A Reward Found on the Road   

by Luke Gillis                   

It must have been Christmas 1998, when I first met my mom's first cousin Steve. I had seen Steve once or twice as a kid, hardly enough to remember someone. Steve had come up to North Carolina from Florida, were he was from and currently living, to spend Christmas with my mother's side of the family. My family always gets together on Christmas and has a big celebration. I was in from my first semester away at college and really did not think twice about seeing my cousin Steve. I was more excited about seeing my older brother who also was in from school. At the time I had maxxed out in heigth at, a little over 6'5, with long blonde hair reaching down about halfway down my back. I was living, a shall we say, hippie lifestyle (in both substances and music).   My outlook was imprinted from the music I grew up on, and also by my desire to set aside from the crowd. I took to the ideas that people had in the times past-more so than the times of the day.   I barely would listen to any music made after the mid 70's, and without the slightest exaggeration, I lived entirely retro from my bell bottom pants to my slang.

            The night we all got together for Christmas as a family was the first time Steve and I had seen one another since I was 7 or 8. Steve at this time was in his late forties. He was getting ready to retire as a air traffic controller which he had been doing for at least twenty years. He had been stationed everywhere from Sacramento to Oklahoma City. He was currently in living Miami which was just a few miles from where he grew up. Steve came and along and with him came a quart of Jack Daniels, non-filtered Camel cigarettes, and enough energy to light up the room. Right away he got my attention with his brash sense of self, taking down whiskey on ice like you and I would water after a run. I got his attention by my appearence and conversation.   We hit it off and began talking about many subjects-most importantly his summer plans. Steve took to my easy nature, and told me that when he retired from his job in May, he was going to rent out his home for at least a year, buy a camper to hook up to his pick-up truck, and go to Mesa, Arizona for awhile.   He told me that he liked my company and would pay me that summer to accompany him out to Mesa.   The trip would take seven to ten days, and he would pay for my airfare back when he got settled in.   At this point, Steve was drunk, and I was not far from it.   So I didn't know if this thing was for real or just drunk talk. All that aside, I went along with him agreeing to join him. Steve felt that all young men with the nerve for new things needed to experience the road; he had done so at my age numerous times and felt that the road was just what I needed. Months went by and I had heard nothing from him. I got a job in a plant near my home in North Carolina when college let out for the summer. There was still no word from Steve, and by this point, I honestly was not even thinking about it. Then out of the blue in July Steve called my Grandma, his aunt, to get my number. When he called he acted as if our whiskey overtoned conversation at Christmas was the day before. He told me over the phone that he would be leaving Florida in a day or two to get me. He told me to pack light, bring a sweater for the desert at night, and be ready to leave in the next few days. So, I told my employer that I would need to take about two weeks off. I bought some grass and awaited his arrival. Three days after the call Steve arrived, and he was ready.   He had purchased a new extended cab pick-up truck as well as a 26ft camper with all your basic ammenities. His truck bed was filled with the majority of his material life. His books, pictures, films, music, as well as all of his personal amminties filled the camper.  

We left central North Carolina around 11:00 am and hit I-40 west: the only road we would see until we got to Flagstaff, Arizona. Steve, a mile from my home, stopped the vehicle and said , look kid I chose you because I felt you would be okay with how we are traveling . I paused and asked, how is it that we are traveling? Steve replied, kid I smoke a lot of grass and drink all day. If you cannot handle that, it's okay, you can stay home.... That is why I am telling now. I looked at my cousin and said , I hope it's alright that I brought some grass . He replied as he started the engine , it is if you roll us up a joint . We were off, going where I had never been and about too experience things I would later on in life pursue on my own. By around three o'clock that afternoon on the way up the Blue Ridge Parkway it was my turn to drive. Steve was getting faded and needed relief. We pulled off, and I was now at the wheel. Moments into his passenger role he began rolling joints and fixing drinks and telling fabulous tales of his youth. For the first time in my life I'm a hauling a trailer, not to mention, up a mountain. While commanding the vehicle I had not stopped the dope or booze. Steve, to my right, with his mouth going a mile a minute, was laying on me what the two of us were going to experience. There was no way to deny that his excitement had gotten the better of him. As for me, I too had let the excitement take over and neglected my responsibility to my fellow man on highway. These people in all directions of our vehicle had no idea what they were next to along the highway. Steve would say from drink to drink if you feel uncomfortable go ahead and stop drinking and smoking. I, not wanting to seem a pooh, would say no I'm fine. Then the rain came. It was pouring-just what I needed-I was stoned, drunk, hearing story after story and pulling a camper up a mountain. We made it to a campground, and the rain died off slowly, just in time to cook our dinner. Steve and I both tired had our meal and called it a night.

