Chapter 11

When you consider that three weeks had passed and we were just in New Mexico, it seemed like a very slow trip. Then of course when we hit the foothills it got even slower. We went from an average of 20MPH on a good day to an average of 10MPH. Even worse, Marty had suddenly taken an interest in everything around us.

"Look at that view," he said. Marty had stopped his bike on a small rise in the road. From it, I could see the vista he spoke of. It was indeed a beautiful sight.

"If's lovely, Marty, so were the other two just like it."

"I know, I just can't get enough of that view."

"We need to get a move on or we will be out here admiring it in the dark."

"Take it easy, Max, it's just a ten minute ride to the next town."

"I didn't mean we needed to stop this early. I just meant we needed to keep moving."

"Come on, Max, let's stop and smell the roses now and then."

"Marty, are you trying to drag this trip out?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Oh, let's see, this is the adventure you have been planning for what, two years?"

"More like three," he answered,

"Could it be you don't want it to end?"

"Of course, I don't want it to end. I don't want to go back to the world where everything is the same everyday. Can you image a life where golf at the club is the big event of the week?"

"Sure, I just can't imagine you being satisfied with that kind of life. If you don't like your real life, change it. God knows you have enough money."

"Max, you live in a cabin in the woods, when we get back, come and live with me?"

"How the hell did you know where I live? That is a big ass secret."

"Like you said, Max, I have more money than God. Truth is, all the money in the world probably couldn't have bought that information. My son also happens to be a nice guy and he wanted to know I wasn't going cross country with an ax murderess."

"Sure, little 125 lb me chopping off your head in Tucson," I suggested, with a laugh.

"Max, I love you dearly, but you could do just that if you wanted to. Ted just didn't ask the right questions. As it turned out, you are the perfect companion, but he wouldn't have thought so. I'm sure he wanted me to make this trip with a clone of his mother."

"From what I hear, you would have enjoyed that."

"I would give my own life, if it was possible, but it wouldn't have been the same trip. It would have been a great one, but not the same one."

"Marty, it's time we decided to stop wandering in the wilderness and get to the Promised Land."

"Gee, Max, I'm no Moses," he said laughing.

"Good, I never saw myself as a slave; of course, there might be a few who would disagree." I laughed as well. Part of the laughter was at the bewildered look on Marty's face. "So from now on, we ride all day?" I asked.

"Well, most of it," he replied. "Come on, Max, I'm not as young as you."

"Marty, Love, you set the pace. I haven't complained until now." I looked at him before I delivered the death blow. "Marty, you have to know the trip is getting to be less exciting as we wander around out here in the desert."

"Alright, Max, I get it. Time to move this wagon train west," he said.

"Exactly, but at a steady pace. We aren't out to set any records here," I agreed.

"Good, get back on the bike and let's move out," he demanded.

We still only made 10 MPH, but we did ride eight to ten hours a day. We had dropped down to five or six hours on the road before our little talk. It was still Marty's trip; I just tried to keep him on target. Since I was just an employee, I probably shouldn't even have done that much. Still the trip had begun to drag. I suppose it was bound to at some point. Most things in life get old after a while, no matter how much fun they start out.

Marty tried to resist it, but he and I were both bone tired. We were either going to have to push through it, or stop and take a long rest. I didn't mean take the weekend off; I meant a week off or just bite the bullet and push on to California. To make matters even worse, nothing was happening to take our mind off those minor pains that come with age and repetitive movements.

I hated that I did, but I was praying for something evil to come along. As my mentor in Afghanistan had said during my first tour, "You can kick me, you can cut me, hell, you can even kill me, just don't bore me to death." I was on the verge of going into one of those cowboy bars and calling somebody a faggot." You know, just to see what would really happen on Brokeback Mountain.

A Deputy Sheriff from some county in New Mexico saved me from myself. He pulled around me before I even saw him. He must have spotted Marty up ahead, because he waited until he was close to Marty before he put the light and noisemaker on. Unlike Marty, my only thought was the .38 snub nose concealed hammer pistol in the clip-on holster at the small of my back. It was under my work shirt, so it was pretty well concealed and most likely very illegal.

Like a good soldier, I pulled over and stopped the bike behind the deputy's car. While he walked to Marty, I slipped the clip on holster and pistol from my belt and then into the trailer's bed. I didn't figure there would be a problem with it being concealed in the trailer, even if the deputy found a reason to search it.