Chapter 8

The Homecoming ... Meeting Eddie

I don't remember now the year I met Eddie Mullen. I remember it was winter and I remember that it was cold. What I do remember I won't ever forget. It has that quality like a good solid brand or freeze marking that forever remains sketched upon the trails of your memory.

That day started like most others. The day before we had started loading a load of apples in Wenatchee, Washington bound for Phoenix. Our last pick up was in Nampa, Idaho and we had spent the night idling in a Texaco truckstop waiting for the apple shed to open up.

I recall Dallas sliding quietly beneath the sleeper curtain which separated the cab from the sleeper. I wasn't ready to face the day and more importantly the cold outside. Sliding deep under the comforter I hoped he would think I was still asleep and finish loading the load.

"Tim, are you awake? Tim? Hey...there's this cowboy I just talked to. He's a really nice kid-just quit his job running cows and he wants a ride to Vegas. I told him we couldn't take him but what do you think? He seems legit and offered to help drive..." His voice trailed off.

I just lay there and tried to get fully awake since sleeping would now be impossible. Running team we certainly didn't need another driver. I had no idea what "cowboy" meant this time. I was the one known for bad judgment and I didn't want to get blamed for this one if it went South on us but the idea of someone new to talk to was intriguing. Especially through the 400 miles of nothingness we'd be driving through in Nevada. No radio stations. No traffic. Nothin' to break the monotony but the girls in Wells at Donna's Ranch and the Hacienda Sugar Shack advertising over the CB radio to all the truckers. "Free Hot showers, conversation without obligation. 4 1/2 acres of truck parking and a fully stocked bar. The coffees on plus we'll come out to the truck and give ya a free wake up call."

"Do you think we should give him a ride?" Dallas asked again. I mumbled that is was up to him and rolled over pulling the pillow up over my head. I heard him slip out of the truck and as he shut the door the reefer unit on the other side of the sleeper wall kicked on drowning out all other noise. I managed to fall asleep and was dimly aware that the truck was rolling again. I could hear the quiet murmur of conversation on the other side of the sleeper curtain and then I faded back into sleep.

A couple hours later Dallas woke me up and introduced me to our temporary companion, Eddie. He was handsome and had this youthful innocence framed by strawberry blonde Hair and light freckles that seemed to make him look carefree and younger than he actually was. Wearing an old beat up cowboy hat and skin tight wranglers he shook my hand with an easy goin' smile. Around his neck there was an old school silk handkerchief/bandana like my grandfather once wore and his hands were rough and callused. He had a good cold workin and he sniffled as he talked. He'd turned in his bullwagon the day before and had spent the majority of the night standin outside the truckstop trying to hitch a ride. The weather had done a trick on him and now he was just this side of shiverrin' with a deep chill.

Dallas gave me the details on our load and told me we were "legal" as far as the weight was concerned. We did our logs books and stretched the truth as far as the eye could see as usual. The load was now runnin late and Dallas and I switched seats. There was no time for breakfast; we had to make up the lost time. As Dallas climbed back into the sleeper's lower bunk to get some sleep he threw us each a granola bar and looked at me and smiled. "You be good.", he warned.

Easing the truck out on to southbound I-84 I could feel Eddie's eyes on me as he sat on the shotgun side. He was quiet and as we approached Boise I became focused on the traffic. I'd almost forgot he was there until he said, "You sure use the clutch alot." I missed the next six shifts. I've never been one to float gears or at least do it well. I'll drop the gears in like clockwork then all of the sudden my coordination gets sideways and that gear drops into the black hole and spits it back out again taking my arm off with it.

Considering that I don't function well with an audience, I had no intention of embarrassing myself in front of Eddy. When I grabbed the next gear as we climbed the hill on the other side of Boise, I made a great show of using the clutch as I looked over at Eddy and gave him my best aw shucks smile. He chuckled and I muttered, "Just so you know.... Dallas is old school. He drives his way and I drive mine."

"Not a problem" he responded.

Cowhaulers are a different breed. Everything they do is smooth. With a trailer full of animals on two decks, every movement must be gentle. There is no lurching or mashin on the corners. Coming to a stop is a long involved process where the animals glide to a halt. The same can be said for putting it in the wind. For many of these drivers the clutch is only used to stop and start and from there its all timing and floating each gear into its proper hole. If an animal goes down in the trailer, you buy it. Whether they got piled up on one another or got sick, once its in your trailer its your baby.