The following morning Steve and I showered up, not knowing it would be the last time until we hit Mesa. We took off out of the North Carolina Mountains into Tennessee and just as the previous day had began with my cousin's diet of substances it began again. We passed through Knoxville, then Nashville and drove on a few hours more. Halfway between Nashville and Memphis we stopped for the night. Steve wanted me to see Memphis and cross the Mississippi River during the day, so I could see it and remember a great crossing point in America such as that.   That night, Steve began talking to me more personally. He told me of his three lost marriages, and how he had never managed to have kid. A bluntly honest man as he was, he took the blame for his last split up-he said he just left-but he maintained the first two came from his wive's infidelity. He went on to say how he felt like he was poor with relationships and that he was giving up on them for a while. He just wanted to see the country as he did in his youth and then start fresh wherever struck him as agreeable. We had dinner and bedded down for the night feeling more as partners and friends than distant relatives, that had previously spent no more than a day together until now.

Waking up in southwest Tennessee we started the day with a light breakfast followed by Beck's beer and a joint.   We hit Memphis, home to Music history, Civil Rights landmarks, and the Mississippi River. Seeing Memphis and the Mississippi River left me feeling right in body and spirit. Steve drove so I could snap pictures, and enjoy what I had never before seen. People forget the significance of Memphis. Memphis is the only city in America, with a Smithsonian, other than Washington D.C., it's the National institute of the history of Rock and Soul. If you like music, than a little studio called Sun Records was founded in Memphis. Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Roy Orbison, all got their, start there. Blue's musician's feel the streets twenty-four hours a day. Graceland, Elvis's home, now a museum, is in Memphis. Few people realize that more Americans watched Elvis's Aloha from Hawaii concert in 1969 than did watch Neal Armstrong land on the Moon, that's amazing! Les Paul Guitar's are, a native product to Memphis. Memphis also has, had, it's share of tragedy. Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated in Memphis in the early 1960's. Dr. King was the greatest pioneer of the Civil Rights movement. A legend was lost to the world. Between the, mid 1950's and mid 1970's, Memphis was a pivotal place in music and social change. Rock was born in 1955, with Elvis, his era ended in 1976 from a drug overdose. On a social, note the Father of the Civil Rights, Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated in this town for a dream and his bravery to speak it.

            The Mississippi River however has its own force of dominance. This River begins in St. Paul, Minnesota, at it's peak is in late spring when all the ice and snow melt down and flow into the tributaries, creeks, and start the force of the, Mighty Mississippi. The force of the River swallows, the Missouri River, just before St. Louis. The Mississippi, after taking on all that, rushing of water, swells out into it's most magnificent state.   To America, the Mississippi River, is not only a marvel of water in motion, it also has been a great source of economy, going back to colonization.   For me, when it comes to the Mississippi River no comparison can be even attempted.     

