THE THRILLS OF DRIVING AN OLD TRUCK

My daddy got a touch of paranoia in his old age. He thought every cop was

following him. He listened to every noise his Buick made (he drove only

Buicks) and wondered what was going wrong. I'm not quite that bad, but with

a "new" truck that's 25 years old, I worry about every new noise. It has a

worn out catalytic converter which crackles and pops whenever I change

gears, speed up or slow down, and I'm getting used to it, but I'll be glad

when I can have a Belizean gut it or take it off, whichever. During the

first day of the trip, 450 miles from COS to Salina, KS, the truck made

other mysterious noises. The last 50 miles was on glorious new asphalt

which rode like a dream, and the truck noises disappeared! That little

truck, built light-weight for performance, has none of the silencing padding

that later models would have, and what I was hearing was mostly road noise.

What a sweet little truck it is! I just named her "Betsy", and she will be

my boon companion for the next 2400 miles or so...I hope.

I left COS in the teeth of an oncoming gale. As I swung up from COS to

Limon (Coloradans call it "Ly-mon" but I like to pronounce it "Lee-mohn" as

tho it were French or Spanish) I was traveling northeast, and the side winds

buffeted Betsy, but after we joined I-70 the 40-knot tailwind made the truck

sail along, running up to 80 'way too easily. I held it to 75 most of the

way, keeping up with the 18-wheelers but falling behind most of the SUV's

which make up 80% of today's traffic.

I bought a piece of fried chicken and some dinner rolls in Oakley, KS (named

for Annie Oakley, the famous sharp-shooter) and marveled at the flatness of

the Kansas plains. You can almost see the curvature of the earth, and I

recalled a wonderful actress in the play "Kansas" who was relating the words

of her father.

"It's not the end of the world," she said, "but you can see it from

here!" as she dramatically pointed her finger to the horizon. And of

course, I think of Belize, and Huxley's famous quote. Am I going to one of

the ends of the world? Perhaps. How exciting, huh?

As it got dark, a huge red full moon popped up over the Smoky Hills -- the

first break in the flatness of the plains -- and I joined I-35, the "NAFTA

corridor", which will be my path to Mexico. I recalled my days as a

"missile gypsy" in the 60's, fighting the Cold War for JFK, putting

communications in Atlas missile silos all over the Heartland. What a time

that was, living on ITT expense money, meeting new friends, musical or not,

carrying all our worldly goods in a little 4X5 trailer, and having our

first-born, Timothy, who is now a 42-year-old musician himself.

Tim is leaving on Nov. 1, traveling separately with two musical friends down

to Edcouch, TX in the Rio Grand valley, where they will play some Conjunto

music with the "Frijoles Romanticos" until I get there. He will bring the

things I inadvertently left behind -- like my flat-top guitar (!!!) -- and I

will have room for it after I drop off some electronics in Houston.

BOOMING, BOOMING

Like COS, Salina is booming. It was up to 40,000 during the cold war 60's,

with Schilling AFB (B-47s & U-2s) and 12 Atlas Missile Silos, and down to

less than 20K when all that went away. Now, the wonderful airport (nee Air

Base) has attracted aviation businesses, etc. and the town is back up to

40,000. Sams Club, Walmart, Office Depot, all that stuff on the new south

end of town. But, no live music. The cops lurk downtown, follow drivers

after they leave the bars, and give them a ticket. Result, no live music.

Too bad; Salina was a swingin' town in the 60's!!

The 110 mile drive to Wichita is pleasant, I-35 at it's heartland best.

Saturday afternoon, there's no rush hour traffic in downtown Wichita and I

find my friends' house easily. The weather already seems warmer, but it's

not! Belize in the wind.

Rick Z

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