A Quiet Place to Read a Book

#113 - Twenty minutes later he had his pizza, managed to pass on an absolutely delicious looking apple fritter, paid his bill, and was on his way.

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A Quiet Place to Read a Book

Three days a week he worked for Overlander Courier. Overlander had him driving all over the place, with no fixed hours but that he would be home at night. It paid well.

On his off days, he was driving for himself. He had customers in medical delivery and in environmental testing services.

It is long hours and a lot of gas but worth it.

It was hard to grow as a business. There would be a stretch of busy days then nothing for a few days running. Often, he was called to do a job when he was on another and had to turn it down. That wasn’t good.

He wasn’t making enough to take on another driver. A partner might work.

His wife wants to help but he isn’t wanting her out on the road. Maybe run the office when time comes. She works from home telecummuting.

They have a little girl, almost four. They want to homeschool her.

This weekend, the girls were staying in the city with friends and would be going to the ballet. They have season tickets. Their little tutued ballerina was excited.

The timing was good, he had the weekend free and wanted an early start in the morning.

He wanted to know that his just purchased used pickup, with shell, was good on the highway. It was perfect for his job, hauling goods and small freight.

He hadn’t had time to give it a good test run.

Get up early, make a thermos of coffee, grab a few slices of his wife’s sourdough bread and peanut butter and knife, get on the freeway, and drive. Get gas and come home.

Oh, yeah, he remembered - the dog, and dog food.

His little girl’s pup toy poodle would be with him for the weekend.

The connector highway over to I-80 was still closed. The sign said for another hour as construction crews finished up their overnight task of stringing a power line over the lanes.

So instead of getting on I-80 and going to Reno, he took connectors around the North Bay over to 101.

Maybe go north to Leggett and Hwy 1 and back along the coast. He hadn’t been that way in a while. He had the time.

That would be a good day trip and road test for the pickup, especially for the hills and curves along the coast.

He was in Laytonville by 9 am at a gas-deli-market. This would be a likely turn around point. He could be home by 2-3 o’clock.

He and the dog took a walk around the lot and up a side street and then he filled the tank, wrote the numbers in his book, and went inside to fill his thermos.

The smell of pizza was strong. He thought - pineapple and ham! He walked over to the deli counter.

“Y’all are at it early,” he said to the pretty girl at the counter and the young guy at the oven.

“Yes, we have a large order for pickup.”

“Can you make me a pizza?”

“Yes, what do you want on it,” said the guy at the oven?

“Can you do a pineapple and ham?”

“Yes. It’ll be fifteen to twenty minutes,” said the pretty girl.

“Great. I’ll be back then. Thank you.”

Twenty minutes later he had his pizza, managed to pass on the opportunity to grab an absolutely delicious looking apple fritter, paid his bill, and was on his way.

He had decided to make the return along the coast. It was only a few more miles to Leggett and Hwy 1.

The 2-laned Hwy 1 winds through a few miles of a narrow forested valley thick with the morning’s fog. Nearing the coast, the fog breaks up, the hills a mix of forest and open land. Rounding a tight curve the ocean is spread before you.

But don’t look too long just yet, pay attention. You’ll miss a curve and most likely to go over the side and it’s a long way down. Stop at one of the pullouts to check out the views.

The next hundred miles are a much slower drive. But beautiful.

Needing a break, he stopped at pullout south of Ft. Bragg.

After feeding the pup they walked a ways down a trail leading to the beach.

Down below, a couple of surfers enjoyed a decent surf formed among huge rock outcrops jutting up from the ocean floor and the glassy swell of the ocean reached for the blue horizon. Two container ships made their way in the distance, one coming, one going. A sailboat, and a trawler. Maybe he’d see a whale.

Back in the truck, after sitting there staring out on the expanse, he closed his eyes, and silence settled in, the occasional car passing by and the waves down below a low whisper as they met the shore.

He tried to adjust his seat and lower the back, but it wouldn’t slide. It was struck.

He got out, folded the seat forward and ran his hand under it to see what gives.

It was a book, a paperback. A corner of it was wedged in the slide track.

He tossed it to the passenger side floorboard atop the pizza, got back in the truck, adjusted the seat to his liking, and closed his eyes.

The pup quickly settled into nap mode on his lap.

It felt good to stop and not have the next item on the list to tend to. The smell of the sea was intoxicating.

A low growl woke him.

Another car had pulled in, a lensed camera steadied on a few shots, then pulled out again.

They had slept forty minutes. He felt refreshed. And hungry. There was pizza.

The urge came to get moving again, but he caught himself. Why go? He didn’t have to be anywhere. Just stay put, he said. Relax.

Eating his second slice, he reached over for the book.

It was a collection of short stories.

How long since he had had the time to read a book, he thought to himself?

Thumbing through it, he landed on a story and began reading. Then another.

A timeless afternoon passed by. Then the day moved toward sunset, the sun setting in the fog bank that was moving in.

At twilight, the wind increased, the fog scaled the cliffs, crossed the road, and blew up the hillside in a gale.

Walking the dog along the cliff in the now dark swirling gray cold, his flashlight threw a beam hardly ten feet before whiting out. You could get lost but for the roadbed.

Driving wouldn’t be safe if he wanted to move on now.

Back in the truck and out of the wind with another slice of pizza, he sat there with a smile on his face. We must do this more often, he thought.

He pulled a small gooseneck reading light from the glovebox and clipped it on the visor and read. One story after another.

It was midnight, and another walk, but no wind, and quiet now, the dense fog felt on his face.

In the truck again, he read, then his eyes closed, and he slipped asleep to the faint sound of a distant foghorn.

Another low growl, then a “tap tap” at his window. Waking with a start and the dog now barking crazy and jumping around, a flashlight beamed through the side window, strafed the interior, then shined on the badge on an officer’s chest.

Quieting the pup, and his own senses, he lowered the window, and said, “Hello??”

The officer said, “Just checking, son. You being so still, and your light on. You haven’t been drinking, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You know it’s illegal to stay here overnight. I saw you parked here earlier on my patrol north.”

“I didn’t plan on it, Officer,” he replied. “Time just passed. And the fog set in.”

“It’s still thick and the road is wet, you might wait till light to move on.”

“I think I’ll do that. Thanks.”

“Is that a good book?” he asked, looking down at the book still on his lap.

“Well, I keep turning the pages.”

“I’ve heard of the author. I'll check him out.”

Turning to go he said, “Nice dog. Drive careful.”

“I will. Thanks for checking on me.”

The cruiser disappeared in the fog. Nice guy, he thought, and how cool to have no beer cans on the floor, or be smelling of weed.

3:30 am. Fully awake after his wake-up call from the trooper, the urge to get going was strong.

A truck passed by going so slow, engulfed in the fog. Visibility was too little for his driving comfort. Best just to wait it out.

It would be light in a few hours. He could be home early afternoon.

Silence again. He reached for the last slice of pizza, gave a bite to the pup, and settled back in the seat.

It was a quiet place to read a book.

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