One of my favorite memories, I guess, is when I was ten or eleven (I can't really remember) and it was in the middle of a August day, in my town in Downriver Detroit, Michigan. My best friend at the time, was a kid named Tony, age eleven. I wanted to shoot fireworks left over from the 4th of July, but my mom wouldn't let us. So we stole them anyways and went out back behind Tony's barn, nearby, in the alley, and started shooting off bottle rockets. Now, on the adjacent corner on 13th Street & Pine, there was an empty field with overgrown weeds and tall brown grass at least 6 feet high. Pine Street at that time was a dirt road.
One of the bottle rockets hit the top of old man Zimmer's barn across from the field and caught it on fire. Zimmer who is a grumpy old bastard, came running out and started swearing at us. We freaked out and ran back to the house, and by the time the firemen came, the entire barn and half of the field was in roaring flames.
And my friend, all of the sudden was like-- "THAT WAS COOL!... LET'S DO IT AGAIN!"
By the time they got the fire snuffed out, the fireman came up to us and was like, "This is why you don't play with fireworks after your mom says 'no.' My mom was watching from across the street, as well as half the neighborhood." My old man got wind of this incident later and started lecturing me on playing with matches. I told him, ''we were just shooting firecrackers in the alley.'' Zimmer came over later and started arguing with my old man about paying for his ragged old tumble-down barn. He started spouting shit about me. The old man told him to ''go to hell'' and chased him down the alley with a pipe wrench in his hand. MY DAD WAS COOL AND UNFLAPPABLE!
We had a lot to figure out as kids in our neighborhood, so we spent a lot of time using our imaginations to invent things to do. We ran the neighborhood, rode bikes, climbed trees, threw rocks in the alley, were gone from morning to night with a brief stop for lunch at some neighbor's garden or fruit tree; and no one had to worry about if we were okay. We could walk to the corner mom and pop stores, pull out your cap gun, and say stick 'em up, and the storeowner would give you some treats. Or go to any neighborhood beer garden, take a seat at the bar, and order a soda pop. They would say, ''it's on the house, kid.'' In return, they might want you to mop the bathroom for the free drink or brush down the pool tables.
After the field fire, the next day, Tony and I went to the trenches by the railroad tracks. Dad laughing and smiling, told us not to burn down the trenches.
I have always wanted to hop a freight, even, if I only took it a few miles and then walked home, but have never had the nerve. This day, I struck the nerve. Tony and I walked over the avenue viaducts near the trenches and waited for the train to come.
When we first hopped that freight near the high school in my town, it was easy: for some reason, they slowed down there. We waited for the middle of a train, until a freight-gondola iron ladder swung near, I immediately grabbed it, jogged along the side, jumped and hung on, and swung my legs on the rung. After I got on and climbed to the top, I plunged into the bottom. Tony did the same on the adjacent empty gondola.
It might not have been safe, but it was easy. And immediately felt the power of that train, felt the immovable force of it—felt the potential for adventure and travel. WOW!
THING IS --after a few miles of riding in the bottom of that thing, I could not get to the top edge of the car. Gondola cars basically are kind of deep and require jumping high and pulling yourself up. I was stuck, screaming and yelling. Tony was in the same situation over in the next car. It was ridiculously scary. After about an hour of rumbling, shaking and vibrating through the country side, the train slowed down, and Tony who was taller than me, was able to get out of the adjacent car and make his way over to me and get me by grabbing my arm and hauling me out. I jumped out of the gondola onto the ground. I won't be doing this again, I say to myself.
Now, we find ourselves on the farm skirts of Toledo, out in the sticks, cow country. A long way from home. Tony and I are determined not to ride back on any kind of train. Suddenly in the distance, we see a railroad bull walking down the top of the boxcars, checking for passengers hiding between the cars. Another bull was on the right side, and one more covering the left.
