You Can't Go Back

I found this deserted building along Interstate 40 in Texas today.

Actually, I was looking for it.

It was very satisfying to find it in this disgusting, deteriorating condition. You may be wondering how I could find inner pleasure in this deserted landmark.

More than 25 years ago, I was travelling the American Southwest on my motorcycle. Late one afternoon, about 60 miles west of Amarillo I blew out my rear tire. I was able to steer to the shoulder. Turning off the engine and getting off the bike, I surveyed the damage. It dawned on me what had most likely happened. My rear tire had been replaced earlier that day back in Amarillo with a new one. This blowout was probably the result of the tube being pinched when they mounted the new tire. So, kind of like a time bomb, it would be able to run fine for a while, but eventually a hole would rub in the tube and it would blow. Anyway, I look back to the East from where I had come; then I look forward to the setting sun and as far as my eye can see in either direction there are no signs of life. I see no houses, no stores, no buildings at all. This is one very desolate stretch of highway.

I start walking west; gambling on the hope of the unknown rather than the certainty of the known. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before I saw an exit. Not just an exit, but an exit with a gas station. To be precise, not just a gas station but a service station. In the days before gas stations were grocery stores and fast food franchises, they were service stations. A service station would have a couple of bays to pull a vehicle in and a mechanic on duty to repair or service your vehicle should you have a problem while on the road. What a great concept.

As I approach this service station, I can see a couple of guys that run the place just sitting there talking and laughing. I walk up to them, but they don’t really acknowledge me. During a break in their conversation, I ask them if I could get them to help me out with a flat tire back on the Interstate. Without really answering me, they mumble something about waiting till some other guy gets back, and then they just walk away to a back room and shut the door. An air conditioner is whirring mounted in the wall of the back room. I wait outside in the non-air conditioned space. Eventually, another guy does come, walks right to the back room and shuts the door (so as not to let any of that cool air escape).

After waiting about an hour, I figured I had made them suffer in air conditioned comfort long enough. I walked back to my motorcycle, took out my tool kit and proceeded to remove the rear tire.

Obviously, there’s more to this story. But it was strangely gratifying today to see what had become of that station. Today, as I stood there I thought, “Well, I survived and I’m still here… what about you guys?”