The highway lay before them and stretched out as far as the eye could see. The road underneath was no longer finely detailed—it was a long blur that ended a hundred feet ahead. But that hundred feet was moving rapidly ahead. And now—with the increase in speed—the blur was one hundred twenty feet.
The vibration wasn't as noticeable as the noise, or rather, sound. The sound, the sound of the engine and of the tires, crowded out everything else. It was a hum, like an insect's.
The engine, that soundmaker king, worked furiously. It was hidden underneath a shiny hood, and it was as though the hood were the door of a steel cage, keeping an angry beast locked away. But that beast slammed and pushed against the cage, and it seemed that at any moment, the entire front end would rip apart.
In an effort to claw the road, the tires turned like rocks in an avalanche. And they were as unstopped as any avalanche. In fact, there was a very real danger that one of them might explode like a bomb.
There existed in the driver a strong sense of superiority. As the speed increased, so did the sense of superiority that was derived from being able to overtake others, the same sense of superiority that predators feel in relation to their prey. But there was more to this strong sense of superiority than just that.
There was also within him the kind of arrogance one gets when one can see another without being seen, for in his rear view mirror was the entire state of Oklahoma. He saw it getting smaller and smaller, and this place he was running from and his past, could not see him leaving, did not know he was getting away this time. He had the one up finally.
And on top of all of that was the sense of superiority derived from being overconfident. He simply didn't know as much as he thought he did. He did know the names of things. He knew the words for his engine and his carburetor and everything else in the cage and the numbers for his four fat round bald black rubber wheels. But as he knew nothing of the workings of these parts—the physics behind their motion, the details of the present and the devil to come—but thought he most certainly did, he fell prey to the trivia delusion—the belief that just because one knows the name of something, one knows everything there is to know about that something or at least knows enough to be considered an expert on that something. Contrary to his opinion, all was not right with his engine. If he would have ever checked his oil pan, he would have known this. And his tires' tread was worn thin. And so on.
To top it all off, his seat belt was not fastened, or at least that's what he thought. His seat belt was in fact on. He was just confusing his seat belt with the seat belts in the backseat. It was hard for him to concentrate on everything at once, you see. He was driving and he couldn't quite make out the radio and he was dealing with his own thoughts, which bounced from subject to subject. Right now he was thinking of his trunk because he knew his trunk would be the safest place in an accident. Then his eyes drooped and he relaxed enough to go onto the shoulder of the road and then he heard a voice, a female voice.
It was noon. He drove the car as she yawned. He turned his head and looked and saw her and then turned his head and watched the road.
"Pull over, honey," she said.
"Huuuhhhh?"
"We have to stop," she said. "Anywhere will do."
"We stopped, remember? Glenrio Visitors Center."
"I have to pee."
"You did."
"It's the beer, silly," she said.
"Beer and gas stations," he laughed.
"Let's stop. Anywhere."
"Tucumcari," he said as he read the sign. "Tucumcari Tonite."
"What's that?"
"Tucumcari," he answered.
"But what is it?"
He turned his head and said, "The afternoon, I figure. We'll hurry."
He exited the highway. The car slowed. They looked, and he sighed.
"This was a mistake," she said.
"I agree," he said. "Wait!"
"Eh," she said.
"It'll do."
"What?"
"I told you, Becky, the afternoon."
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
"Darling, we need a nap, a pool, and you know what."
"Not here," she pleaded.
"I promise that we won't stay the night."
The parking lot was where the car stopped, and they spotted the office. She told Mitch to hurry. He left, and she stayed and locked the doors. He walked, the sun shining, the sweat forming, the asphalt heating the air. He opened the door and saw the manager.
"Halo," the manager said.
"Hi. Do you have a pool?" Mitch said.
"Yes sir!"
"Great. I'll take a room."
"Checkin is 2."
