trip to sequoia -ch. 31 cont.

Ch. 31 (cont. )

       Ricardo and Luis were first in line to be introduced, they offered me some wine but I refused but instead opted to sit on a straw bale, Ann and Lee took up seats beside me. Our guitar man who happened to be named Mark said he was going to play a few old folk tunes, one by Arlo Guthrie. ‘The city of New Orleans’, which Arlo didn’t write, but was well known for performing   Steve Goodwin’s tune. In the plains here and on this night , it only seemed appropriate and as if on cue, the train whistled as it left Roxby grain elevator and headed for Wichita, loaded to the hilt with wheat freight cars loaded from the elevator behind us , to head  to a  Mississippi river loading facility ,  to be off loaded on barges for shipment elsewhere.

      The whistle wailed its solitary tale of lonely engineers, wanting to return home to their loved ones in long slow toots as it made its way behind us as we sat around  the circle and the fire danced illuminating the side of the train as it went by. Mark the guitar player stopped singing but kept playing the tune as the train went by just feet from where everyone was. The roar of the diesel engine increased as the engineer saw the tracks was clear. He leaned out his window in the lead engine and waved real big, as we all waved at him wishing him a safe trip in the prairie that night. Mark went on with his singing as rails clicked and the engine noise subsided in the distance as the train picked up more speed. Mark had finished the tune just as the last car passed our group and everyone clapped as soon as he was done. Apparently he had done this before and knew when to sing the song for the best effect. Experiencing it was energizing to the soul.

      Paper bag draped bottles of unknown alcohol were passed and several took turns as well the smell of pot hung heavy in the air and soon the hubbub of people talking seem to drown out the guitar playing at times as we sat there in the night watching the orange flames lick the darkness with their orange tongues trying to chase the night away. In the distance you could see the outline of the grain elevator in lights as night set down upon us heavily. At the top and sides of the silos, white flashing strobes, pointed out to low flying planes the imminent danger of invading that space where the lights guarded.

     I took a hit off a joint and passed it on to Ann who refused but clumsily passed it to Lee down the line and he took a big hit. The smell of alcohol was rank as another paper bagged bottle was passed on to me. I just passed it on, again Ann refused, but Lee took a drink and then passed it on to the Mexican beside him. Hooting and hollering seemed to be the norm rather than the exception as the people became more rowdy as one song after another was played and stories told. As soon as Mark the guitar player would end a song people would clap and talk loudly till once again he would take the stage and they would listen somewhat on cue.

     I talked a little with a trucker a couple of bales down from me and he explained that mark existed on tips he would receive from the workers who were in part of the grain gang as they called it. Most of the 20 or so people seated here all had jobs with the roving combine gang, Mark would travel the Midwest singing at stops like this and hitching a ride when he could from place to place with members of the grain gang as he knew most of them. He had a tent pitched somewhere and would spend the night under the stars, as again he entertained the gang at yet another layover.

     I asked when they were going to pass the hat as I wanted to offer him some money as I enjoyed his guitar playing, Then the guy I was talking to give a whoop and yelled. ‘Money here!”   Everyone laughed as Mark stood up and bowed and headed for the man I was talking to. Who then pointed at me, meaning I needed to produce something for my on the spot request. Mark bowed in front of me and offered his empty cowboy hat.

      I said, “I hope you don’t expect me to fill this.”

      He said. “At least make it fit tight on my head.” We all laughed and he asked if I had a request.

      I said. “Maybe some Croce, I would like to hear; ‘Time in a bottle’” . Leann always loved that tune and would play it constantly when she could. Mark returned to his straw bale and gave a pretty darn good rendition of ‘Time in a Bottle’ and it brought back memories of times we had sat at my farm listening to the radio watching the fire dance and her mind would drift suddenly off as mine is now thinking of maybe another time and place besides being with me as she was distant in thought but close in person . I never knew the connection and she never said but I knew it was one of her favorites.  As now I sit here looking dreamily at the fire and have my mind thinking of her just by hearing this song. I thought to myself how ironic is this?  I clapped when he finished. And leaned over to Ann and Lee and said I was heading to the Road Warrior, and that they could stay if they wanted to. They said they were going to stay a few but also would be heading to bed soon.

     Darkness invaded my soul as I left the fire, as the orange glow subsided behind me and the night closed in around me. Thoughts of the song and what it meant to Leann danced in my head as the lights of the grain elevator and the flashing strobes were my guide posts as I walked across the parking lot of Ma’s diner and arrived at the Road Warrior. I unhooked the bungee cord holding the door open and instantly the stoop extended as I opened the door. I thought to myself I just love that feature. I extended the slide outs and made my bed and laid down. I never heard  Ann and Lee come in.  I fell into a deep sleep after wondering how Leann was getting along. I need to quit thinking of her I said to myself before drifting off . She is gone. Maybe not in her life but in mine she is. I need to move on.

      The next morning at breakfast in the diner we decided to give Dealing Dan a call and see where to take the Road Warrior to get the door fixed and Dan  said, that the nearest place we could go to for original parts was in Oklahoma City. So we took off for Oklahoma City, with a bungee strapped up entry door, leaving the prairie behind us.