and tires and a spare chain sooner rather than later, but those could wait. I’d need a sleeping bag, a pannier rack and saddlebags, too, but those would be better found at Walmart. I’d also need to cash in some of my Applazon gift-card money before I could buy all that.
Wheeling my bike up to the cashier, I paid cash for my purchases and exited the store. Outside, I made quick work of using the toolkit to attach the reflectors to the frame and wheels, and then I locked up the bike, setting the combination to my birthday. Throwing everything else into the duffel and carrying my new helmet, I headed back inside, rented a locker and locked the duffel and helmet inside. Getting a saddlebag and rack would definitely be a priority, as carrying the duffel across my back while on a bicycle was awkward, to say the least.
After securing my belongings in a locker, I went to the restaurant and sat down on a stool at the counter. Grabbing the menu, I decided to order something substantial to carry me through the rest of the day until I got to Vincennes. The Farmer’s Breakfast, with two pancakes, two eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns, toast, juice and coffee sure seemed to fit the bill.
A server named Joy came right up to me and asked, “What can I get you, cutie pie?”
Gees! I was trying to pass as a sixteen-year-old high-school dropout, and having her call attention to my young appearance by calling me ‘cutie pie’ wasn’t helping. It didn’t help that I looked more like eleven than thirteen and that my voice hadn’t changed.
“I’ll have the Farmer’s Breakfast,” I replied.
“How would you like your eggs, sugar?” she asked. There was more than one way to make eggs? I’d no idea.
I hated to sound like a rube, but I had to find out, so I asked, “What are my choices?
“We can make them any way you like, sweetheart,” she replied, which told me a hell of a lot.
She musta seen the confusion on my face, so she elaborated, “You can have them hard boiled, soft boiled, over easy, over hard, poached, sunny side up, or of course scrambled, with or without cheese or bacon.”
I’d heard of poached, sunny side up and scrambled before, but wasn’t sure what they meant. Sunny side up obviously meant that the yolk was on top, just like in the picture on the menu, but that meant the yolk was raw. Yuck! Hard boiled was pretty obvious — the whole egg was boiled until it was hard — and soft boiled probably meant it was undercooked. Poached was another kind of boiling — maybe outside the shell, over hard probably meant it was fried on both sides and thoroughly cooked, and over easy probably meant it was fried on both sides and undercooked. Raw egg yolks didn’t appeal to me at all. Maybe someday I’d try them, but not today. The only way Dad ever served eggs I guess was what was called scrambled, and having scrambled eggs with cheese or bacon sounded great, but why not both, so I asked, “Could I have scrambled with both cheese and bacon?”
She answered, “Of course you can, honey.” She then asked, “Do you want buttermilk, whole wheat or blueberry pancakes?”
God, I’d no idea there were so many choices! Well, I loved blueberries, so that was an easy choice, but then she asked, “What kind of toast would you like?” When she saw the perplexed look on my face, she added, “White, rye, whole wheat, pumpernickel or cinnamon swirl?”
Shit, I thought toast was toast, just like bread was bread. Then I remembered that the label on the bread Dad always bought said ‘White’, so I figured I’d always had white toast, but damned if cinnamon swirl didn’t sound good, so I ordered that.
“And what about your juice, sugar?” she asked. “We have orange, apple, grapefruit, pineapple, pomegranate, cranberry, mango, tomato and V8, or any combination.” Damn!
Then seeing a chance to get even, I asked, “Any combination? Can I, like, have all of them?”
Laughing, she answered, “You like to be daring, don’t you? You mightn’t want to mix tomato or V8 with anything else, but I’d be happy to serve you a cranberry-orange-apple-grapefruit-pomegranate-pineapple-mango juice cocktail.”
Laughing, I replied, “Orange juice will be just fine.”
“Would you like some coffee or tea?” she asked.
Dad never let me drink coffee, so that was an easy choice. “I’ll have coffee.” She turned over a cup that was already at my place and poured me a cup from a glass pot that was behind the counter.
