My car run out of gas. It chose to "die" romantically, almost at sunset and in a nice quiet place, miles away from the nearest town. Wearing my flannel shirt that remembered many house renovations, being unshaven and measuring 6'7" at 230lbs I was shit out of luck. Nobody would stop. I was forced to enjoy "hands-on" the beauty of the mountains among which the curvy route 80 was sunken almost to the bottom. The autumn that usually brings joy with all it's tasty and colorful gifts was not in a generous mood that evening. The colors left the scene together with the sun that was probably just as tired as I was, and being the smarter out of both of us went to sleep earlier. I felt cold and hungry (so much for the tasty gifts of autumn). Nobody likes you, when you do not have a car, even the elements. Cursing my fate back in revenge for such obvious, bad treatment I was walking alongside of the road, with a bottle of Zubrovka in my hand. It was supposed to be a gift to my friend, the owner of the house that stood at the end of my trip (as I planned it). It was unfortunate like many things that evening that it happened to be the only container present on board capable of holding gasoline. Whether I liked it or not I was facing a perspective of wasting the precious liquid in the name of petroleum industry. On the other hand, downing its entire contents would diminish my chances of getting help, never mind the trouble of finding my way back. I was prepared to drink at least a part of it on my stroll towards civilization. At least I could not be charged on the grounds of "the open container law". I had to put away driving for a moment anyway and "Walking While Intoxicated", I hoped was still legal in Pennsylvania. About half an hour down the road I heard a roaring sound of a truck breaking by downshifting the gears. Someone actually stopped? O good Samaritan! My frozen feet and I bless your name.
The door of the square Peterbuilt opened and the face from below the big cowboy hat said: gedeeen son!
First he saw my car and then a few miles down the road, he spotted me with the bottle.
-The gaes station is eenn the next town over- he said with probably a southern accent.
I didn't feel like talking, but my Samaritan did.
-"Life eez just like the road, son"
He paused for a while.
-"Some have good cars, others got slow ones and there ain't much they can do about it. They just gotta ride in what they got. Just like in life. Some live fast and got it all, some gotta work hard and go slow, son. You can go only as fast as your engine lets you...."
He would stop talking as if he was gathering thoughts. May be he just wanted me to digest what I just heard from him. I tried to act polite and look like I was actually listening. The perspective of spending a nice evening with my friends was dim.
-"I've seen the world Ya know. I served in the army in Europe in the fifties. And I tell ya, we've got the best roads there ees in the world, son...
That's important. You can only go where the road ees...
...and if the road is wider and better, many can go far. Just like in life, son..."
What a life. Sitting behind the wheel for days. The best my Samaritan could do was listen to the radio. Even when talking to someone on the CB it was far from having a real conversation. I did not contribute much by appearing to listen only, but may be that was the entire contribution expected from me at the moment.
-"When on the road, son, ya always gotta know where you're at and where you are fix'n to go.
Well, sometimes you make a mistake reading the map, thean you gotta backtrack and
you loose a lot' o time...a lot'o time....
Or sometimes you get to the place you don't wanna be at.
Like in life, you see..."
Whoever built route 80 believed in shows with captive audience. Once you get on it, route 80 won't let you out for tens of miles. Was it a regular road, the exits would happen more often and I would be filling the bottle with gas by now.
-"Life's just like the road, son....
If you're slower than the plane, you're out. If you go over the speed limit, Husky's gonna grab Ya and you're out too. You gotta figure out the rules, son. You gotta be just right. It ain't eesy mister..."
The perspective of getting back was looking like a lot of fun too. If ever being able to hitch a ride, with my luck, instead of a talkative Samaritan I will probably get a gospel singer. Plus it was dark out there already. The blurry silhouette of the Adirondacs was dissolving in darkness.
-"You gotta know your limits son. If you're tall, they're gonna rip your guts out if you get jammed in the tunnel or under that bridge. If you're heavy there are so many roads you can't take.
Like in life. Getting there depends on what kind a man you are."
Driving at night has one good aspect: there are only pros on the road and you do not have to worry about Sunday drivers, who are sitting at home by that time and watch TV together with their wife and the favorite labrador.
-"Life is just like the road, son, you never know which way it turns and for how long it is gonna be nice and straight. Then again, if the road goes straight for too long you get bored and start wishing t'was curvy again."
It was kind of interesting to look at the road from so high up. The height gave the sense of power and provided a much wider view on things than from any passenger car. It felt a bit like being on the captain's bridge of a ship.
-"Never go too fast, son. Many times you see boys that gone fast and didn't make the turn. Or the road went steep downhill, their cylinder head cracked, the brakes smoked but the truck kept on going. God save their soul. Ain't worth it although it feels good. The road can always surprise you son, just like life."
My Samaritan looked more like a sewage plant operator that was told to control some kind of gigantic valve. His steering wheel was almost horizontal and must have been more than three feet in diameter. He held it with his both hands looking relaxed, but ready to use all his strength at any moment to open the valve by turning the wheel and redirect the sewage to a different canal.
-"Life is just like the road, ya know...."
Finally we saw a sign announcing an exit distinguished with "the order of the golden mollusk". I heard the familiar sound of breaking with the engine. The objects beside the road on the right side reappeared in yellow in the steady pace of the blinker.
I thanked my Samaritan for saving a great portion of my day with the ride on board of his cruiser. I left him the bottle of Zubrovka. It is Polish vodka - I said - do not touch the cork, break the bottom instead, and then pour. We laughed. I heard his truck leaving the gas station. He probably had another eight hours to go before he reached Chicago. In his business every minute counts, so I appreciated the side tour that he took to help me with my lack of gas. It was a waste of resources to pour a gallon of mineral water on the ground, but by giving up Zubrovka I was left with no choice. I suddenly realized that I never saw the face of my Samaritan.
I walked up the road to find my faithful car waiting for me. A thought of my good Samaritan occupied my mind for a while. I guess, life was just like the road.
When I was ready to open the door of the car I heard the cry of the wild geese calling each other while flying up there, high in the darkness.