You don't drive a ten year old Cadillac through the desert in the middle of August while the sun is out. You wait until nightfall, and drive when the both the sun and temperature dip down enough to make the journey bearable.
What could have, and what should have been, an eight hour drive straight through stretched out over two nights.
Elwood found a few empty air conditioned corners in Tucson to spend some time away from the brutal August sun. He huddled up in an empty corner of a big hotel lobby, acting as if he was waiting for a friend to come down from their room for a drink at the bar. He made a few unofficial purchases The Broadway in Park Place Mall, and found a few empty mattresses in houseware shops that needed testing out. Somehow he'd manage to get enough sleep to keep him driving through the midnight hours.
And then there was the free parking at the newly opened Pima Air and Space Museum.
Elwood jumped at the chance. He loved learning about and experiencing examples of American technology and ingenuity. He toured the museum, soaking in the details of the airplanes and rockets and space aged technology brought to life at the museum for an easy admission price of $2.
The tour guide then asked him if he'd like to continue the tour and see the "Boneyard." For an additional $2, he could tour by bus a wide array of American Air Force planes and equipment as they were maintained, repaired, and housed when not in use. He nodded that he would, but realizing it was part of the nearby Air Force Base, he decided against it, in case they required a background check or asked for identification upon entry.
It made him a little sad, but he tried not to dwell on it. Thinking of all the opportunities he'd missed because of his criminal record wouldn't turn back the clock now, would it?
It also made him sad thinking it was the second interesting bus ride he would have to pass up over the past twenty four hours.
As the museum closed for the evening, he got back in the Bluesmobile. It would soon be dark, and much cooler. Just right for travelling.
Once again, it was time to move on.
.
He remembered the time, fifteen years earlier, when the boys at St. Helen's were brought to the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry. He stood in awe of the nuclear missile, and marvelling the technology involved in constructing a silo.
"Jake, someday, I want to make one of those," Elwood pointed, and whispered to his brother as the boys were escorted around the facilities.
"Come on, Elwood. Where you going to make one? In the bathtub?"
Elwood gave Jake a disapproving look that made his ten year old face look far older than it was.
"Why're you always so negative, Jake? Don't you wanna do anything?"
"Yeah. Come on." Jake immediately pulled Elwood away with him, into the next wing, where they spray painted choice words of team spirit for the Chicago Cubs on the U-505. Although they were never caught, the Penguin made a point to chastise the entire orphanage in the next school publication.
Elwood never lost the bug for all things mechanical. He excelled at working with his hands, making gadgets go, and fiddling with science and technology. It was the only thing at school that ever kept his attention, or kept him focused. Even the assorted factory jobs he'd take (but never kept) tied back to some form of technical details that, at least for a few weeks, kept his mind and fingers occupied. But ultimately, he'd always channel that fascination for mechanical engineering through the greatest tribute to American technology the world had ever seen: The Automobile.
For some reason, he thought about his old jobs back in Chicago. Maybe he could get a job at the Taser factory, again. Or maybe he could find another stint at a local repair shop.
The fact that he was thinking ahead like this made him smile a little. It meant he was really on his way home from this road trip.
It was close to midnight. Despite the many naps he had stolen throughout the day, he was getting tired. He flipped over to AM radio, perhaps to catch some news.
He let out a skeptical "Hmph!" at the first news story. The House approved a deadline extension for the Equal Rights Amendment.
"Equal rights?" Elwood shook his head.
A new study linked caffeine use to birth defects. a new court ruling for proposed busing for Columbus, Ohio school district. Tom Brokaw reviewed the House Assassinations Committee investigation of the Reverend King's murder, with testimonies by confessed killer James Earl Ray. A new public works strike in Memphis, and what it's effect would be on tourists coming to city for commemoration of Elvis' death.
Elwood let out another "Hmpf" as he listened to the filler pieces about a new "Elvis Economy" in Memphis, and the excited babble of a woman who confessed that she would buy anything about Elvis that she could possibly get her hands on.
He imagined the woman, all of five foot tall and two hundred pounds, standing in front of one of the souvenir shops set up across from mansion. She must be wearing bermuda shorts and an ugly shirt. He imagined her chubby fingers snatching up postcards, key chains, and a wind up snow globe with Elvis gyrating in the bubble to the tinny sound of Blue Christmas.
And in International News, after almost five weeks of protests and rioting, peace has once again been restored to the African Republic of Mmbito, when Parliament agreed to veto the purchase of ten thousand acres of National Forest by multinational giant Mardesco. The weeks of protests and civil disobedience have cause over $8 million dollars in damages, and left 82 people dead. The nation will appeal to the World Bank for...
Elwood switched off the radio. He had heard enough.
.
He wasn't sure how, but San Diego was hotter than El Paso or Tucson. Still, he didn't mind standing in the heat in front of the souvenir shop, looking for the perfect post card. Eyeing the big blonde in a tiny red bikini on the beach, he smiled and happily paid the quarter.
Jake would love it.
.
August 16, 1978
Dear Jake,
How are you doing? I'm real tired lately. It's been a crazy few weeks, on the road, then here in San Diego. It's been so busy, I hardly had a chance to think.
The gig was great. Lots of blondes, Jake. That's the one thing California's good for. Lots of them. All tits and ass, too. Three gigs a week, and all the drinks and tits you could handle.
But the band decided to bail out early. Too many assholes in bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirts trying to run the show. So the band's heading back home.
Don't worry. They promised they'd get together again. Can't live without the music.
I got into a barfight, and knocked some guy out. It surprised everyone, especially Willie. He didn't think I had it in me. Neither did I. He bought me drinks for about a week.
I'll probably be back in Chicago by the time you get this letter.
Your brother,
Elwood
.
Instead of slipping it into the mail slot, he went up to the counter and handed it to the postal worker.
"Could you make sure the post mark is clear on that?" The postal worker was a little suspicious, but she complied.
"Thank you, M'am," Elwood said, politely, as he touched the brim of his hat and turned to go.