Dad always drank his coffee straight — actually, I think he called it ‘black’ — so I tried taking a sip and nearly spat it out. It was bitter! I knew some people drank their coffee with cream and sugar, and seeing both a small pitcher of cream and a large dispenser of sugar in front of me, I added a fair amount of both and tried it again. What a difference it made! I’d made it a bit too sweet, but it was good! Amazingly good. Why the fuck didn’t Dad want me to have it? I knew coffee had lots of caffeine in it, but so did Coke, and this was way better. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want me to have it. One sip and I was hooked!
The server brought me a small glass of orange juice and a plate with four slices of toast, and she set a small pitcher of syrup down in front of me. I picked up a half of one of the slices of toast and took a bite. Oh. My. God. It was one of the best things I’d ever tasted. Moments later, the server moved the toast back and placed a huge platter in front of me with the pancakes, eggs and potatoes on it. Not only did the eggs have cheese and bacon in them, but the hash browns had red and green peppers in them, as well as onion. The only hash browns I’d ever eaten before were the frozen kind you made in the microwave.
I poured syrup over the pancakes and dug in. It was probably the best meal I’d ever eaten, hands down. I’d heard truck stops had some of the best food, but this was only a chain and from what I’d heard, not one of the better ones. If this was what people considered mediocre, then what kinda crap had my old man been feeding me all those years? What kind of crap had I been getting at school? Maybe that’s why I was so skinny. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t entered puberty yet. I couldn’t afford to spend fifteen bucks on breakfast every day, but I had a feelin’ that with eating real food, I was gonna have a growth spurt.
The server cleared away the dishes and brought me the check. I forgot completely about tipping until I saw at the bottom of the check, ‘Suggested gratuity 18%’. I remembered seeing my dad leave a quarter on the table when we went out sometimes, but what the fuck, that wasn’t even a percent. Cheap bastard. The service had been outstanding, and the server deserved her eighteen percent. Maybe even more. I saw that the guy seated next to me had left a five-dollar bill and somehow that just seemed right, and so I did the same. Maybe 33% was too much, but the server worked her ass off, yet she took the time to explain things to a naïve kid. She deserved it!
Stopping in the men’s room, I took care of my business, then noticing that showers were available for rent, I went to the window, paid the fee and was given a towel and a key. There were dispensers inside for soap and shampoo, which was a good thing, ’cause I’d forgotten to pack any. It felt great to get myself clean!
After finishing my shower, I retrieved my duffel from my locker, applied deodorant and got out a fresh pair of boxers and socks. Standing naked in front of the locker, I noticed that an older guy was eying me up and down, and I got the distinct impression I could have made some quick cash. Gross! Two of me coulda fit inside his belly. I’d read that runaways often resorted to prostitution just to survive. I could only hope that I was never that desperate.
After getting dressed, I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste, went over to one of the sinks and brushed my teeth, realizing that I probably shoulda done that before I entered the premises. Then, shouldering my duffel bag and strapping my new bike helmet on for the first time, I headed outside and unlocked my bike. Riding under the interstate, I passed an enormous Walmart Distribution Center on the left and passed by a Starbucks on the right, wondering if the coffee there was even better than what I’d just had at the truck stop.
When the duffel bag fell off my shoulders for the second time, nearly causing me to fall over, I decided buying a pannier rack and saddlebags for my bike was a priority. Home Depot and the Walmart Supercenter were on my left, and I made a decision. Although Walmart probably had a better selection, the risk of being recognized wasn’t worth the risk, so I headed to Home Depot. When I got inside, I made a quick check of the self-serve checkout kiosks and was astounded to find Applazon gift cards under the listed accepted payment types. Fantastic!
I headed to the sports-gear section and found the bicycle accessories, which were pretty extensive. They even had the same lock I’d just bought for about ten dollars less. They had a pretty good pannier rack that fit my bike, so I threw that into my basket, and there was a locking, hard pannier case that was designed to mount securely on top of it, so I threw that in too. It was a bit pricey, but it’d be good to have something that could lock. I added a pair of large sturdy saddlebags. I selected a decent solar-powered LED headlamp and tail lamp, and a set of colorful LED wheel lights that looked really cool. I selected a frame-mounted bicycle pump, a pair of handlebar-mounted rear-view mirrors, a spare bicycle chain and couple of spare tires and several spare inner tubes.
