I watched the truck and horse trailer bang and clunk and rattle down the dirt road to the east. The billowing cloud of dust slowly settled back down in the dead still air. The tiny old man had been a rancher in this god forsaken area for 40 years. He jabbered away during our ride together, telling me interesting facts and details of his life in a raspy, whiskey cracked voice, pausing only to light another cigarette and spit out the window. The rattle in his chest was a bit like the rattle in his horse trailer. I gave a long wave as he disappeared in the dust and then turned to observe my new home.

Hotter than fuck and stone cold quiet. No cars, no cows, no birds maybe a snake or two hiding from the sun. Off in the west was a small smudge of green and what looked like guard-rails. I studied the situation and could make out an arroyo. Undoubtably it was a dry this time of year but would be big enough to have some vegetation and possibly some firewood. My eyes followed the arroyo to the southwest where it went through a gap in the hills some 4-5 miles distant. Must be a ranch down there. Maybe two or three from the number of tracks on the road. I pondered how many acres per cow this rocky ground, spotted with sage-brush and flecks of bunch grass, could support. I refocused at the peak to the southwest where the sun stood brilliantly bright and calculated its trajectory. Sunset was going to happen right in the low gap and there would be no early shadow cast by the surrounding peaks. A good 6 more hours of heat.

I dropped my pack next to the stop sign, tuned up my collar, rolled down my sleeves and tugged the bill of my cap a bit lower. The post gave a sharp line of shade ending in an octagon of shade into which I aligned my head. It was of some relief but mostly gave me a sharper view of the world. The asphalt of the main road shimmered and out of curiosity I walked over and spit on it. More like drooled on it. My mouth was dry and I'm not a good spitter. The spit didn't boil but was gone in 30 seconds. I moved back to my octagon of shade.

No doubt about it. It was hot, probably well over 100 degrees. I had two quarts of water and drank about a third of the first bottle. Dehydration was a potential problem if I didn't get out of here soon. Not much rations either. Some jerky and nuts, a two-day old piece of bread, and some packets of jelly I pocketed from the restaurant where I ate breakfast. Oh! And a stash of tea bags stuffed down in the bottom of the ditty bag. And, of course, a light sleeping bag, small tarp, heavy jacket, warm hat and gloves. Deserts get cold at night. I had just enough water and supplies to get by. That is until the burning sun rose over the hills in the east the next morning. I'd best be the fuck gone from here by that time.

I closed my eyes and listened. In the clear silence, I began to hear the faint rustle of brush stirred by isolated wisps of wind. Mostly I just heard the crunch of gravel when I fidgeted. That is until I heard the first faint sound of a car. Far off to the north, maybe – but sound don't travel far in hot air. And there he was coming over the rise and speeding my way. I stepped out and got my thumb out with serious purpose and put on my best theatrical smile. And he whizzed by at better than 70 mph. With the sun at my back, he may not have even seen me. I smelled hot engine oil and imagined a wisp of blue smoke swirling by.

No doubt about it, just a crappy place to be at least as far as getting a ride. One would have to practically dance in the middle of the road. And that's what I did for the next three cars. I stepped out into the center of the lane, danced a quick jig to make some motion, jumped back to the shoulder and put my thumb up high. But to no avail. One of the drivers looked at me in some surprise as though I was a ghostly, spirit appearing in the middle of nowhere. The other drivers were just oblivious.

There are places that just don't work for getting a ride and this was one of them. Not much room to pull over, cars going way too fast to pay attention and a curve ahead that focused the driver's attention away from you. It was going to be a long, hot and shitty stint. Unless I got lucky.

But the cars continued to fly past every few minutes, and that gave me some hope of getting a ride out of this hell hole. An old cattle truck, moving a bit slow, throttled down and came to a stop. I turned to grab up my pack and started towards the rig. I stopped dead in my tracks, when a strange figure crawled out of the passenger side of the cab. The truck turned and followed the old rancher and his horse trailer down the road to the east. Probably going to the same place.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A long, hot wait had just turned into an impossible wait. This intersection had no room for two hitch-hikers much less one. Simple fact of the matter is picking up a lone individual is always an iffy risk but picking up two is a much higher risk. a definite risk. The stranger was caring a paper grocery sack folded up tight with god knows what inside. A big guy, with long scraggly blond hair, thin on top, an impressive beer gut and wearing a too tight, torn and dirty tee shirt. Not even a decent hat.

A car came by and he stumbled around to raise his thumb just as they sped by. He switched from thumb to middle finger, raised it high and screamed "Fuck you too asshole" at the receding car.

