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Travis rolled off the throttle as he crested the hill. The open prairie opened up before him. It was one of the things he loved most about this country. How you could be cutting through rolling hills of a coteau one minute, cross a threshold and the entire countryside would change to open prairie. He rolled the linkage open on the S&S and rocketed down into the flat. In the distance he could see two steeples rising out of the trees just to the left of the road. As he drew closer the shapes of houses could be seen nestled in the small grove of trees on the otherwise barren countryside. The big man shifted in his classic La Pera seat.
It had been a long day. Good food, a good nights sleep would do him well. He pulled the Shovelhead onto the dry dirt service road that paralleled the highway. Most of the buildings were boarded up or simply abandoned. Life seemed to emulate from the small stucco building with rusting gas pumps in the middle. Travis pulled up to the pumps and dismounted. His body protested. It had been too long since he racked up serious miles. His body was punishing him now. It could only get better. It had too. The Shovelhead was his only form of transportation now.
The small bell above the door chimed as he stepped into the dark store. “You’re early. You usually don’t get here for another ten minutes.” called a sweet voice from the back. Travis stood still in the sun lit doorway. A small woman appeared from behind the far row of shelves.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were the bus driver. We’re closed.”
Travis smiled and looked her over. She looked to be in her forties. From behind tangled mousy hair he could tell she was beautiful, even after decades in this small town.
“I just needs some gas and if you could point me towards the nears restaurant or bar I’ll be on my way.”
Travis said in a reassuring voice.
The woman moved nervously about the store. “The pumps are shut down. Ted has the key but he’s gone into Willow Bluff, probably won’t be back till late.”
Travis moved slowly and purposely about the store.
“Nearest restaurant is in Willow. Not much around here any more.”
“How far?” Travis asked with a friendly smile. She explained it was about an hour. Travis looked out the glass door to his bike and the slowly setting sun.
“Nowhere else to get some food and gas?”
She shook her head, no. Travis asked if he could buy a couple of things. She hesitated saying that the till was empty. Travis smiled reassuring before he stepped to carousel picked up a bunch of bananas, an orange; from the rack across it he selected a bag of buns. The cooler in the back relinquished a packet of processed meat and a six-pack of Budweiser. Travis peeled some bills from the wad in his pocket and thanked her for the hospitality. Travis could hear the big diesel bus as the engine wound down on the highway.
A mile down the road Travis found the picnic area the woman mentioned. It was nothing more than a hand planted square of trees around a centre square. It would offer protection from the cool evening winds. Travis followed the dirt road around to the far back corner. It would offer him shelter and peace but still let him have a good view of the road leading in.
The sun was low in the sky as Travis unrolled his tent and tied his tarp to provide a make shift canopy for it. He thought about gathering wood from the fallen branches to make a fire but decided against it as the dry prairie grasses snapped and crackled under his feet. The last thing he needed was to burn down some town’s pride and joy.
His supper was simple, much like all his meals had been of late. He already noticed his jeans were looser then normal; the plumpness of home life was leaving him. After supper he wondered the campground finding the troughs left from a long gone swing. He stood in the grassy holes and thought about the hours children must had to spend to wear them into the ground. Near the gate he found a cast marker plate. Apparently on this very site nothing had ever happened. The date at the bottom was from the bicentennial. The bronze casting indicated a better time, a prosperous time when the nation celebrated its birthday. Travis remembered the parades from his youth. Sitting on his dad’s shoulders as he watched the brightly coloured floats go by. The upbeat tunes that the marching bands played. He longed to hear them again. Longed for a simpler time that only seemed to exist in his childhood youth.
Travis stretched out on his bike in the failing light and sipped on his cold beer. Only the occasional passing vehicle broke the silence of the prairie. So peaceful, so quiet. He thought about settling down here in a simple house, a simple life. Crickets chirped their nightly song. All was right with the world.
A slowing whine of tires on pavement caught his attention. A green minivan slowed and entered the park. From his vantage point he could see it stop behind the trees and outhouses, blocking its view from the road. Travis thought about greeting his new neighbors but resisted the urge as he heard another car enter. A slick Cadillac entered and stopped behind the van. In the quietness of the evening he could hear voices and laughing. Soon the creaking of worn springs in the van joined the cricket’s chorus. Even here adultery was alive and well. He thought about confronting the lovers. Telling them about the love ones at home waiting for them. Were they as naive as he was? Blissfully unaware that the one that they loved, the one they vowed to be with, to love and cherishes, was rutting away in the back of a minivan, children’s car seats and toys pushed to the side to satisfied their carnal desires.
He thought about exacting revenge on the unsuspecting couple. He would beat them like he wanted to do to the man in the Harley truck, like he wanted to do to his wife.
Travis’s company soon left, returning to the lies they were living. Travis sat alone in the darkness, nursing his beer. A rustling in the tall grasses drew his attention. He peered into the darkness; pushing the noises he had acquainted himself with away. Heavy panting echoed through the prairie sounds. Was it friend or foe?
Travis trained his ears on the panting, the swaying of displaced grass. He could sense the shape. Large canine? Its deep howl could only mean one thing, the memory of Pecos Bill and the coyotes that warned the Western legend. The shadowy figure stepped close, curious as Travis. The moonlight revealed a 20-pound coyote, it’s bushy tail aimed comfortably at the soft ground. Travis watched. It watched it’s ears twitching its mood, and listening acutely for any sound from the stranger residing in its territory. Satisfied that Travis was no threat it sat down and licked at its rear haunches before letting out a howl at the distant moon.
From beyond Travis could hear the replies. Would they come join him? Was he summoning them to come feast on his bones? Unlikely, since Coyotes usually eat mice, squirrels and sometime reptiles. Travis watched as the shadowy figure flinched at any movement he made. Travis unsheathed the buck knife from his belt. The coyote sniffed the air, its ears indicated attention to detail, and a warning. The coyote backed up and howled again. It knew it wasn’t alone; that there was something living that came with the strange oily scented object sparkling in the evening air. Its nostrils flared as it sniffed and broadened the distance from the man and his machine.
Travis watched as the coyote moved off and settled into the long grass across the road from him. Travis watched the wild animal. An understanding washed over him. Nature was about balance, about harmony, about freedom.