I hadn’t intended to buy any camping gear until later, but Home Depot had a decent selection and I thought it was worth picking it up while I was there. I therefore added to my shopping cart, a 2-person, popup backpacking tent; a lightweight, backpack sleeping bag; a pair of water bladders that fit the pannier saddlebags; a light-weight poncho, and a set of straps that I’d use to secure the duffel bag to the pannier rack. Eventually I might invest in a back-country backpack, but I’d already filled the shopping cart with hundreds of dollars’ worth of camping equipment as it was. Besides, it was better to let the bike carry the weight than my back as long as it was stable.
Rolling up to a self-serve checkout kiosk, I carefully scanned each item from my cart into the checkout area, placing them in the largest sized bags available. Placing the bags back into the shopping cart, the register totaled everything up and calculated the sales tax owed. I pressed the ’Pay’ button on the display and selected ‘Gift Card’ and then ‘Applazon’. I was surprised that I didn’t need to use the actual card, but rather just needed to enter the serial number and PIN. I didn’t even need an Applazon account to redeem it. The display promptly displayed the card balance and subtracted the proper amount. The machine printed out a receipt, which I had to show to a clerk on leaving the kiosk, and then I went and retrieved my bike.
Installing the pannier rack was a bit more difficult than I’d expected, using the meager toolkit I’d bought at the truck stop, but once installed, it looked like it belonged there. It looked good. Securing the hard case and saddlebags went smoothly, and I fit the other items I’d purchased inside. There was still a lot of room, so I offloaded some of the contents of my duffel bag into them as well. I installed the bike lamps, wheel lights and rearview mirrors easily enough, then stowed the toolkit inside the hard pannier case and locked it up. Lastly, I secured the duffel to the back of the pannier rack. I filled both water bladders and the water bottle from a water cooler and was on my way.
Riding through Seymour only took a few minutes, and then I reached the next town, Brownstown, where the highway made an abrupt right turn, less than twenty minutes later. From there the terrain became monotonous as I passed farm after farm after farm, all of them pretty desolate on this February day. The sky remained overcast with just a hint of snow, but fortunately no actual flakes fell. I had to focus to maintain my speed, as it was all too easy to be lulled into a slower rhythm. Perhaps I’d buy a speedometer along the way.
Wondering what was ahead, it dawned on me that I’d forgotten to buy any maps while at the truck stop. How stupid! If only I had my phone! Eventually I’d get another prepaid phone, but only after I’d put some distance behind me. However, didn’t they make smart watches that could be used as a GPS? Even if they did, where was I gonna find one in Southern Indiana? I might be able to get a GPS for a car or maybe for a motorcycle, but those operated off of twelve-volt power. But then I wondered if they made GPS units specifically for bicycles or even handheld units for hiking, but why would anyone need one in Indiana? Maybe in Bloomington, which was famous for Indiana University and the Little 500 bicycle race, but not here.
Finally, I came to the town of Bedford, and they had a Lowes and a Walmart Supercenter, so I stopped, secured my bike and went inside the Walmart. I checked out the watches, but what they considered to be a smart watch was nothing more than an overpriced dumb watch as far as I could tell. None of them had anything approaching decent GPS. I did ask a clerk about it, though, and she told me to order one online and have it sent to that store. Yeah, right! If I could get something online, it wouldn’t be from Walmart. They did have some GPS units for cars, and Lowes had even more, but like I thought, they all plugged into a twelve-volt outlet. They were pretty expensive, too.
Highway 50 seemed to end there, but then I noticed a sign under the one for Indiana 37, that showed U.S. 50 turning left and following 37 to the south. The sign said it was 24 miles to Bloomington, to the right and 34 miles to French Lick, to the left. I knew I shoulda stuck to my plan and continued on U.S. 50 to Vincennes and beyond, but Bloomington was a college town, and it had everything. Surely, I could get a GPS for my bicycle there. By going a bit north, I’d also avoid going through St. Louis, and I definitely wanted to avoid that. Therefore, I made a decision. In spite of its size, I was gonna go to Bloomington.
