Road Danger and a New Ride 

     So equipped and provisioned, I headed south to what had been Interstate 94.  I spent the night just short of the Interstate by a bluff where some tall pines had survived the fires and a small stream ran through.  I cast a line in the stream and was surprised to catch a trout.  I made a fine meal of fresh brook that evening in this setting that reminded me of camping in my younger days.  I was comfortable in my solitude under a mantle of stars. Still wondering where everyone was… Any survivors?

       Except for the burned-out wrecks and obvious gunfights from the bullet hole riddled cars and buildings along the way, Interstate 94 was relatively easy to travel.  I would, occasionally, have to leave the highway and look for a farm with either a fuel tank of gasoline or vehicles with gasoline I could siphon. It slowed my progress, but I wasn't going anywhere fast.

       I was surprised to find that country gardens were growing many volunteer plants from seeds that had survived three long winters. There was quite a bit of evidence of animals raiding, but I was able to harvest onions, lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, beans and even sweetcorn to my delight. The fenced gardens were the best. I saved the seeds from what I ate. It was the first time I'd eaten fresh vegetables in three years.

       Midday, my truck wasn't running well. Perhaps because I'd heard that the additives in gasoline made it deteriorate and unusable. Soon, I was able to determine the quality and type of fuel by smell and color in the sunlight as well as by lighting it. Couldn't afford to stall or ruin my engine. Still, the truck ran badly and I had to change the fuel filter, substituting whatever I could find to replace it, twice, that first day.

       So, I looked for farms that had older gasoline tanks. Fortunately, most were marked #2 diesel, leaded or unleaded. I knew that I may eventually have to find and use older vehicles that used leaded gasoline just to be able to maintain them--no computers. I had always maintained my own cars since my first used one at 16. I was also very careful to check to see if there was water in the gasoline, rust, dirt, or any other contaminant. I filtered the fuel by pouring it through a cloth to be sure.  Along the way, I picked up four 10-gallon gas cans, so that I eventually had about a 900-mile range by the time I completely filled up.  I figured that I would always use the last 100 miles to search for more gasoline, water and food. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

        It was only my second day on the road and I camped off I 94 at the Wisconsin River near sundown. From my campsite high above the river, it looked very inviting. The water far below looked pure and the forest that flanked it was rapidly regrowing--very green.

       My pickup was quite crowded by now, but also quite capable of carrying all the things that I needed and still having room for my bedroll. Mosquitoes didn't bother me on what had become very hot July nights.  I slept well with one hand on a pistol trigger with the safety on so that I wouldn't shoot myself in my sleep.

       After a hearty meal of fresh vegetables and jerky, I crawled into my bedroll for the night. It wasn't long before I heard them howling. Wolves. And, it wasn't long after that when I heard them approaching… sniffing, growling low. My skin started to crawl and I had to think fast before they jumped up onto the bed and attacked me. I released the safety on the 357 Magnum but wasn't sure that I could shoot straight in the dark.

       There were flares to my left and I reached out for one and was glad to feel one in my hand. I dropped the gun and, with my right hand, twisted the top off and quickly sat up in my sleeping bag to strike it. The flare took hold and almost blinded me with its brightness. But, I didn't look straight into it and saw that I was surrounded by a dozen wolves. Wolves who became as frightened of the bright flare as I was of them. They scattered. Vanished into the darkness beyond the reach of the flare's light.

       I peered into the darkness for some time, holding the flare high with my left hand and with the Magnum in my right, watching to see if they would come back. Finally, just as the flare was reaching the point where I would have to throw it on the ground to keep from burning my hand, I saw two wolves coming from different directions, sneaking in low on their bellies. I carefully leveled my aim on the one coming directly at me and fired.

       That wolf rolled over where he crawled. I then swung the Magnum to the right and let go a shot at the second wolf. I must've winged him because he let out a loud yelp, followed by many more as he limped away into the darkness. I got another flare ready. Reloaded the two missing rounds and tried to go to sleep. I didn't.

       At first light, I found the wolf I killed. It was a large male--maybe the alpha male--so I had sent a strong message. At the spot where I shot the other one, I found blood. And then, I found a trail of blood that I followed for about 200 yards when it disappeared. If that wolf lived, it would communicate to the pack that humans were dangerous. But, I doubted that I would ever encounter that pack again. I would have to teach every new pack I encountered to fear me. I would need more ammunition and flares. Certainly would have more sleepless nights.

       I skinned the dead wolf. Thought I might need the warm pelt. I wasn't sure it would survive the heat of summer, but I stretched it out across the open bed of the pickup to cure in the sun.

       After a breakfast of oatmeal with raisins, but no milk, and some braised flank of wolf, I was on the road about 20 miles when I saw the weathered sign up ahead on the left… Peterbilt. I pulled off the freeway to investigate.

