During those opening moments we discovered R-r-r-r-Robert was quite the talented prestidigitator because - from the thinnest of air - he produced a most spectacular pair of front row seats for his captive audience.

It's funny how extreme one's experience can differ if you're a part of such an audience. Why, there's amusement, suspense, intrigue, drama to name but a few. Our time with the B-b-b-Burkes teetered precariously over that thin gray line between amusement and sheer terror.

"S-s-s-s-so," Robert said the second I hung up the phone, "Y-y-y-you reckon he'll be a-callin' back?"

"I can only pray, Robert," I said before realizing what I'd blurted out.

"Y'all hungry? Maw'll fix you up a plate if'n you're hungry. Where y'all heading to in that bus of yourn? H-h-hey, y'all sayd it runs off protane, dint ya? I ain't never heerd of anything running off protane before. Where y'all gets protane when ya needs it ennyways?"

It was right about here when I figured their mailman delivers the mail during the wee hours of the morning.

R-r-r-Robert stopped, took a breath then opened his mouth once again for what I expected to be another round of incoming. I had to do something.

"Ugghhhh, say Mr. Burke, do y'all m'member how long it's been since you heerd," I pointed as emphasis, "That phone rang?"

He blinked twice and for a long second he stood stock-still but his furrowed brow indicated he was in deep thought. Then, quick as a flash he turned on his heels and disappeared into the hallway once again to parlay with Maw.

I turned to look at Brad and was not a little surprised to see him standing in what I thought was a rather awkward position. He was bent in a backward arc as if each of Robert's questions had hit with enough momentum to cause him to rear back another notch.

"Brad," I said, grinning, "You'd better straighten up or you're gonna fall into Maw's lime salad."

He turned to look at me, shaking his head, "Did you catch any of that?"

"Some of it. Listen, we're going to have to start asking our own questions, otherwise we'll be here 'til Spring - when he comes back you keep him busy with questions about the farm, what kind of tractor he has, when he buries the bodies and how long they've owned their brand new dust pan. While you're doing that I'm going to get a bunch of phone numbers from the Yellow Pages."

"Ok," He gulped, "Don't leave me."

The way he said it seemed to express that my deepest desire was to explore the rest of the house. True, the probability of finding a possum hanging from the rafters or, perhaps opening a squeaking door to find their oldest daughter, Gretta, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor sticking sewing needles through her eyelids could be intriguing. Instead, I walked over to the chair and reached for the outdated phone book.

Suddenly, it rang!  And, flashing my fangs like a cornered wildcat, I snatched it up, "Hello?"

"This is Brian. I'm trying to reach Joe."

Thank the merciful heavens. "Yeah, I'm Joe," I said, going on to explain our situation, "I need a tow truck...biggest you got."

A few moments later I hung up the phone feeling like I'd been violated after spilling my guts to a tow truck driver once again...

I, ah...ummm, I'm using a school bus as a moving van and, ummm...

 

What kind of a school bus? A long one or a short one?

 

Although he couldn't see it, I turned my head sideways and closed one eye.

Never mind, Joe, just sit tight - I can't wait to see this.

 

You know, I ponder on a lot of weird things - have you ever wondered if any tow truck drivers go to Heaven when they die? During the final semester of tow truck driving school, does the instructor stand in front of the class playing tapes of maniacal laughter? Hey…now there's something I just thought about…where does a budding tow truck driver go to get their first tow truck? Tow truck drivers must be a highly secretive society - much like the Masons. Have you ever seen a lot selling new tow trucks? Come to think on it, I've never seen a lot selling used ones and I've driven back and forth between Virginia and Montana eighteen times and used all the possible routes!

Tow truck driving must be a lonely business.

If I ever have any kids I hope they don't aspire to be tow truck drivers.

"Yeah, Gretta and I like to think we've made all the right choices, ya know?"

 

Suddenly, a child bursts into the room chasing the family cat with a pitch fork.

"Why, this little guy here is Rufus. Roofie, say hey to Mr. Whiffles. He's my best friend. A long time ago we went to college together. Now, he's a lowly carpenter."

 

"Hey, Mr. Whifflesnout."

 

"Well...ummm,Roofie...ugghhh...Hey! Aren't you a cute little tike! Say, what're you gonna be when you grow up?"