Highway 37 was nothing like U.S. 50. It might not be a U.S. highway, but it was way bigger, with two full lanes in each direction and a grassy strip in between, separating the north and southbound lanes from each other. I think they called it a grassy median, and this was a four-lane divided highway. It wasn’t an interstate, though, and the shoulder was fully paved and just as wide as a regular lane, so there was plenty of room for me to ride my bicycle on it. I passed the small town of Oolitic on my right, and about a half-hour later, I came to a sign for Monroe Lake. I could actually smell the water.
Curious, I turned off on the road, which meandered a bit before ending at I guess was a boat ramp. There were houses nearby, too. Riding on a bit further on what looked like a bike path, I came to a path along the shoreline. I was astounded by what I saw. There are a lot of small, man-made lakes in southern Indiana, but this lake was neither small nor artificial. Maybe there was a dam, but the lake wasn’t something that was dug out of flat land. There were boats in the water, even in the winter, too. Damn, I might be smart, but there was so much I’d never seen before.
Going back to Highway 37, I continued on north for about another half hour until I came to the turnoff for Old Highway 37. It also indicated that Interstate 69 was just ahead, and I couldn’t take my bike on the interstate, so I turned off onto the old highway. Soon, I was riding past street after street of houses, and then there was a Kroger on the right. I remembered going to Kroger in Columbus; it was a mother-fuckin’ huge grocery store, and this looked just as big. There was a football stadium and a high school, Bloomington South High school, that dwarfed the one I went to. On my left, I passed car dealership after car dealership. The ones I’d seen near where I grew up were tiny. These were huge and had a ton of brand-new cars and SUVs, and not a pickup truck in sight. I passed a Starbucks and a McDonald’s and more and more streets of houses.
I could tell I was getting near the university, ’cause there were a lot of college kids and lots of shops, cafés and the like. I had yet to see a Walmart, Home Depot or anything resembling a shopping center, though, and began to think those must be in an entirely different part of town. There should be bike shops near the university though, and maybe I could find what I was looking for there. I came to a street called Kirkwood Avenue that looked particularly promising, so I made a right turn there and headed into what appeared to be the heart of the university. There was a ton of restaurants, and in spite of the huge breakfast I’d eaten that morning, I was absolutely starved. The smells were incredible. There was a Chipotle Mexican Grill on the right, and the smell from it was amazing. I’d had tacos before at school, but this smelled nothing like those. Across the street was a Tibetan restaurant; I didn’t even know there was such a thing.
I figured Mexican food was a safe bet, so I secured my bike to a bike rack behind some trees on the street and used the bike lock and cable to fix my bike to it. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have left my duffel there, held in place by only a strap, with all my worldly possessions so visible. I was naïve. Satisfied that I’d secured my bike as best as possible — in broad daylight — I headed into the restaurant and went up to the counter. There were lots of college kids inside, but it was early afternoon, and the place wasn’t all that crowded.
There were so many choices on the menu, and except for the tacos, I had no idea what anything was. I remembered having burritos at school, never realizing they were Mexican, but the pictures on the menu board looked nothing like what they served at school. I decided on the Fajita Burrito with chicken, but everyone around me laughed at the way I pronounced fajita. Who knew that a ‘j’ in Spanish was pronounced as an ‘h’? I could read Spanish just fine, but I was self-taught; I’d never actually heard the language spoken before. The meal came with some spicy green stuff — I guess it was what they call guacamole — as well as corn chips and spicy red stuff called salsa. The corn chips were what they called tortilla chips, and they were way better than Fritos. I got another laugh when I asked for more tortilla chips and guacamole. Who knew that a double ‘l’ in Spanish is pronounced like a ‘y’ or that the e on the end of guacamole isn’t silent? Damn, I sounded like such a rube. Man, the food was incredible. I’d never tasted anything like it before.
When I went outside to retrieve my bike, however, I coulda cried. At least the bike was still there, locked up where I’d left it, but all my stuff was gone. My duffel bag, the saddlebags and even the pannier rack itself was gone. I guess when they couldn’t remove the locking hard case, they simply removed the whole rack, which was secured with ordinary screws and bolts. The bracket holding the back wheel was bent, making the bike unrideable. I could replace the bags and even my clothes, but there were things in the duffel — personal keepsakes, that could never be replaced. I figured I was out well over a thousand dollars in gear and clothes, and they’d done it in broad daylight right next to a church. At least, I still had my wallet and my Applazon gift cards.