There has been more than once where Dallas and I have come upon a bunch of Bullracks parked along side the highway and we've stopped to help move a dead or down cow. Fighting the manure slop piled up on the bottom of the trailer and negotiating around the other cows and cowboys as we try to drag the heavy animal up to the holding pen is definitely a cowboy up moment. Its dirty, smelly, disgusting work. Among truck drivers most of these hands are a unique breed. Their log books are always hot and its not uncommon for them to run team miles as a solo driver. Getting to some of the ranches that they load at makes the Oregon Trail look like a super highway and once the animals are in the truck they roll hard to the feedlot stopping only to check up on their cargo, making sure everyone is still up.

Eddie didn't say much all the way down to Twin Falls. I did manage to get him to tell me that he was hoping to meet up with his mother in Las Vegas and patch up some sort of falling out that they had had years previously. Other than that he seemed to be content to sit there watching the scenery float by and occasionally smile at me mischievously whenever I did something he considered to be 'not old school'. Eventually Eddie drifted off to sleep and I tapped him pointing back at the sleeper suggesting that he join Dallas and grab some Z's. He groggily made his way back to the sleeper and the next two hours were mine.

I turned the radio on and watched the sun start to set to the southwest turning the snow covered sage a salmon pink. After listening for sometime to a gospel radio program (the only thing I could get) I finally found another station catching the Lake Wobegon segment of the Prairie Home Companion. Garrison Keiller was doing some outrageous monologue about 'Cowpatties' when Eddie came charging out of the sleeper after his short nap. "Cowpatties?", he asked. "What the hell are you listening to?"

I motioned for him to sit down and listen and as we drove between Jackpot and Wells, Nevada Eddy got his first taste of the nutty residents of Lake Wobegon. Between silent chuckles and out and out laughter he was an instant fan. After the show was over he looked over at me and for the first time since he'd been on the truck in the last 5 hours he actually started talking. "You ever ride?" He asked.

I shook my head no and explained that I was not a bullrider like Dallas but that I'd broken several horses from the ground up and that I'd spent my fair share of time eatin' arena dirt. He was silent for another minute taking that in.

"What kinda horses did you break?"

I told him that they'd all been Arabians and he burst into laughter. "You're shittin' me right? Arabians? Those aren't horses. At least not 'real' horses."

Well, having been down this road before growing up in quarter horse country, I knew that this was not going to go anywhere but downhill unless I did some quick talkin so I explained to him that my first horse was a Thoroughbred and that my second had been a Quarter Horse. I explained that unfortunately they weren't enough of a challenge for me so I got an Arab.

This truly troubled him and he quickly changed the subject. "See this buckle?" He pointed to a tarnished belt buckle framing his crotch that looked like the result of some small town rodeo. The buckle was of a bullrider. "I won this. I always wanted to be a cowboy. Don't know why...but I always wanted to. I'm the only one that did. Everyone in my family thought I was crazy but I told them that someday I'd be good at it and go to the Nationals. I 've had some good wrecks riding bulls but I don't ride them now. I like ridin' bareback.

"When you're on a horse its different. Ridin a bull is like whiplash but on a horse its like perpetual motion. Its graceful and you have style. On a bull it just trying to stay on and make 8 seconds. Ridin' horses is harder and you can still get stomped and crash and get busted up just as bad. They don't have horns but, God, sometimes you get on a wild one and you'd swear they did.. Probably just can't see 'um."

He looked over at me to see if I was listening and of course I was. He continued. "See this handkerchief? Its real silk...just like they used to wear out here. Its great for cutting down the dust or keeping your face warmin the wind. You know when you're out for fall gathering or during calfin'. I always wear one now. Guess I must like workin' cows. His voice trailed off. As if the thoughts that came now were too troubling to voice out loud.

"Do you like these mountains?", he asked. We were now on the Great Basin Highway between Ely, Nevada and Wells. On both sides of us huge mountains rose straight up off the desert floor. Although the bottomlands were arid, up on top you could barely make out trees in the fading light and huge snow fields abruptly broken by jagged rock outcroppings and mountain peaks.

"I'd like to ride up there someday", he said almost to himself. "You know these mountains are impressive but I think that those mountains on the other side of Wells are just as pretty. But in a different way. They are barren and it seems like nothing could live back there but just because there's no trees don't mean its ugly. Its beautiful but in its own way. If all the mountains looked the same it would be pretty boring. What do you think?"

