Saddle Americana, pt.2

Approaching Coburg, Oregon, sitting just off the highway, is an old empty semi-trailer. Rust streaks along its weather-beaten sides partially cover the red block letters printed on the trailer’s side. “JESUS IS THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE.”

The two-lane highway becomes a high-speed battleground as the man driving the pickup with the boat in tow revs his engine and speeds into the opposite lane. He can’t pass though because the woman in front speeds up until that third car comes around the bend and the man in the truck is forced to slam on his brakes and fall back in line. The truck’s brakes scream. The trailer’s wheels lock up and smoke fills the air behind it. As fast as they came, they are all gone. Only the harsh and toxic smell of burnt rubber and car brakes remains.

The red truck tears past my left shoulder even though the other lane is clear, empty, and open. The sudden roar of the horn at my ear startles me in my ride. The driver throws up his middle finger and I see his eyes in the rear view mirror.

Stuck in the rain, on the side of the highway, with a flat, he pulls his Power Rooter van to the shoulder, steps into the weather, and checks on me. I am almost done with the repair. He smiles, wishes me well, and climbs back into the van.

Saddle Americana, pt.1

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