I couldn’t go very far without having the bike repaired, so I could only hope to find a bike shop nearby. Perhaps someone was watching out for me, ’cause there was a sign for a place called the Bicycle Garage on the next block. I headed right for it. I wheeled my bicycle inside. It was a large bike shop with an extensive selection of new and used bikes, and there was a fair bit of Little 500 memorabilia on the walls. They were surprisingly busy for a late-winter afternoon, so I waited patiently until a young kid who seemed to work there came up to me and said, “Nice bike, but it looks like someone did a number on it. Looks like you had a pannier rack and they just yanked it off.”
“That and just about everything I had,” I related, “and they did it in broad daylight — in front of Chipotle.”
“Fuck, that’s brazen,” the kid replied. “I can fix the frame while you wait, and there won’t be any charge for it. If you’re interested, I can sell you a pannier rack that won’t be so easy to steal.”
“What have you got?” I asked. What he showed me was like something from another planet. Once bolted to the frame, it couldn’t be removed without the use of special tools. He even had something with integrated hard-shell case that was more like something you see on a motorcycle. The locks were pick-proof too, and there was a built-in solar panel and integrated taillight. The whole thing cost more than I’d spent on the bike, though, but I figured it would be worth it to keep from being ripped off again. I asked him if I should get a better lock, but he said the one I had was one of the best. He could sell me a better one at more than twice the price but said he wouldn’t recommend it unless I lived in a crappy neighborhood with a high crime rate.
“You mean like around here?” I quipped.
“Hey, with a cheap lock, they coulda stolen your whole bike,” he pointed out. “That they didn’t is testament to the security of that lock.”
“Out of curiosity,” I asked, “do you sell any kind of GPS for bicycles?”
“Yeah, we do,” the kid replied, and then he got a box off a shelf and opened it up on the counter in front of me. “We sell several, but this is the only one I’d recommend. It mounts on your bike and can be used handheld, too, and has a rechargeable lithium-ion battery. It comes with lifetime maps and updates itself over Verizon’s network at no charge. The built-in maps cover all of the U.S., Canada and Mexico. It has an integrated touchscreen with a touch-activated backlight, and of course, it doubles as a speedometer.”
“What if I can’t get to an outlet to recharge?” I asked.
“It powers off any USB outlet, including the one on the pannier case I showed you, so you can charge it off the solar cells. I’ll throw in the cable, so you can charge it as you go.”
“How much?” I asked with more than a bit of trepidation.
“$250,” he replied. That was pretty reasonable! Dad used to harp about spending as much on groceries at Walmart. I was expecting to pay double that.
“Great!” I responded. “If you can install everything, and fix the frame, I’ll take it! Oh, and I’ll need a new helmet and spare tubes and tires, and I’d better get a flagpole too.”
He showed me several helmets, all of them a lot pricier than the one that was stolen, but they looked much sturdier and more stylish, and they even weighed less. He threw in the flagpole at no extra cost.
“How will you be paying for it?” he asked. Shit! That was a very good question.
“The only way I can pay for it is with an Applazon gift card,” I answered.
Scratching his chin, the kid responded, “Hmm, I know we take Applazon Pay, so I assume we have a way to take an Applazon gift card. Let me check on that,” he added as he dashed off. Returning a moment later, he said, “It turns out we’re an Applazon merchant, so we just need to ring the sale through our Applazon account.”
While he was ringing up the sale and then fixing the bike frame, I asked, “By the way, is there a place you can recommend where I can pick up some camping gear and replace the clothes that were stolen?”
“Is there a reason you wouldn’t want to go to College Mall?” the kid asked.
Laughing, I responded, “College Mall is probably just what I need, but I’m not from around here. I rode up from Bedford.”
“Of course,” the kid replied. “I shoulda known from your accent.” I had an accent? “Just take Kirkwood until it ends, then turn left on Indiana Avenue. It’s one way, so it’s the only way you can go, and then turn right on Seventh Street. Seventh Street is also one way. Take it until it seems to end, at the Showalter Fountain, but just go around the fountain and through the parking lot on the side of the IU Auditorium, and you’ll come out on Jordan Avenue. Take Jordan Avenue south to Third Avenue and turn left on Third Avenue. Take Third Avenue past Highway 46, and it’ll be on your right. Better still, just set the destination on your GPS and it’ll take you right there.” I couldn’t help but laugh at that.
