Nothing . . . to be afraid of

Sometimes what is not there is scarier than what is. Sort of the devil you know from the other perspective. 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 and around the lake is Florida's cattle country. Cows and Steers with Cattle Egrets on their backs lolly-gagged in verdant paddocks sweating and switching flies with their tails. From Arcadia to US27, there was very little evidence of human occupation - few houses, the occasional farm truck or tractor. One of the few places to find a Cadillac with bullhorns on the hood outside of Texas or Oklahoma.

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. One or two bounced off my car. The wings must have been plain. I noticed no sauce after the bones, with sinew and bits of skin hanging on each end, arced from his truck and bounced off the windshield in front of my face.

On another trip, I drove past the Clock Restaurant on the east side of town, there was "Try Are Pies" on their sign. Down the block, a garage sale sign advertised a "Hudge Sale." I'm surprised they're having the sale while Mom's at work.

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, the road and a ditch on each side with barbed wire undulating on the outer banks. I had to pee.

A smile turned up into my cheek. I hadn't seen another car for a long time. The four way flashers popped on and I stopped; just stopped in the middle of my lane. 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.

There was 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. There is something about stone silence; something unnerving. There was the moon, the barbed wire, a Live Oak across the pasture but not a sound. In any scary B-movie, this same silence precedes something really bad happening. I think, however, it is hard wired into our fight or flight instincts; obviously the flight side. 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'm outta here!!

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 here; especially in summer. I was driving through an early winter storm - fog and torrential rain but a few miles before Port Clinton the rain 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 passed me on the right. Just past 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 the kind of crowds that live 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 brake sighs, I climb down from the cab and scan 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 glance back down the road past the ANG base. Nothing. A car goes by on the highway. I watch it roll by like a long pan in a Hitchcock movie.

Coming out of the Mens John, the Rest Stop Lobby is all glass. Lit from the inside, as the Governor and his Lieutenant smile down from the bulletin board, I can't see outside at all. Stupid, but there's that icy finger on my spine again.

I push the door open and look around; motel one way, air base the other. Nothing. Not a sound either, like the storm drug the sound away with it. I walk toward my truck with forced nonchalance. Herky Jerky as one leg wants to lift too high too fast; left brain wants to run, right brain is faking cool. I look left and right as I cross the curb from the Car Lot to the Truck Lot. The wind comes back but I feel it more than I hear it. The icy finger tickles my ear.

The spooked left brain reminds us that there could be someone hiding on the other side of the truck. I peak under the trailer as I walk toward it. Rounding the truck, I casually get my keys out and unlock the door. SLAM! I'm up and in the driver's seat, locking the door. I can't even remember climbing the steps. My heart is 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 start the truck and check my mirrors. There's still no one around. I pull out and start heading east again; chuckling at my self.