photo © bob arnold

A BLACK TRUCK, BLACK BUG, AND THE BLONDE

I have read all of Thoreau’s Journals. I started at age 15 and have been through it now a few times. Last Fall I reread his rambles in Maine again, nice and woolly, but I think I’ll take another peek and see if Greenleaf H. Davis gets mentioned. Peter Garland just sent to me in a letter a notice from “Foundational Maine Fiddler” all about Davis. Thoreau tended to stay skimpy on many personal names, but not always. One goes to Maine with Thoreau just about in his sleeping blankets. You’re there. Sweetheart and I went deep into Baxter State Park in 1975, three moose just about clipped our black VW while jumping the road we were rounding our way on. That same car got us to Newfoundland and way up the rugged sea-swept western coast. Too bad the car was totaled in a freak Christmas morning accident on ice two months later. Almost into town (12 miles from here) and all in an ice-storm, taking it at 25 mph. is my guess, and coming around a corner there were two vehicles waiting for us stalled on slick ice. Both lanes boxed. I was driving and instead of trying a squeeze between either vehicle (even with the VW probably not) I stayed in our lane and aimed for the GMC 3/4 ton truck looking at us with the wide radiator panel. Hit it square. It turned out a mother and young son were inside, the mother pregnant. No problem to the truck, or mother, but our bug was gone, leaking gas everywhere from what got busted on impact. I shouted to the kid to run up to the corner and flag down anyone coming...turns out a buckaroo in a black pickup was storming our way. The kid did his job and the truck ended up going flyless off the road and down into the brook. Better there than into all of us. As I remember in the other lane, the couple were elderly and paralyzed. Stayed put. Naturally in 15 minutes the sand truck finally showed up and budged everyone free while we were stuck with a cop, and Christmas morning mind you, who refused to give us a lift back into town. Must of been my ZZ Top beard? We ended up hiking, for weeks later, the two miles up river to the village from our cabin, to catch rides with neighborly neighbors going-in.