College Mall was huge! They had Target and Macy’s, but I figured the best bet for camping gear was Dick’s Sporting Goods, so that was where I headed first. I’d never been in a store that large before, outside of a Walmart or Home Depot, and the whole thing was devoted to sports. Amazing! Yeah, they had camping gear. Much better camping gear than they did at Home Depot, for sure. I picked up a really sweet one-person, back-country pup tent and a very compact, backpacking sleeping bag, rated for temperatures down to twenty below. I got a foot-pedal-operated air mattress and a backpack with an integrated water bladder that was nicely padded and wouldn’t get in the way of the bike. The prices were reasonable, too. Dick’s carried a large selection of sportswear, most of it name-brand and pricey, so I decided to look for most of my clothes at Target first.
We didn’t have a Target in North Vernon or Seymour, and I was pleasantly surprised. The quality and selection were much better than at Walmart, yet the prices were pretty much the same. I was able to replace my entire wardrobe with better stuff than what I’d had. I replaced my poncho and bought light- and medium-weight jackets. With the addition of a fleece vest, I wouldn’t need my winter coat until next year, and so I decided to ditch it. Finally, I picked up new toiletries, including a toothbrush, a hairbrush, soap, shampoo, deodorant and a battery-powered electric razor with which to maintain my buzz cut. When I went to pay, however, I found that Target doesn’t accept payment with Applazon gift cards. Fuck. I didn’t have enough cash. I ended up having to leave my purchases at the service desk and go in search of a Coinstar Kiosk, where I could trade virtually any gift card for cash.
One of the clerks said they had one at Kroger, so I rode my bike down State Road 46 a little way, to a large strip mall where there was a Kroger and a Hobby Lobby. There was also an AMC Theater with a large marquee proclaiming eleven screens. Eleven screens? Fuck. Our local theater in North Vernon only had one screen. Holy shit, The Last Jedi was one of the movies playing. I’d been drooling over seeing it since it came out in December, but I usually didn’t get to see a movie until it was on cable for free. I knew I should be trying to get as far away from Indiana as possible, but the chance to see The Last Jedi in a real theater on a large screen was so tempting, I just knew I was gonna hafta do it. The clerk at the service desk at Target had told me they’d hold my stuff ’til closing, which was several hours away, so I didn’t have to rush right back.
Locking my bike up in a rack outside the theater, I headed up to the ticket windows and saw that the movie was playing on multiple screens, and there was one showing in twenty minutes. It was in 3D, too. I’d never seen a movie in 3D before. The ticket price was $25, which was something I could afford, so I asked for a ticket for the next showing. I didn’t realize it, but the seats were reserved and so I had to choose where I wanted to sit. That sure wasn’t the case back home. Most seats were still available, so I picked one in the center.
The guy who took my ticket gave me what looked like clear sunglasses, but I guessed they had something to do with the 3D. Once inside, I was confronted by concessions selling everything from soft drinks to entire meals. I decided to splurge and get myself the largest bucket of buttered popcorn they sold and a large Pepsi. Seeing how greasy the popcorn looked, I grabbed a bunch of napkins too. Following the signs to where my movie was showing, I went inside and was astounded by how roomy the seats were. The aisles were wide, there was a lot of space between the rows, and the seats themselves were widely spaced and plush. Each seat had a large pull-out table on which to put my popcorn and drink. Damn, it was nice.
This was the first time I’d been to a movie theater in ages, and I’d never been to one like this one. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t all the previews they had. There were a million of them, and they were so violent — and loud. Finally, there was a notice on the screen to put on our glasses, and so I did.
Seeing a Star Wars movie on the large screen was surreal. As much as I’d looked forward to it, nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing the characters, larger than life. The 3D visuals were something else, too. When the lights came up, I couldn’t help but think I’d just seen the best Star Wars movie ever. I couldn’t believe it when I exited the theater and saw that I’d been there for nearly three hours. It had seemed more like three minutes. Shit! It was already dark out, and clearly, I was gonna hafta spend the night in Bloomington, but I had no idea where.