       Although showing signs of exposure, stripping and vandalism, there were three new full cab semi tractors parked out front--red, white and blue. Through the dust obscured showroom window was another with a sleeper still looking brand-new. That one quickly became my obsession. Safety from wolves was the first thing that came to mind. Among other things. Power. Range. Comfort.

       The front doors to the place were locked, but I walked around back and found a rear door open to the repair shop area with more trucks. I made my way to the showroom and found no salesman to greet me. Only silence and an electric blue truck of considerable prominence.

       I wasted no time and climbed into the cab. I could smell the newness of the long trapped interior air in the heat. Very luxurious. It looked like I could drive it easily with its automatic transmission. Then, I checked out the sleeper and found it to be the most luxurious thing I'd seen since the lodge. I couldn't believe my luck!

       In an office behind the showroom, I found a board with keys on it and located one marked, blue 537, with a fob for door opening, engine starting… etc. I gave it a try and heard nothing--dead batteries. Back in the cab, I tried to start the engine, but only got a "click" indicating that there was power in the battery but too low to start the engine. I found a manual on the 537 and started reading from cover to cover. I had to know everything there was to know about this truck if I was going to use it.

       Before I knew it, sitting at the desk sweating without air conditioning in the showroom, my reading light was fading and so was the day. I pulled the trusty pickup around back and into the truck repair area and made myself something to eat. Inside was safe for the night and I was glad for it. I tried out the sleeper bed and slept like a baby in my new smelling surroundings.

       The next morning, I opened the hood on the truck and pulled out the battery. I carried it back to the pickup and with cables I found, connected it to the battery in the pickup. Started up the pickup, and with a piece of wood against the accelerator pedal, got a consistent sputtering 1500 rpm. I let it run for about a half hour to make sure that the truck battery was recharged. I had a late breakfast while it was charging.

       I checked out the fuel situation. The tanks had a bit of diesel in them, probably a gallon or two… Just enough to move the tractor into the showroom. I found a stick that was long enough and stuck it into the fuel, finding that it had turned partially to shellac. Going back in the garage, I found a can of alcohol, poured that into the tanks and then, stirred it with a stick, trying to avoid the alcohol fumes mixed with diesel exiting the tanks in my face.

       Back in the shop, I found a hose and empty can and siphoned off all the bad fuel and alcohol that I could. I began to worry that the fuel system, itself, might be gummed up. I checked the fuel filter and decided that the way it was constructed I wouldn't be able to see the elements. But there were new fuel filters in the shop if it wouldn't start. The same with the injectors.       About that time, I wasn't paying attention, when a front came through with a strong thunderstorm. I heard the thunder first, saw bright flashes through the windows and heard heavy rain hitting the roof. I grabbed up some large plastic bottles and ran to the downspouts. Soon I had several gallons of fresh rainwater.

       Back in the shop again, I found cans of diesel fuel. I consulted some bottles of biocides and fuel stabilizers that I found on the shelves. By reading the instructions, I determined how much and what kind of additive I would need to make the fuel in those cans safe to use. Knowing that any water would settle to the bottom, I carefully poured fuel from one can to another, empty one until it was nearly empty or I detected water in the fuel. I could've poked a hole in the bottom and drained off the water, but I didn't want to damage the cans I had. With the water removed, I added both biocide and stabilizer.

        By using coffee filters I found in the office, and pouring fuel from one can to another to get any water or debris left in the fuel, I began to get reasonably confident that I might have a fuel good enough for the truck to run on.

       The oil in the crankcase seemed to be okay and was so clear that it was obvious the engine had not been run at all like the odometer registered. So, I poured the first 10 gallons of fuel I had treated in the tanks and was ready to test out the engine.

       The manual told me how to navigate the security system so that I could start the truck. Once the battery was back in, I gave it a try. There was some hesitation because there was no fuel in the line and the oil had all drained from the engine, but soon it began to turn over… and began to sputter, followed by belching smoke onto the ceiling of the showroom, until settling down to the mechanical sound of a diesel idling. I was happy beyond belief. Opening the rear doors to the shop, I hopped in, put it in gear and drove out into the shop. I even felt safe turning it off.

       I spent the rest of the day scrounging fuel, treating and filtering it, and measuring additives until they ran out. I found the main underground tank and got a pump running with battery power to get enough fuel to finish. Ended up with the tanks nearly full with about 260 gallons. Figuring about 10 miles to the gallon, I already had a 2600 mile range or more. If the fuel was any good, that is.

       I stayed another night in the shop, trying to think what I should take. I wanted to pull the pickup behind, but couldn't find an adequate way to tie it on safely. Ended up taking all the essentials I had from the pickup and putting them in the ample storage bin of the sleeper. I even put the remaining wolf meat in the refrigerator where it was nice and cool. I drained the tank on the pickup, raised it off the tires on jacks, and disconnected the battery cables from the battery. Making sure that if I was back this way anytime soon that truck would be waiting for me.

       I thanked that old pickup for its service, and drove off into the midmorning sunshine, still headed south.