I’ve always had this sort of…”gift of attraction”. It’s never really materialized as a gift of picking up the hot blonde at the bar, having a movie producer pick me out of the vegetable section at Publix to be a supporting actor, or really anything constructive whatsoever. It’s just sort of a “thing”.
What it usually means is that random (medicated) people always seem to gravitate towards me to tell me their story; complain about the Electoral College; or just basically pollute my personal space with cigarette-breathed, nonsensical "con-slur-sations".
I had a feeling that my time on the road was going to lead to many of these stories, good or bad.
The story of Lewis will be the first, but surely not the last.
IMPORTANT: This is a story written in real time….although, “real” seems a bit of a stretch, as most of my random interactions tend to be. When you see the numbers in brackets, please look down to the bottom of this story for the corresponding number to see what is actually happening while typing this story. [1]
Let’s rewind about 24 hours…
It is Monday. I’ve discovered this incredible campsite in the Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina. I’ve parked the van directly on the site. I’ve got my own campfire ring, [2] and a little pathway that leads directly to the flowing river. I’m not going to lie; it’s incredibly peaceful and conducive to reading, writing, and peaceful introspection.
Onyx and I spent the day hiking, then writing a bit, before retiring to Vandalf [3] to watch a few episodes of Narcos I downloaded earlier when I was in town. It was really an amazing day. I fell asleep with a peace that I had yet to discover on my journey. That sleep came with a 3:07am wake up call. [4]
I woke up to the sounds of a revving engine. 4 cylinders, it sounds like. Groggily, I look out the window to see bright white lights pointed at the tops of the trees, red lights glowing in the center. Aliens? In a Honda spaceship? I dunno. Maybe.
This continues for twenty minutes. WAAAAAWAAAAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAA
GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA!!!
I force myself to stay inside, because who knows what kind of hillbilly mountain trap this could be. My sister had just made me watch “Deliverance” a few weeks prior, and I’m not looking to “squeal like a pig”. [5]
The next morning, Onyx and I would discover a 4 door Honda Civic (CALLED IT!!) in the middle of the ditch about 50 feet from us, facing the completely wrong direction. The windows are down and the front bumper lay 5 feet away. On the hood are three items:
a red hat with the letters I and A separated by what appears to be an Indian arrow
a sack of what looks to be urine
a bottle of Dawn dishsoap.
CSI: North Carolina has begun….
After a short 30 minute hike up the gravel road, we didn’t see any humans (as things are supposed to be here!), so I just assumed he/she/alien had walked the 5 miles back to the main road.
I was wrong…
I walked back to camp, made a pb&j, and set up my laptop to do some writing. That’s when the mystery walked into camp.
He’s wearing a blue jacket with faded “dad jeans”. The IA hat shades a thick moustache. If I had to really describe him, just picture ANY white MLB pitcher from 1983. He is all of them.
Onyx barks. He doesn’t say “hello”…..just “can you put my car in 1st gear while I push it? It’s a Honda. It has 5 gears because it’s a Honda”.
I grin. Three things cross my mind:
This is going to be a story
Good. I’m glad he’s not an alien, and I’m glad I’m here to help
WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE DOING WITH THE DAWN DISHSOAP??!?
I walk with [6] the stranger and really check out the circumstances. The front wheels have dug into the mud about 4 inches; the driver wheel is facing straight, while the passenger wheel is facing wayyyy to the right, doing its best Forrest Whitaker impression. That’s problem #2 (#1 is that he’s stuck in a friggin ditch….duh).
I bring this to his attention, and I then realize he’s shitfaced. I now am wondering what’s really in that dishsoap dispenser.
He tells me he’s trying to get away from some “trouble” in Winston Salem, and that’s why he’s camping. I wonder where he’s been for the past 6 hours….
We have a short conversation, and I make him crack his mustachioed smile. He tells me he went to community college near Asheville. I respond that I never asked him that. He tells me I remind him of his brother “Crackerpot”. I respond that I get that all the time. He smiles and nods in acceptance of my answer. He smells like pestilence. I asked him how his car landed in the ditch, and he responds “Well….Whiskey, Wine and Women”. I’m jealous, knowing I’ll never be able to write a sentence where 4/5ths of the words begin with the letter “W”.
He asks me if I want some wine. It’s only 9:37am, but I consider it. He offers me the bladder to what once was a “box of wine”. Mystery #2 solved (now, about that Dawn…).
