Page 127 - Exile-ebook

126 AN EXILE OF THE MIND A BOXCAR TO PALENQUE 127

sorrow, two for joy and six for attack a cold evening sky. This comatose
and was rescued from serious head drunk delivered in safety to the
pecking by sweet Anglican girls from doorstep of dismayed relatives with
a youth camp nearby. Smuggled not even a thank you.
under cover of darkness into the That evening I crossed a turbulent
camp, I slept in the woodshed and river, hopping from rock to rock to
ate shepherd’s pie and custard tarts keep my feet dry. And then to lose my
smuggled from the kitchen. footing and plunge in, boots and all.
In a small town in Texas a car One of them floated downstream in
careened to a screeching halt and the strong current and with one bare
bounced onto the sidewalk. A whisky foot I squelched to an off-season ski
bottle waved from the side window resort and was given a pair of shoes
in greeting from a sozzled driver. and a free cabin for night.
Empty bottles and a spare wheel Arriving in what ap-
were piled roof high on a jumble peared to be the outskirts
of clothes jam-packed in the of a township in Idaho with
back seat. An alcoholic on night darkly approaching,
the run from her husband I found two trees to swing
and making her befuddled my hammock. To be jolted
way to Colorado Springs. It awake at daybreak breathing Waiting for a ride in Louisiana. This traveller made front-page news.
was a distance of over a thousand in the fumes of cars whizzing
American kilometres and too good around a traffic island in the Washington State in sight of snow- border guards the next morning with
to miss. I grabbed the wheel in panic middle of town. capped Mount Baker, I met students a mug of coffee and a doughnut. In no
as this tipsy lady zig-zagged from side The front page of its newspaper complaining bitterly about a foolish hurry to let me through, the officers,
to side, sideswiping rose bushes and showed a photograph of this travel- war and the dreaded draft. Their not overly worked, wanted to hear my
leaving a letterbox teetering at a crazy ler from afar, sitting under a brolly nation was intent on killing itself in tales of adventuring.
angle. for shade in the Idaho sun. A sign: the war-torn country of Vietnam. It was the summer of 1966 and I
Self preservation forced me to AUSTRALIA TO CANADA was pinned To avoid a congestion of American had 19 cents left. Not enough to buy
take over the wheel and I drove day to my pack. New Zealand was not youth at the main borders fleeing a street map when I reached Van-
and night with an occasional shriek well known and often mistaken for to Canada, I walked 40 kilometres couver unless I could find another
from the lady to stop at a liquor store an American state. This celebrity inland to an obscure border post. cent. My $1o had lasted 17 days on
to replenish her supplies. At last the status earned a bed for the night at Closed for the evening. I strung out my journey from Mexico City to
welcome streets of Colorado Springs the postmaster’s house. my hammock between veranda posts Vancouver.
appeared under the grey shadows of Hiking along a country road in for an early night. To be woken by I never drank buttermilk again.