Things has just gone from iffy to downright nasty. I checked my pocket for my knife and looked around for any other possible weapons. A hub cap in the ditch might make a small shield or club, but the few sticks were all to small and fragile. Wasn't nothing to do but outwit this guy. Sweet talk him, suss him out for info and maybe make him think I was a bit crazy too.

"Afternoon" I said. It startled him. Apparently, he'd not noticed me before.

"Where, the fuck, are we?" he replied.

I considered it a loosely philosophical question and gave him no reply. He was close enough now that I could tell he was a bit drunk or high on something. Or more likely both. I ran the numbers. No hat, no warm clothes and no water. Not to mention bedding or food. The scalp under his thin straggly blond hair looked burnt.

He fished out a cigarette and dug into his grimy pockets for a lighter. He rocked a tad bit unsteadily on his feet.

"Want one" he offered but I declined. Making friends with this guy was not yet a clear option.

"Where you headed" I asked.

"Vegas, I guess. Don't know where else to go and got some friends there."

The silence grew longer until interrupted by an approaching car. The outcome was much the same. The driver saw a big, spooky, nut-case jumping around on the side of the road. I didn't even raise my thumb. The car swerved into the opposite lane, blew his horn angrily at this apparition and flipped us off.

I kept my pack over one shoulder just in case I had to run for it. Given the unlaced and worn sneakers he had on, I figured I could out run him flat. I gave up on getting a ride and queried this guy about his life. This was not out of interest, mind you, but out of safety. A man's story is a look into his mind and heart. You can find his troubles and make note of his lies and confusions. Mostly you can determine if he's a mean sort or just irrational. You have to separate the sociopaths from the mentally ill and separate those from the just plain stupid and high. Sometimes, this winnowing of human behavior revealed a kernel of personality.

And I worried about that paper sack. I had once trailered with a fellow logger, just back from Vietnam. He kept a 45 Auto in just such a conveyance. He told me that with the paper sack he could carry in public without so much as an inkling from passersby. And he had access to it in mere seconds. Almost as good as a real holster. A poor man's holster.

"Where'd you come from" I asked."

"Oh. I live up in Elroy. Walked out on my old lady this morning. Gave her a fucking piece of my mind and should'a smacked her one good too".

"Aw crap" I muttered as I figured he just might be a mean sort.

"What'd she do to get ya fired up?" I asked, shifting the blame to her. It's always a good strategy to sympathize with a potential foe when you need to.

"I got way fucked up last night and hung out at her sister's trailer. She thinks I'm fuckin her sister."

"Well. Did'ja?"

"No man, she's a dirty skank but had some good drugs. Wanna smoke a joint?"

"No, I'm good." Crap. He's carrying too. Cop comes by and he's sure to run us both in and I'll be wrapped up in this guy's shit for days. I ran the list -- High, possibly armed, carrying drugs, hot headed and impulsive.

I looked at the sun. Maybe four hours till dark. I considered just ditching this guy and heading to the culvert and hunkering down out of the heat. I reslung my pack over one shoulder when he asked "Where you headed to?"

"Tucson."

"Wow, I'd like to go to Tucson. I hear theys' lots of construction jobs there."

"Some" I replied. "I used to work framing houses" I lied. "Wages are pretty low. Lots of cheap labor around."

"You mean the beaners?" He fumed. "Same problem here. Honest white guy can't find a job that pays well."

"Same old racist excuses" I thought to myself. But bitching about "the other guy" was a common theme for making friends.

Actually, I worked in a university lab. But you don't tell that to anyone on the road, especially not guys like this one. Because if you seemed too smart you probably had money and hence were an easy mark. Best to be seen as a bit dumb, road wise and poor. It takes some practice.

Out of boredom and curiosity, I asked him ‘What was that mine I saw up north of Elroy?'.

‘Yeah, that's the Wilson copper mine' "I used to work construction up at the mine and do some diesel repair."

"Really" I said encouragingly.

"Yeah, it was a good job. Worked there 8 years."

I turned, paused still and cocked my ears for the sound of cars. "Sounds like you don't work there anymore?"

"Nope." He responded somewhat sadly.

"Why not?"

He turned and looked back towards Elroy. Kinda sheepishly and just a bit proud, he said "I punched out some snotty kid they made my boss."

"Christ man! Why did you do that?" shaking my head.

"I don't know, it just happened!"

Joe got out a cigarette and offered me one. I accepted this time and received a slightly smunched but still intact Marlboro. The smoke slammed into my lungs, scorching my throat and a wave of nicotine ran out my limbs. The "beaner" remark told me he was just a bit short on brain power and not really dangerous. So now I could pretend to be his friend and dig into his head a bit more.

