I took an all-night Greyhound from Bean Town to the Big Apple with the eventual destination being Harrisburg, PA. . Our bus driver's greeting was short on the scratchy intercom, "They'll be no smokin' of ta-bak-y, and no drinkin' of al-chy-hol."
With the interior of ScenicCruiser plunged to near Antarctic temperatures, I struggled
against the urge to fall asleep lest I succumb to the air-conditioner and never wake. I put
on all my shirts, and my jacket, but still I felt like a side of beef in a storage locker. New York looked scary
through the frosty windows as the big bus diesled by graffitied buildings. Dark eyes peered from behind grated
doors backlit with bare light bulbs and green incandescent tubes.
The driver in his crisp white uniform was purposely avoiding main thoroughfares in favor of the "scenic route,"
figuring that after all, we were in a ScenicCruiser. We arrived at the bus station about midnight. All the types
that you expect in a New York bus station after the bewitching
hour were there. Those carrying on conversations with invisible interlocutors--possibly miles away, non-fashion
grunge types, single mothers with crying infants, single fathers with crying infants, druggies, bedraggled
salesmen, sailors, and silent types furtively glancing around with
their luggage kept close. After a normal bus delay, we boarded another ScenicCruiser to Harrisburg,
Pennsylvania.I can't sleep on planes, and I can't sleep on buses. It's a bane. I stayed up watching small towns blur by in the varying light cast by street lamps and finally, the purpling dawn. The lush rolling hills of Central Pennsylvania, under other circumstances, would have been charming, but in my state of sleep deprivation, appeared as drug induced visions. I arrived at the same Harrisburg bus/train station Kerouac had written about. He referred to Harrisburg as a "cursed town." It certainly felt that way at 6:00 AM. Too early for Mike Mack's Cobra shop to be open, I decided to eat at the local cafe. I indulged in a greasy breakfast and marveled at the non-Hawaiian price. In sheer terms of the weight of food/price ratio, I was doing pretty good. As luck would have it, the Amtrak to Brownstown left shortly, and I purchased the five dollar ticket.
One of Mike's secretaries eventually showed up at the Brownstown train station to bring me to the shop. When we arrived, I saw a Cobra in the parking lot. I couldn't believe the moment was here.
Mike, a friendly, stout man,
showed me the car. It was beautiful. It was much better looking than I had anticipated. The workers were
buffing out the paint. I waited around the shop most of the day as they made
final adjustments to the car.
Mike's wife drove me to a nice little motel near the shop. I would have to stay one day more so that I could get the car registered. I was pumped. I tried to get some sleep, but it was difficult in anticipation of the next day's events. The hotel was owned by a nice Korean couple who were quietly pursuing the American dream in the heart of Amish country. On my way to the store across the street to replace a lost and much needed toothbrush, I saw a shy Amish man in his black boxy carriage stealing away from a house. The Amish are strange, but no one would ever say, "there goes the neighborhood, the Amish just moved in next door." Hard working, honest, intense, sold out on their beliefs.
I started out early the next day after another hearty artery clogging breakfast at the local dinner. Returning to the motel to check out, I stared at my new car. I couldn't believe how absolutely beautiful it was: classic lines and color. As I headed out of the parking lot, a surprisingly speedy and stealthy Amish horse and buggy carrying an Amish mother, daughter and son cut me off. I was afraid the sound of my car would frighten the horse. It didn't, and the Amish family smiled broadly and waved. Even they were impressed by this technology. I've often wondered why the Amish settled on the technology of 150 years ago. Why not choose the technology of five hundred years ago or a thousand years ago? Why not pick a chariot instead of a carriage? And if the choice time was arbitrary, why not 1967? Then they could be tooling around in Cobras--which this particular family obviously admired. The elders probably drew the line at one horsepower for transportation.
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