All we had to do was turn right around and see ourselves in the center of a flat, gray lot, adorned here and there with puddles, fugitive paths traced by fearful feet. ''What are we gonna do?'' Tony asked. ''First thing is to get the hell out of here, scram-bola'' I remarked. So we started running as fast as we can away from the train yard and found our way to a lonely farm road. I see naked trees blacker than the landscape after a battle. In the distance, I could see spectral, broken-down farm houses with sagging roofs, crumbling chimneys, empty windows, bare porches, dilapidated doors, and, from time to time, the tender and immodest approach of a leafless tree to a thirsty and grimy looking house within fields of solitude and withered hills.
As we were walking, we were penetrating into the morning dew that was not only persisting, but being reborn by the dazzling light.
We made our way step by step down this isolated farm road, with old abandoned tractors in fields, even more abandoned than the eye can meet. A gray haired, feeble couple walking on the road toward us, almost as ashen as the day, stared at us with a mix of confusion, resignation, and perplexing hospitality, asking us: ''Where you two kids going?'' I was a little dazed, or it might have been habit. They smiled with a concern. ''We are making our way to the highway.'' These two old croppers let us drink our fill of water at their well, gave us a few plums and cherries, and afterwards with good-byes, we made our rendezvous to the distant bridge crossing the highway in matter of minutes.
NOW WHAT? --HITCHHIKING!!
Not every adventure turns out the way we want, but, as for me, I'm still glad. Keeping my spirits high. "A spirit of adventure."
Thumbs out in anticipation for the ride that awaits!!
Thirsty for more adventure, longing for the chaos of the unexplored and the unknown. When we finally found a ride, standing there for an hour or more, we were so stoked. We threw our stuff in the back of the truck and hopped in.
A farm hand in a big ass pick up truck glances Me & Tony up and down; finally nods his approval. We hop in smiling, expecting an awkward few hours in semi-silence—but he ends up talking the whole ride. He's a tobacco chewing hillbilly from the Ozarks who spends his summers in Ohio working on his father's farm. He asks us ''WHAT Y'ALL KIDS DOING SO FAR AWAY FROM HOME, Y'ALL!'' We told him we hopped a freight and it stopped in a train yard short of Toledo. He's going to Rockwood to get a bunch of pigs to take back to the farm, but out of the blue, he utters that-- ''he'll take us safely home, first.'' We graciously say THANK YOU!... you can drop us off at the quarry, on Fort st. in Riverview. I'm glad he didn't stop first to get the pigs. He circled back to get the swines. On the way, he bought us a bottle of soda pop, and wished us fair well. Told us, if we are ever up his way to stop by and he'll put us to work. YAH SURE!... WE WAVED BYE!--BYE!!
While walking on the side road of the quarry, we started throwing rocks into the deep pit and kicking dirt down the sides of the embankments. I see all kinds of heavy earth moving equipment down there. Tony wants to go down there. I SAID, NO WAY! So we started strutting along taking our time when we came upon this wino laying on the grass under a tree drinking an unidentifiable drink (it needn't be wine, could it be spirits, special brew, buckfast or lighter fluid) out of a paper bag whilst swearing incoherently and dribbling.''HEY KID!''... he yells. ''YAH! --WHADDYA WANT?''...I go up to him laying on the grass near a fire hydrant. He says: ''Go into that store across the way and get me some 'Sneaky Pete.' Grab a buck outta' my pocket, and keep the change.'' I obliged. I ran across the street to the pantry store, Tony stayed with him. I get into the store and asked the old lady store owner for some 'sneaky pete.' She starts laughing and says, Tell Ignatz across the street to ''take it easy, it's early afternoon.'' That'll be 40 cents! Did you know, ''he used to be a big shot politician in town at one time. Don't know what the hell happen to him.'' WOW! I said.
While crossing the street a hot rodder nearly runs me over. I look over, Tony and the drunk are whooping it up. Tony is swigging from the paper bag. I get there and give him his newly purchased bottle of 'sneaky pete.' He opens it up, and says, here kid-- ''chug a gulp.'' I take it and engage in a large and hurried slug; "I finished it in a single swill, smacked my lips, slumped back, and ingurgitated for air. PHEWWW!! In a matter of moments, my head starts spinning. I fall on my ass and stare at the sky. Tony crawls up to me and says, here Danny take another slug. I grab the bottle from his hands and 'chugalug' a couple more big swallows. I'M NOW THINKING, are we ever gonna make it home.