            What comes after Memphis, Tennessee after crossing the Mississippi, is Arkansas:   the beginning of the west by landscape. This stretch of Arkansas through Little Rock was a land of red mud and continuous Wal-Marts.   Frankly, this was the most ugly, abandoned part of the country I had ever seen. While fueling up in west Arkansas just before we hit Oklahoma the gas station clerk asked where we were headed. Steve said Arizona and the lady replied , I'm sure it's better there than here .   And to me she was right. I assumed that anyone she saw for the most part in her workday was just passing through. We got back into the truck and cracked a couple of cold beers to help ease us through the muggy, drab, ninety degree, west Arkansas weather.   Oklahoma was next on the state crossings and I couldn't wait.  

As we got into Oklahoma, my pilot, Steve, said that he wanted the brakes fully inspected before we hit the Rocky Mountains. He called nationwide information and asked for the closest Chevrolet service center in Oklahoma City:   the only town of scale we were going to see for a while. It turned out that in Oklahoma City on I-40 there was a Chevrolet service center. In my mind, I being fresh to the road, was a little unclear why my cousin wanted the brand new, heavy duty Chevy truck looked at when we had no sign of automotive troubles. I didn't know if Steve was paranoid from the substances, or if he was tired. I couldn't understand why we were stopping at all. On the flipside of things, I had not had a shower or change since the first night in the North Carolina mountains. That was three days ago. We took the earliest appointment we could: it was the following morning at opening time. I thought for sure, that since we were going to be in a city, that we couldn't camp. I thought, we would get a hotel room and freshen up.   We ate at a sandwich shop just inside Oklahoma City, and Steve looked at me and said , well I think we'll park the truck in the shopping center parking lot for the night . I thought he was joking, but he wasn't. As it turned out the parking-lot campout idea was great. Since we couldn't plug up to a energy source for power we lit a lantern, and got out a radio. We began playing cards, drinking fast, and telling every story we had. A person could have written a dozen novels on all the stories we told. All in all, the night was both a humbling and bonding experience.   That night I understood that he wanted me to feel like I was on the road rather than on a road vacation; and from then on the two of us became more aligned, aware, and respectful of one another; and more importantly, we had become great friends.                              

  The next morning we took the truck into the shop at a monster of a car dealership. As I began wondering around the car dealership I noticed a curious phenomenon.   It was like there was an unwritten rule that all citizens of Oklahoma City must wear cowboy boots, and in my eyes this was cool.   Everyone from the mechanics, to the salesman, and even the management wore cowboy boots. A few people wore hats, but all wore boots. To this day I am in awe of that cool town trend that escaped nobody from the top to the bottom of the car dealership positions. During the wait, I asked Steve why we were stopping in for service on a new truck. He looked at me and casually said, we are hauling more weight behind us, than the weight of the truck, and I'm not climbing through the Rockies with any problem I could've avoided . My questions were answered about that subject: Steve knew about the little wisdoms I had not experienced. The car was ready an hour and a half later.   It was 10:00 a.m., and we were about to get down the road when my partner informed me that we were not stopping until we reached New Mexico.   We Cruised through Oklahoma, and in no time at all, we were in the pan handle of Texas.

There are three ways to cross Texas, I-10 which is, a two day trip from Houston down into San Antonio, then back up to El Paso. Then there is I-20 which runs from Dallas, through Abillene, next a junction to El Paso. Lastly, a three hour burn on I-40 through the panhandle, with the only remotely large town, Amarillo. Crossing the Texas state line there were no welcome centers, only miles of undeveloped land. The land looked like it was worked and lived on. There were no billboards, fast food, or roadside hotels. This place was only for the willing. Shopping centers and outlet malls didn't make it to this stretch of road.   Nobody settled there-not because of its look-the landscape was lovely. Settlements didn't seem available or intended. The off-roads were dirt, with old fencing.   I saw my first roadrunner and tumbleweed, and gained a true reality of what it was like to be in the west. We stopped west of Amarillo for gas at a side-road gas station. The roads that were off the interstate behind the station seemed like never ending dirt paths. This land was only there for the farmers. The roads were not made available to the travelers of the highway. Only local people could get around in these parts. In no way did I feel that the locals were cold or clannish. I just think the people of these towns live in their own time and way, less concerned with catering to travelers.   The gas station was a bit different than ones at home on the interstate-it had grocery products-no prepared food (to my dismay). All I could manage were peanuts, some plain tortillas, and a beer.