I took a second drag on the cigarette and commented "I'm Pete, who are you."

"Uh, I'm Joe"

I wanted to steer the conversation away from me. The less he knew the better off. Maybe later, but you don't give up that info until well after the first cigarette is finished. I'm sorta shy that way.

"Guess you had a good reason to slug him, huh?" I asked, nodding my head agreeably.

He looked at me long and hard. He gave me the once over to figure out if I was trustworthy and whether he should say anything. He looked at my pack which I then slung back down against the stop sign. I looked a bit ragged having been on the road three days now. But compared to him I was clearly at home here. And it dawned on him that he was intruding on my space and it was kinda stupid to be out in the middle of nowhere with no water and no hat. And since I seemed to know what I was doing, I just might have water! But, by god, he grew up in this heat and he'd get to Vegas and do some partying. It was like watching the tumblers in a lock click in sequence.

"Got any water?" he requested.

I pulled out a half full bottle and selfishly chugged a bit more than half of it. "Take the rest," I said, not wanting to share backwash with him. He chugged his half in a moment and let out a big sigh of relief

"So, why'd you hit him?" I asked.

"Bad day, man" he said. And with a brief pause he launched in. "This kid went to trade school and thought he was the man. He didn't know shit. And he was always on my case. One time he wrote me up for a safety violation and the accident wasn't my fault." He said assuredly. "It wasn't my fault. The fucking fork-lift hit a big rut and I dumped a pallet of cinder blocks in the middle of the road. Nobody even got hurt. And then he chewed me out in front of the guys. And, man, I looked at this twerp and swung hard"

"Got'em good I hope?" I tried to say admirably.

"Naw, he ducked some and I mostly just scarred him. But they sure thought it was a big deal. Started listing all the shit I was supposed to have done wrong. Just bullshit man. Some asshole from the engineering office came in a little later and told me I was fired and they'd mail me the rest of my pay."

He fell silent and I asked for the lighter and fired up the half butt I'd snuffed out earlier. He fished out his last fresh cigarette, lit it, crumpled the pack and tossed it in the ditch.

Fuck its hot!' he said through his first inhale.

"Probably won't make Las Vegas tonight," I pointed out, trying to see if he might take the hint, head back to town and get out of my hair.

"It only a hundred miles. We'll get there tonight." he insisted.

What's this WE shit I pondered. Nope, ain't gonna happen. Been here four hours and only two more to go before early dusk. I needed water and Joe obviously did because he abruptly sat down in the dirt. A dying beer buzz in 100 plus heat simply sucks it out of you.

"Maybe your right." he said, rather dejectedly.

"You got family back in Elroy? I asked. I hoped some good memory might draw him back home and leave me in peace to get on with the job of getting out of here.

"The old lady, I guess, and I could use a change of clothes and a hat."

Four hours of road dust had settled on him and he was no longer sweating. I decided to bring out my water and share some. I didn't want a heat stroke, basket case on my hands. Again, I drank my half and despite the hot plastic taste, it tasted damn good. But for this heat it was slim rations and there would be no more refill until tomorrow morning at best. Kinda needed a fucking miracle. I thought about bringing out some food but he might chuck it up and I'd had a good-sized breakfast. Save the food for later when it got cool.

"Would the old lady come lookin' for you." I asked.

"Maybe, didn't tell her I was leavin' town. Just goin' to the bar."

"So, she still wants you home?"

"Yeah, can't take kids to work. I look after ‘em."

"What kids" I asked.

"My old-lady's got a boy and a girl. The boy, he's eleven now. He and I went camping once." Joe brightened up for an instance.

"Not your kids. Huh?" I asked.

"Naw, her ex split and he don't pay no fucking child support neither. She gets some money from the state but that don't cover much but food and cigarettes. She clerks at the grocery store part-time."

"The girls' fifteen and got a fucking attitude." he continued. "Does whatever she wants. She thinks she's got the boys in town wrapped around her finger. I figure, they supply the booze, cigarettes, trucks and music and she sucks a lot of cock. She sure don't come home till all hours." He stood up and unconsciously grabbed his crotch. Talking shit about women is always a bad subject. Opens up a whole avenue of potential catastrophes and never leads to good outcomes.

Time to change the subject. "I assume, you ain't got no rig?"

Joe plunked back down in the dirt with a groan. "No wrecked the good truck last fall. Car don't run neither."

I could imagine a couple of old beaters about the house and not enough ambition, talent or money to make ‘em run. They'd stay right there until the house fell down. Joe had his head in his hands and looked like he was gonna chuck in his crotch.

I crouched down to his level and handed him the water, "Finish it."