 

Roofie huffs up and blurts...

With a tear in his eye the best friend turns to look at his college buddy...

After thanking our hosts for their hospitality, Brad and I walked back to the bus. We had at least a half hour to kill before Brian could get there and the best way to spend doing that was to sit on the side of the road and study the road atlas.

Drinking beer helped.

Presently we heard the all too familiar throaty rattle of a diesel engine and looked up to see a truck that would put Mumbo's to shame. When the air brakes were applied on the enormous vehicle I watched as Brian parachuted from the cab to land deftly on the ground. He instantly crawled underneath the bus to disconnect the drive shaft. Then he was inside to lock the steering wheel in place. Before we knew it we were over the mountain on the way down into Front Royal. Winchester was still another 25 miles in front of us so I took the opportunity to grill Brian for information on Interstate 68, which from our side-of-the-road drinking session, seemed to be a better alternative route from the six-hundred and seventy-six miles of toll ways between Breezewood, Pennsylvania and Rockford, Illinois.

"Ummmm, Brian, you ever been on the I-68 over the Cumberland Gap? What're the mountains like? I see…that bad huh? What about a Flying J Travel Plaza…any of them around? Ahh, there's one at the I-81 and I-68 intersection, huh? Say, by any chance you know of a guy named Mumbo in Boardman? Iszatso…heh, heh…imagine that, what're the chances of ole Mumbo being in your graduating tow truck class?"

Brian pulled into the service lot and backed the bus into one of the bays. By the time we landed on the ground and gathered up our chutes Wilson and his boys were storming the bus. Wilson barked out some orders then turned to raid the parts room. A few seconds later he reappeared with two boxes; one was brake shoes and the other was a new caliper. While he was gone the other two had lifted the bus into the air, took off the tires and disconnected the brake thingies. Two hours later the bus was repaired and we were on our way.

Man! I was impressed! In fact, I was left feeling so impressed that if I ever grow up I wanna be a school bus mechanic. In the mean time, I guess I'll keep being a lowly carpenter.

Thirty-five miles outside of Winchester I turned into the Flying J to top off the tank and, while Brad went inside to fetch the attendant, I positioned the bus by the propane station. It wasn't but a few seconds later when he came back outside shaking his head and climbed aboard.

"We can't get any propane…" He said, sitting down with a plop, "...because the gizmo that screws onto the filler valve is broke."

"What?" I screamed, "Broke? How broke?"

"I dunno, but it's broke."

I looked at the gage - the tank was half full - and the question came back to haunt me, "Where y'all gets protane when ya needs it ennyways?"

"I dunno, Robert," I sighed under my breath, "But…" I looked at the gage again, "We've got about 125 miles to find out."

There was nothing we could do. So, throwing all caution to the wind, I merged onto the westbound lanes of I-68. By now darkness was almost upon us, which was going to make spotting any likely sources difficult and by the time we got to Cumberland, Maryland, it was pitch black. The dismal level of the tank was even blacker.

Presently, we approached a BP station and even though there wasn't anything to suggest they had propane, I took the exit and the chance. I don't know what Brad felt, but I know my heart sank as I looked around when the bus came to a halt in the middle of the lot. We were already there so instead of driving off it seemed like a good idea to go inside to see who else may have propane.

"Evening, Son," He said, smiling at me, "What can I do for you?"

"Evening, Sir, do you know where we can get propane for our bus?"

"Yes, I do, you can get it right here."

I couldn't believe it! And here all along Nay Sayers claim there's no such thing as miracles.

It truly was a miracle for way out behind the store, sitting in the middle of a 40-acre field, nestled in a grove of trees, huddled in a ravine and under a canopy of various machinery, was their propane tank.

I got off the bus and looked around.

From where they had it positioned I wouldn't have been able to spot it in broad daylight if I was hovering directly over it in a helicopter. From the way it was hidden you'd have thought it was moonshine, but we got filled up and we were on our way - skirting despair and disaster once again.

Forty-four miles later we crossed over the Ohio line. The next FJTP was an easy hop to Zanesville. After that it was Spiceland, Indiana and, after that, there was nothing.

The closer we approached Le Roy, Illinois, the more it appeared we were in the middle of a whole lot of nothing.

Continue to CHAPTER THIRTEEN