            As dusk drew in, we were well into New Mexico and nearing a marked campground east of Albuquerque. That stop was to be our home for the night. We made camp on a hill just above the valley of Albuquerque.   The horizon looked like shades of purple, pink, crimson, and orange all bleeding together. It was like nothing, I had ever seen or imagined was capable of a sunset.   Above us the stars were at all angles, like a infinite sea of sky with patterns unlike any star pattern I had seen back east. Just below the stars was a faint, heavenly glow. That night we evolved a friendship that had started with a hello five days before to a tight relationship. The peacefulness in the mountainous area carried over to Steve and I. We gazed like lost children down into the valley below us which was the city of Albuquerque. Words are useless to describe the feeling of oneness I had that night with the environment. We sat back in lounge chairs and absorbed the unique attributes of the sky without any feeling of necessity to talk in order to feel close.   The night sky did that for us.

            We awoke at seven a.m., and I found out that when Steve told me on the phone that I would need a sweater for the desert air--he was right -I thought that out west it was always hot, but I found desert, west or not, calls for a sweater. That morning taking off down forty to Arizona we had our last joint, and I became consumed by the state.   I saw a train run through the New Mexico desert with the background of a beauty unto itself. A brownish rock and mountainous desert that seemed to never end.   New Mexico's terrain may not be as diverse as Oregon's or North Carolina's, however, it was so unique that it felt like a gift, a gift from a higher power that put this place on the map for all the World to see.   The towns are just big enough, and between the towns were vast areas of wild terrain. Suburbia hasn't landed there yet.

.                Suburbia had landed however in Arizona. Flagstaff was nice, but the further south nearing Phoenix, things were looking drab. It seemed, developments couldn't be in a larger hurry to spring up. Driving into Phoenix, the town was so new it looked like a lego set. Everything from the downtown to suburbia looked as if a large trailer dropped off the city. It just had no feeling of home. In my humble opinion, Arizona and Florida have a lot in common. Both of their population booms came from the retired or, the sick for health reasons, which is no way to start a society, through golf courses and health spa's.

            Entering Arizona on that sixth day was truly a beauty of people-a gift of an experience from one person to another.   My cousin Steve gave me a lesson of the road and of life. I learned that not living by rules, showers, hours, or laws of boundaries was extremely rewarding for a person. Breaking away from patterns and the world as one know's it, breaks down the outer shell and gets to the core of who you are. For me, not staying in a bed or eating every meal was at first disappointing. Then about the third day, I embraced it as the way it was and was willing to take the new reality as far as I could. We purposely stayed out of hotels or any sort of daily ritual to learn about the road, as well as life. I took from the experience that being dirty, unkempt, or whatever I was used to becomes secondary to the experience life can put in your hand.   In essence, by stepping outside of my comfort zones I became truly engaged with the moment.   The rugged quality of the trip not only heightened my sense of experience, but it provided, an intensity that would forge, a Sunday hello into a, lifetime friendship, that had started just six days before.

                                 Upon entering Flagstaff, I began to pre-maturely miss my cousin as we hit highway 17 south into Phoenix to the suburb Mesa. Steve tricked me in Mesa: he had an old friend who awaited our arrival. His friend had a home that was quite nice, and for the first time in six days, I brushed my teeth, shaved, had a shower, and changed into a fresh outfit of clothes. That night, Steve my newly found friend and life mate, turned down an offer of his friend's home cooked meal to take me out to my last dinner with him. We had a first class Mexican dinner and a few drinks and called it a night. That morning, on the way to the airport, I told my friend that I loved him and will never forget, our bond or our moment in time together. I said hey at Christmas to Steve, hello seven days earlier, and on my flight home I left behind a life long bond.

                               by Luke Gillis