The Road to Nowhere by Tris Dixon

Author:Tris Dixon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pitch Publishing
Published: 2014-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

THERE was no breeze and there were no clouds. Vegas was its sweltering self. What looked more fatigued, the Greyhound bus or me, I don’t know. I should have felt revitalised after two nights in a hotel but I was exhausted.

As the first on board, even climbing the steps was a chore.

It started filling up and I’m sure it buckled under the weight of an enormous woman as she hauled herself on deck. She was so big it did not matter that she turned sideways to fit down the aisle, she still hit the seats on both sides on her way down, plonking herself next to me. Her behind was so big part of it was on my lap. The sweaty flaps of skin behind her arms drooped casually over my shoulder.

I was pinned by the window and there was not much space for the passengers on the other side of the aisle either. Certainly no one would be coming past.

Everything was squished. There was not space to read a book or even to have an itch.

As we slowly left Vegas, and I say slowly because I think the freight was particularly heavy, I was optimistic.

I was able to loosely arrange two interviews on my way back to New York. A friend in Minnesota, Jim Carlin, was big pals with Ernie Terrell and said the former heavyweight champion would be available if I could get to Chicago.

One year at the Hall of Fame I had met Frankie Pryor, wife of the legendary light-welterweight champion Aaron. She’d insisted if I was ever passing through Cincinnati they would welcome a visit, although one wondered whether she actually believed I would show up outside their apartment with all of my worldly possessions in a single bag.

A couple of uncomfortable hours into the journey I began to get cramps in my legs. I could not move properly and was fed up with being flattened while the women drifted in and out of sleep, leaning over and on me as the bus ploughed around winding corners to the left.

Greyhound’s finest was getting just as weary as I was and as we made our way up a steep hill in the middle of nowhere, with only dusty mountains and pale brown desert in sight, the engine toiled and finally cut out.

The driver made reassurances but it was not long before he told us the air-conditioning was not working either.

He could not let anyone out due to the dangerous bend we had broken down on. To compound our misery he announced the sunroofs would not be opened as it would make it even hotter inside to allow the overpowering sunlight into the vehicle.

Meanwhile, the woman next to me slept, snoring like a warthog with a sinus problem. And she was getting hot. The sweat from under her arms dripped on me but still I dared not move in case I woke her.

The one-hour mark came and went and the restless passengers were told another coach was coming from Sin City to fetch us and take us on our way.

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