We're sloshed out of our minds. I get up on my feet, and say ''Tony let's go!''... he gets up, and we scamper away holding onto each other. While staggering down the street, about a mile away from home, we see a cop car in the distance. I say, slurring-- ''man we gotta hide'' --so we dash into a field near the railroad tracks.
Strolling amongst the weeds, we stumble upon two hobos that are hitting each other with sticks. Tony looks over to me with his dazed eyes and mumbles, ''hey danny, look over there, two weirdos sword fighting. I am shaking my head and trying to get my brain stem that governs my eye movements to what I am actually seeing. The drinks earlier with Ignatz were closing in on me. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins and everything seemed to slow down and the world seemed to be closing in around me. I've never been drunk before, my eyes are blurry. I'm seeing double? Tony trying to guide us along a safe passage among the dirt and slimy weeds. I"m feeling giddy. Tony's talking and I start to lose the thread of what he is saying. We're holding on to each other and becoming very unsteady on our feet. Stumbling all over the damn scrub and undergrowth. We just crash, laying there on the ground, not knowing what the hell is going on. My eyes are closed, I feel like everything around my inner circle is moving at a dizzying speed. Opening my eyes barely only verifies this sensation, even though I haven't moved an inch. At this point, I see a trash can next to me and I think it has become the receptacle for my stomach's holdings. It seemed like a hour or so later, I wake up with bugs and horse-flies all over me. Tony is lying a few feet away completely zonked out. I get up, kicking him in the ass. Let's go, if we can get to Sheeny's junk-yard, we can sleep in that old junk Buick in the corner of the lot, if it's still there. I feel better, not dizzy and disorientated-- like, before fainting.
As of right now... my head feels like it's leaning forward, back of neck muscles/back of head feels really weak. It's causing me to feel foggy headed...and just thinking about it makes me anxious. What can I do!? I'm already extremely mentally depressed, now this? We are nudging, elbowing, digging, jabbing, pushing and poking our way forward through heavy bush, trying to avoid the roadway. Onward ahead to Sheeny Rosy's junk yard. Hey, at least we made it back home.
We thought things over, then decided we would just jump the fence. We managed to climb up on a truck parked next to the fence and jump into the yard . It didn't take long to locate that old Buick with the big seats. (But) before we could get into the damn junk car we heard a rousing and rumbling from the other end of the yard as three insane neo-Nazi Dobermans came thundering our way. We ran frantically toward the fence. Then Tony, slammed shoulder-first into a seam he spotted. The fence parted enough for us to get through, which is why I am able to tell this story, then we pushed the metal back in place to prevent those evil brindle hell-dogs from tearing us to pieces. That was my last foray into a salvage yard unannounced. The stakes had become too high to continue such skullduggery. Tony suggests that we go to the creek and sack out there. He and some friends, last year, built a small sized hut into the side of the ground.
As we are walking on the side of the tracks still kind of light-headed, we noticed the hut, it was burnt, and it looked like there was something in it. We threw some rocks at it and a pile of rats ran out. I said, ''were not going in there.'' Tony suggests we go to the water tower and sack out on the grass underneath. Nobody goes there and we can rest. So after a few hours of getting our heads cleared, we headed home. As I'm bidding my friend a farewell, he spouts out: "THAT WAS COOL!... LET'S DO IT AGAIN!"...I say ''SURE.''
Walking through the alley, I noticed my mom in the yard, shooting my cap gun, ''Bang, Bang, Bang'' -- scaring the birds out of the trees. --''Bird Control By Mom.''--
Being a city boy, rats were my prey. A rat crapped on me in third grade and I have been getting even ever since. While I'm not as successful as others, I have at least 3 dozen to my credit using a BB gun and sling shot.
MOM YELLS OUT! --''COME AND EAT.'' We had chicken and dumplings. Afterwards, I went to bed! AFTER A LONG, EXCITING DAY... I DECIDED TO REST MY SOUL!!
Source : articlesbase.com
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