I ignored the car that drove by. The water perked him up a bit, but, in an hour, he would be done in. Dangerous as it was, if a state trooper came by, I just might hail him down. He didn't resist my questions now. Everything seemed hopeless and I was about all he had now. No point in not answering my questions. We had a problem to solve. God forbid this went any further south.

I stood up and scanned the horizons all around me. This was a nice place to spend the night. Pretty in its own right and it had a friendliness. Crap, I coulda' been stuck on the outskirts of some mid-side town camped in the thicket by the garbage dumpster of an auto parts store.

"Got any job prospects?" I said turning back to Joe.

"I get some work here and there and my brother runs the junk yard."

"You got brothers?"

"Yeah, the oldests' got some real dough. Becky, says I should ask him for a job. Owns the hardware store and gas station. Nice house too."

"Who's Becky?"

"My old lady."

"Mom and dad?"

"Dad's dead longtime. Mom don't get out much but I do see her in town."

Joe perked up thinking about his mom, "She buys me a beer when she can. Got some cleanup and repair work I could do."

"You got any unemployment coming in?"

"No. Said I can't get it ‘cause I got fired."

"Well, you ask them about jobs lately?"

"I'm not on unemployment."

"So that don't matter. They can still help you look for a job."

He looked up at me, "Really?"

"Yeah, that's what they're fucking there for."

"Yeah, I should try them … and my mom too."

"And your brother and the junk yard." I added.

"You see your brother much?"

"At Christmas, he has us all over for Christmas dinner."

"So, you and he get along."

"Yeah, pretty well enough."

"Then go ask him if he knows of any work. Better than fucking being out here." And I looked up at the sun and down at Joes bright red scalp. I dug out my bandana and gave it to him. "Put this on" and he draped it over his scalp. I stood so my shadow shaded his eyes.

Joe slumped over and said "I feel kinda sick."

"Vegas is still two hours away" I noted from out of the blue.

"What?"

"Gonna get cold night too."

Joe nodded in agreement. His shoulder sagged as he gave in to the somewhat desperate nature of our -- or rather -- his situation. "We ain't never gonna get to Vegas or anywhere else with so much as a 7-11 to get a drink."

"It's closer to try to get back home. An hour and you're home ‘fore dark."

"Yeah, I should go back. My old lady won't even know I was gone ‘cause she thinks I'm at the bar. Ain't none of her business anyhow." He said somewhat defiantly.

He looked at the other side of the road. Not quite sure what to do. Hard to give up on the plan for a party in Vegas and the bad lot back home. But there was food and a bed and beer back home. And maybe a job.

"Hey you need a place to stay tonight" he asked. Apparently, he'd made up his mind to head home and was being kindly now and probably wanting some company. I declined and noted that I was prepared to sleep out if need be.

"I wish I could do that. But I don't have nothing but a jacket and an extra pack of cigarettes in the bag."

"Make for a cold night and ain't no firewood round here." I emphasized. There was actually plenty of wood but you'd have to build a small, hot fire and huddle close. I figured that distant patch of trees would yield a quiet retreat with some good kindling. Plenty of kindling.

If only he would actually walk across the road and start thumbing a ride. But it seemed like he didn't make that connection. A car sped past going north and he stuck out his thumb just in time. But they kept going.

"You'll have better luck on the other side" I said a bit urgently.

We were quiet for a moment thinking about "fucking being out here" and then we both turned to listen to the clank and thump of a truck on the rough, dirt road to the east. The massive, rolling, dust cloud was mesmerizing. Joe rose and we stood silently as the same truck and cattle trailer from this morning pulled up to a stop. In the billowing dust, he rolled down his window and yelled at us over the yammering of cattle "You boys still here?"

"You headed north?" Joe asked and stumbled toward the truck without an answer.

The old man directed his look at me "You need a ride too?"

"Naw I'm good"

"Need any water?"

"I sure could use some. If you've any to spare."

He handed me down a half-full milk jug of water. I waved good-bye and headed back across the road. I listened carefully to the clunk of his drive train as he shifted into first and eased out the clutch. The truck and trailer bumped and rock noisily onto the pavement as the cows bellowed out their protests. He caught second gear and slowly pulled away towards Elroy as I shouldered my pack.

A car zoomed by and I gave it my best happy-face, hoping, fruitlessly, to get lucky, on the last shot, at a final ride, in the soon dying light. But, to the west, the tiny copse of Eden beckoned. I stooped, picked up the crumpled cigarette pack, hiked down to the arroyo and used it to light the tiniest of fires. Water was boiling just at the last light disappeared. I stayed awake till late, drinking lukewarm tea from the surplus of trucker's water and listening to the night birds and coyotes.

The End