Sometimes what is not there is scarier than what is. The complete opposite of the devil you know. Long ago, I sold plastic parts in Florida. I was based in Tampa and went to the Southeast Coast about every three weeks.
It was faster, especially during the perennial road construction, to cut across the swamp. I would take FL70 through Arcadia. If I was headed to West Palm Beach, I would stay on 70 and go around the North Side of Lake Okeechobee. Heading to Miami or Fort Lauderdale, I would take US27 around to the south.
Out past Arcadia toward the lake is Florida’s cattle country. Cows and Steers, Cattle Egrets tall on their backs, lolly-gagged in verdant paddocks sweating and switching at flies. From Arcadia to US27, there was very little evidence of human occupation – few houses, the occasional farm truck or tractor. A place outside Texas or Oklahoma where you can find a Cadillac with bullhorns on the hood.
One trip through this part of Florida, I got behind a guy in a pickup truck eatin’ chicken wings. Every 90 seconds or so, he would fling a bare bone or two out his window. The wings must have been plain. After the bones, with bits of sinew and skin hanging on each end, arced from his truck and bounced off my windshield, there wasn’t a trace of sauce.
On another trip, I drove past the Clock Restaurant on the east side of Arcadia. “Try Are Pies” on their sign. Down the block, a garage sale sign advertised a “Hudge Sale.” I was surprised they’re having the sale while Mom was still working at The Clock.
Yet another trip, I was driving across in the dark. The moon was full. Shadowy visions of pastures and clumps of Live Oak trees ghosted along beside me. For miles, it was just me and the barbed wire undulating over the outer banks of the ditches. I had to pee.
A smile turned up into my cheek. I hadn’t seen another car for a long time. I popped the four way flashers on and stopped right there in the middle of the road. Its a guy thing, alright, a little boy thing, but there I stood in the middle of a state highway, peeing on the yellow center line and chuckling.
No wind – just the moon and a clear cloudless night. It would have been a pleasant Florida evening, but there was no wind. And no other sound. No buzz of an insect, no clunk of a cowbell, no steer grunting in disapproval, no rustling of the Spanish Moss. Just the pitter patter of me peeing in the road which suddenly stopped.
Had I known, I would have left the car running. Something about the stone silence was unnerving. The quiet moon, the barbed wire, a Live Oak across the pasture but not a sound. In any scary B-movie, silence always precedes something really bad happening. Nothing. Scary. Spooky. Chilly. Nothing.
Flip! Zip! Slam!!! I was back in the car – scared out of my wits . . . at nothing. I don’t know why. I’m a fairly rational guy but gooseflesh, hairs on end and fingers fumbling the ignition – I was outta there!!
This week it happened again. Somewhat more civilized as I’m driving familiar roads and know where the rest areas are.
Just west of the Portage River, west of Port Clinton on OH2, there is a little rest stop. One side serves both directions of highway. Just behind it and over a field or two is Lake Erie. I like the trip through there; especially in summer. I was driving through an early winter storm with fog and torrential rain but a few miles before Port Clinton the rain had stopped.
I approached the Rest Area in the slick metallic wetness of a recent rain at night, past the Air National Guard Base and a turn to the left. A lonely car went by me on the right. Just passed the Rest Area is a low slung “No Tell Motel.” It was probably quite a place in the days before the Interstates. Now it does weekly rentals. I’ve lived by the week. I know what kind of crowd lives there. Check out Dave Alvins’ “30 Dollar Room” if your not sure.
I’m not paranoid, but on this job it pays to be alert and aware. As the air brakes sigh, I climbed down from the cab and scanned the lot; especially in the directions of the motel. 15 or 20 rooms, 5 or 6 vehicles, no obvious activity. Walking around the front of my cab, I glanced back down the road past the ANG base. Nothing. A car went by on the highway and I watched it roll by like a long pan in a Hitchcock movie.
The Rest Stop Lobby is all glass. Lit from the inside, as the Governor and his Lieutenant smiled down from the bulletin board, I can’t see outside at all. Stupid, but that icy finger was on my spine again.
I pushed the door open and looked around; motel one way, air base the other. Nothing. Not a sound either, like the storm had drug the sound away with it. I walked toward my truck with forced nonchalance. Herky Jerky as one leg wanted to lift too high too fast; left brain wants to run, right brain was faking cool. I looked again, left and right, as I crossed the curb from the Car Lot to the Truck Lot. The wind came back, I felt it more than I heard it. The icy finger tickled at my ear.
The spooked left brain reminds us that there could be someone hiding on the other side of the truck. I peaked under the trailer as I walked toward it. Rounding the truck, I casually got my keys out. SLAM! I was up and in the driver’s seat, locking the door. I can’t even remember climbing the steps or unlocking the door. My heart was racing . . . and for what! Stupid Human Tricks, I guess. I think I would have been better off if the lot was full of bikers and gangbanger Cadillacs.
I started the truck and checked my mirrors. There’s still no one around. I pulled out on the highway, heading east again; chuckling at myself.
Creepy Tree image from Art Lewis