I just nodded and he then asked, "You got a girlfriend?"

I said no and then he asked if Dallas did. I said no again. The truck was now just as dark as it was outside but I felt my face starting to burn and getting red. I wondered if he could see it in the soft reflection cast from the lights of the Peterbilt's dash. He was quiet and then he asked how long Dallas and I had been running team.

I listened to my voice as I answered, "Oh off and on for the last five years. We met when I was hauling produce and I broke down one night. He stayed with me and my truck and helped me limp into Bakersfield. We've been hanging out together ever since." My voice seemed steady. I didn't sound nervous. After all it was our truck. He was the rider.

The next question came sure as a rifle shot heading towards a five point buck on opening day. "You guys aren't gay......are you?"

I nodded.

"No way. Dallas rides Bulls. You both drive truck..." He was astonished into silence and I was wondering how I was going to explain the last two hours to Dallas when he woke up.

We came to a junction where we had to come to a complete stop. The sudden silence was deafening. I made a hard right and as we started to pickup speed I perfectly floated my way though each gear grateful for whatever noise the truck was making to ease the roaring nothingness.

We rode in silence on into Ely and as we approached the old mining town he asked if we could stop and get some chew. I pulled into a convenience store as two young girls pulled in and Eddie muttered under his breathe "Damn"..as he checked them out. Before I got into the store to join him, he was already workin those same two into some sort of charmed spell. It reminded me of Brad Pitt working over Geena Davis in Thelma and Louise. He was a natural at it and in less than ten minutes he had both their phone numbers, an invitation to party and probably a place to sleep. I was convinced our companion was about to postpone his visit to his mother in Vegas when the door to the truck opened and he climbed back inside.

"Did you see them? Now them was fine women. I bet I coulda' had 'em both." He tapped his Copenhagen can several times as he packed his dip and then waved at the still stunned girls as we pulled out.

As we climbed highway 6 over the hill between Ely and Lund, Eddie seemed to focus on everything but our earlier conversation. We joked about city people and whether cows had thoughts. We decided that there had to be a God and that the Moon probably was not once part of the earth. We talked about his mother and the fact that she had abandoned him and that he hoped that there would be room in her life for him now. We talked about hopes and dreams and disappointment. We decided women were impossible to figure out. He shared his dreams of the ideal girl that he would someday like to marry. We determined that it was better to wreck in mud over roses and that if you were going to crash and get bucked off then it was best to not have any witnesses.

We never spoke of Dallas and I again. It was as if it was never mentioned in the first place. But every once in a while I would catch him studying me with the quietest wonder and a curious expression. In Lund, Nevada., Dallas and I changed seats and I immediately went back to the sleeper exhausted and desperate for sleep. I forgot to warn Dallas about Eddie's and my earlier discussion.

Soon after I was fast asleep he began to ask a very surprised Dallas questions. How. When. Why. He and Dallas talked for almost 150 miles about "it". Eddie had never met anyone that he knew of who was and it was the first time that he'd ever thought about it to any degree. He would consider each answer given to him carefully and Dallas later told me there was never a moment where he was anything other than sincere and full of respect.

After a couple of hours Eddie joined me in the sleeper ending the muted voices of earnest conversation drifting back into the sleeper accompanying my restless dreams. I could hear his sniffles and the occasional cough as he struggled to get some rest before we dropped him off to an uncertain welcome in Las Vegas. The warmth from his body and the rhythms of his breathing and the occasional stirring of his body was the last thing I remember until the truck stopped its hypnotic movement once Dallas eased us into Vegas.

Eddie woke up instantly and climbed forward into the cab. Reclaiming the rest of the covers I silently wished him well. I was surprised when several minutes later he returned to the sleeper.

"Hey Tim, you awake?" He gently touched my shoulder and held his hand there until I rolled over to face him in the darkness. "Hey, I just wanted to say goodbye. I'm glad we met. You and Dallas take care of each other, ok? Thanks for the ride."

I mumbled good luck to him and to keep in touch. He gave my shoulder a final squeeze and then he slipped out of the truck with his ideas of mountains, the moon and perpetual motion forever implanted in my mind as he was swallowed up into the cold desert night and the bright lights of Las Vegas.