I found the Coinstar Kiosk easily enough in the Kroger grocery store. Calling Kroger a grocery store didn’t do it justice though. It was mother-fuckin’ huge — and beautiful inside. Seeing that they had hot food, ready to eat and some tables to eat it at, I decided to eat a light supper before picking up my clothes. There was a food bar priced at eight dollars a pound and it didn’t take me long to figure out how it worked. Grabbing a plastic bowl and a matching lid, I filled it with mac and cheese, meatballs, green beans, mashed potatoes and fish. It came to a little over ten dollars, so I guess I took more than I thought. I sat down and ate my supper, and it was really good.
After cashing in some of my Applazon gift-card funds, I returned to Target and completed the purchase of my clothes. I then stowed everything in the storage case on my bike and used the GPS unit to search for campgrounds nearby. Right away I found the Paynetown Campground, on the north shore of Lake Monroe. It was close and had full facilities, and it was open in winter. It also wasn’t free, as I found when I got there. For a bit more money, I could rent a small shelter with a kerosene heater, so that’s what I did. I slept amazingly well, dreaming of visions of life as a Jedi.
In the morning I enjoyed a hot shower in the camp facilities, and then brushed my teeth and trimmed my hair. After packing up my things, I headed back into Bloomington and seeing a lot of cars around a place called Panera Bread, decided to check it out. Although it was obviously a chain restaurant like Chipotle was, the food was made fresh, and it smelled wonderful. They had a selection of breakfast sandwiches that looked really good. I’d never heard of a breakfast sandwich before, but I was quickly learning about the things people in the city took for granted.
I ordered the bacon, over-easy egg and cheese sandwich, a bowl of oatmeal and of course, coffee. The coffee was self-serve, and you could take as much as you liked as long as you drank it there. I wasn’t sure which coffee to take but figured the house blend was a safe choice. This time I added only a little cream and sugar and when I tasted it, oh my god, it was good. I thought yesterday’s coffee was good, but this was incredible. No wonder this place was so popular. I couldn’t help but wonder how Starbucks compared. No wonder folks went out just for coffee.
While I had the chance, I got out my GPS and looked at potential routes west. I wanted to avoid going through cities in general, but particularly major cities. The highways, naturally, tended to connect the rural towns to the cities, making avoiding them difficult. Worse yet, many highways had been supplanted by interstates, which were off limits to bicycles. I couldn’t exactly blame the planners for making use of the existing rights of way when planning for the interstates, but doing so was making it very difficult for me to plan my escape west.
Then there were the rivers. For example, there were only so many places where I could cross the Wabash. Most of the roads passed through Terre Haute, but Terre Haute was a city with a metro population of 170,000, about the same size as Bloomington. Not only were cities difficult to navigate, but they slowed me down. Avoiding them, however, meant detours that were miles out of the way. I could avoid Terre Haute by crossing the Wabash at Hutsonville, but then the highway ended, and I’d hafta go miles to the south to pick up another road to the west.
Crossing the Mississippi would be even more of a challenge. I needed to avoid St. Louis at all costs, but every other crossing dictated routes through various cities in Illinois, and most of them favored the interstates. I kinda wanted to cross at Hannibal, Missouri, though, ’cause it was the home of Samuel Clemens, better known as Mark Twain. In my opinion, he was one of the greatest authors of all time and perhaps the greatest American author, ever. Yeah, seeing his birthplace would be cool.
I plotted a route on the GPS that would avoid all the cities. It took me through Hutsonville, Martinsville, Westfield and Charleston, Mattoon, Shelbyville, Pana and Taylorville, Kincaid, Pawnee, Auburn and Waverly, Jacksonville, Meredosia, Fishhook and Payson. I’d get to see a good swath of rural Illinois in the process. It would take me days to cross Illinois, let alone Missouri.
Where I’d go from there, I’d no idea. At some point I’d hafta figure out how to get a new identity, and maybe get my GED. One thing was certain. If I kept spending money the way I had been, I’d run out before the summer began.
The author gratefully acknowledges the invaluable assistance of David of Hope and vwl-rec in editing my stories, as well as Awesome Dude and Gay Authors for hosting them. © Altimexis 2021