I learn his name is Lewis. He learns mine is Johnny. Lewis gives me the keys to his car, and I fire it up while he gets set in place in the rear of the Civic. I press in the clutch and IMMEDIATELY feel zero resistance. That doesn’t feel right. I (un)Civically give his car some gas, and slowly depress the clutch. Nothing is happening. Nothing. No wheelspin, no stalling, no nothing. Just the sound of 4 cylinders of fury. Clearly, all that revving the night prior has destroyed his clutch.
I try to explain this to my new friend, but he just reminds again how I talk just like “Crackerpot”. “That’s a good thing, Johnny…Crackerpot is stand-up feller”.
I offer to take him into town, as I was going to the Ingles grocery store anyway, which is like 45 minutes away, and he tells me no. He’s staying at campsite #5 (mine is #7), and he’d rather walk. He lights a hand-rolled cigarette as he walks away, and calls me the “goddamn angel of the mountains” and tries to hand me $20. I refuse and offer multiple times to drive him to his campsite (which is a pretty treacherous mile and a half away), but he says he prefers to walk. We depart in both opposite directions and means of transportation.
After buying supplies at Ingles (supplies = firewood, sausages, asparagus and wine), I returned back the campsite around 1. Ingles is only like 11 miles away, but takes about an hour to get there….because mountains.
I decide to do some reading. I’m currently reading “All that Remains” by The Minimalists. Excellent read. Even better while reading in a hammock suspended over a flowing brook. (Click below to pick up your own copy. It may just change your life!)
A couple hours go by, and I grab something out of Vandalf, when I hear “Johhhhnnnnaaayyyy!!!!”
Seriously….what…the…fuck……
I walk over to Lewis’ (what I thought was) abandoned car, to find him lying on the freaking detached front bumper. Yes, he had created his own plastic hammock and had been lying on it, drinking that hospital-urine-bag wine this whole time.
I ask repeatedly to let me take him up to his campsite, to which he responds, “no I’ve got some n***ers on the way”. (side-bar: I’m in the mountains of North Carolina. Is it racist to doubt his answer??) I decide to go back to my camp and start to write this story.
Let’s pick things up after “[6]” happens:
Thankfully, the dude in the F150 was super-cool. Lewis spews out some mumbled word-vomit, and I decide I’ve had enough writing little numbers in brackets here in this story. It was fun, but I’ve got to get this guy somewhere…anywhere.
Lewis agrees to accept the ride, and takes about 14 minutes to pack up his stuff. He has a briefcase full of harmonicas. I asked him if he sold them, because that’s an odd singular content for a briefcase. He responds no, with no alternate reason. He puts a very old picture of his grandfather on my center console. It appears as if his grandfather wasn’t bound by traditional rules of gravity (see photo below). Lewis assures me that he indeed was.
Lewis agreed for the rest of our time together to be filmed. Also, Onyx really bonded with Lewis, which was weird. Well, I hope you got as much value out of meeting Lewis as I did! I have this weird feeling that this won’t be the end.
Warning: the video below has much, much profanity.
[1] 4:12pm. His harmonica is playing in the background as I type this story
[2] 4:20pm. The car stereo blasts something about hillbillies, and “the only thing that keeps me hangin’ on”
[3] 4:24pm. The song ends followed by roughly 13 seconds of silence. Then a cleared throat and the sounds of “When the Saints Come Marching In” via his harmonica begin. He’s actually pretty damn good.
[4] 4:31pm. The radio returns. “Ohhhhhhh…..You are everything…and everything is you….WOMAN YOU!!!”
[5] Lewis is now talking to himself. “I got cash. 2 clean twenty dolla bills, ya’ll.” I’m not sure if he’s on his phone, or just needed a monetary self-affirmation of his current net worth while being stuck in a ditch.
[6] A white, early 90’s Ford F150 approaches and stops. The driver asks if he’s ok. I should approach.
****Story Update****
Thursday morning: Lewis stumbled his way back to Honda (aka my campsite). He's much soberererer now, and explains he's got a mechanic friend back in Asheville. Unfortunately, he's literally shit out of luck financially. I take him back to the Ingles, where there is phone service and call a tow truck for him.
Ultimately, the goal of my journeys is to help people, any people, however I can. And, the $120 tow truck (also, shout out to A&J Towing from Asheville who cut the rate in half after I told the story! I'd tag them, but they have no website) was all it took to keep Lewis from spiraling further down the drain. I want to thank John, Kari, Gummer, Collette and Shannon for supporting this mission financially through Patreon. Your patronage caused a grown man (Lewis) to cry, an excessive amount of super-smelly hugs, and a promise to look into addiction help.
If anyone else would like to join the mission, you can become a patron here:
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