pcflvly
Well-known member
This excerpt is rough draft writing from my next book. I was biking from Key West to Montreal and here was almost to Jersey City. Ever get chased when you were out traveling?
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It was solidly dark by then and when I saw a spot under the freeway bridge where I could rest a minute, I stopped. I didn’t know what to do about sleeping but I was hungry and fried up some bacon then ate chocolate covered almonds. While I ate I saw a rat and I wondered if I’d be able to sleep even if I did find a spot. This place right here was protected, nobody was going to come by, and it was relatively clean. It was too exposed but I found several sheets of plywood the same color as the concrete of the bridge wall: camouflage, and I built a cave, testing it from the trail. It was perfectly discrete, almost invisible and it still wasn't good enough. I didn’t like sleeping under bridges and I didn’t like rats. I rode on.
This was truly one of the most complex freeway interchanges that I’d ever seen. I’d already made my way across an endless stream of fast moving traffic, up and around a ramp, then under busy lanes to the place where I built the nest. Now, I had no idea if I’d ever get across it. On the far side of the maze, there was a junkyard on one side of the route and a concrete barrier on the other. This was on a ramp against traffic and at a gentle curve where with my bike down behind the barrier, cars couldn’t see me. I was so tired that I stopped right there, unrolled a bag, and quickly fell asleep.
Although people driving cars couldn’t see me, someone in a truck could and the one who did stopped in the road, waking me up. Not only did they wake me up, they worked at the junkyard behind me and immediately accused me of breaking in. As I rapidly stuffed my sleeping bag down in the pannier and got my bike ready to roll, I pointed up at the concertina wire at the top of the chain link fence and was just flabbergasted. As if I could even get over the fence. Sure, I wanted another Mustang emblem. I didn’t say that but I thought it. Anyway, all I said to him was that obviously I hadn't and I rolled out of there. I thought that was the last of it. I was against traffic with a downhill escape route and getting away.
My escape was rapid until I reached the bridge over the Passaic. The sidewalk was narrow and I had to walk my bike across, even having to push it ahead of me on some obstructed stretches. At the bottom of the other side I was finally able to remount, get across to the traffic side of the highway, and keep going. It was about four in the morning and I was making good time again. At the first intersection though, the junkyard caught up with me. Fast and loud, a towtruck and a pickup roared up and boxed me in. Two huge men got out and one of them said, “We need to look in your bags.” They demanded this.
Well, they got an earful, “Nobody is looking in my bags. I haven’t done anything.” Then I told them what I actually do and they were listening but they couldn’t hear me. They still wanted to open my bags. I noticed that we were standing right next to an East Coast Greenway sign and pointing it out, my story finally made sense to them. I remember the men going from listening to hearing and then sending me off with their blessings.
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It was solidly dark by then and when I saw a spot under the freeway bridge where I could rest a minute, I stopped. I didn’t know what to do about sleeping but I was hungry and fried up some bacon then ate chocolate covered almonds. While I ate I saw a rat and I wondered if I’d be able to sleep even if I did find a spot. This place right here was protected, nobody was going to come by, and it was relatively clean. It was too exposed but I found several sheets of plywood the same color as the concrete of the bridge wall: camouflage, and I built a cave, testing it from the trail. It was perfectly discrete, almost invisible and it still wasn't good enough. I didn’t like sleeping under bridges and I didn’t like rats. I rode on.
This was truly one of the most complex freeway interchanges that I’d ever seen. I’d already made my way across an endless stream of fast moving traffic, up and around a ramp, then under busy lanes to the place where I built the nest. Now, I had no idea if I’d ever get across it. On the far side of the maze, there was a junkyard on one side of the route and a concrete barrier on the other. This was on a ramp against traffic and at a gentle curve where with my bike down behind the barrier, cars couldn’t see me. I was so tired that I stopped right there, unrolled a bag, and quickly fell asleep.
Although people driving cars couldn’t see me, someone in a truck could and the one who did stopped in the road, waking me up. Not only did they wake me up, they worked at the junkyard behind me and immediately accused me of breaking in. As I rapidly stuffed my sleeping bag down in the pannier and got my bike ready to roll, I pointed up at the concertina wire at the top of the chain link fence and was just flabbergasted. As if I could even get over the fence. Sure, I wanted another Mustang emblem. I didn’t say that but I thought it. Anyway, all I said to him was that obviously I hadn't and I rolled out of there. I thought that was the last of it. I was against traffic with a downhill escape route and getting away.
My escape was rapid until I reached the bridge over the Passaic. The sidewalk was narrow and I had to walk my bike across, even having to push it ahead of me on some obstructed stretches. At the bottom of the other side I was finally able to remount, get across to the traffic side of the highway, and keep going. It was about four in the morning and I was making good time again. At the first intersection though, the junkyard caught up with me. Fast and loud, a towtruck and a pickup roared up and boxed me in. Two huge men got out and one of them said, “We need to look in your bags.” They demanded this.
Well, they got an earful, “Nobody is looking in my bags. I haven’t done anything.” Then I told them what I actually do and they were listening but they couldn’t hear me. They still wanted to open my bags. I noticed that we were standing right next to an East Coast Greenway sign and pointing it out, my story finally made sense to them. I remember the men going from listening to hearing and then sending me off with their blessings.
