Monkey Business
Once again, I took a familiar road east through Little Rock and onward to Memphis. The landscape transformed from when I last saw it. Where once had been mostly farmland and small towns was now dense forest of increasing height with some trees already 20 feet tall, thick underbrush and evidence of both tropical plant encroachment and native hardwoods where cropland once ruled. Only the shells of burned-out barns and silos remained to show where farmers once lived.
On trips like this, I was beginning to talk to Charlie more and more. He was always attentive to my inquiries. I would say things to him like, "Charlie, what do you think?"
And Charlie would always respond with an appropriate empathetic face if he did not chitter or say something in capuchin language that I didn't understand, but understood. It helped me get over those doubts and fears that I wouldn't find anyone and would have to live my entire life alone. At least I had him. I was his protector and he was my protector. Now that the trees were taller, if he was faced with a ground enemy, he quickly scampered up a tree and told me where the danger was coming from. I got so that I could tell what was real danger from his little fears, too.
There was no need for me to travel south. Already I could sense massive hurricanes brewing in the Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico. My journey so far had included torrential tropical rains whipped by wind three times and it was yet only May. When I encountered a storm like that, I usually parked my rig on the highest hill and sat it out for a day or two because driving was not only difficult with high winds and blinding rain, there were tornadoes about and a flash flood or washout could suddenly appear in the road ahead that I might drive into. It was safer just to sit tight, play games in the sleeper and actually get in a little shuteye. Do a little hunting.
On my second day out, just beyond Little Rock, I encountered one of these storms. When it was over and the sun came out, all the streams up ahead along I-40 were all well out of their banks and filled with young trees ripped out of their tenuous hold on the earth between fires and flood.
The Interstates were the only safe place to be in those times and they were rapidly deteriorating with the encroaching forests marching down their embankments and creeping up the shoulders. Rainwater eroding away their shoulders and foundations. Only the main lanes with their heavy underpinnings of concrete and blacktop remained impervious to the lush growth, water, and winter ice. But vines managed to cut across even these barriers in some areas making it difficult to see the actual pavement. Making me have to rely on the growing trees on either side and the banks to identify the roadway ahead, still wide, at two lanes or more. Going was not as fast as it had been.
Frequent floods were beginning to take a toll on bridges weakened by weather and battered by debris. That's why travel on the US highways and state roads often required backtracking and detouring to get around these obstacles. Backing up on two lane roads and finding a suitable place to turn around was not something easy to do in an 18 wheeler pulling two other trailers. So, unless it was to take an excursion by the ATV that I pulled behind the trailer, I rarely left the Interstates any more except when out West. I knew that would change in time, when I would no longer have the use of the Peterbilt. Doctoring fuel was getting harder every year.
Like everywhere, where dense forest covered the land, unlike the prairie returning in the Midwest and desert returning to the West, animals took the path of least resistance for their game trails. The Interstate highways, with their broad paved roadways free of grass and trees for the most part, became the primary game trails wherever they passed through difficult country.
I had never seen, and I doubt if precolonial Native Americans had ever seen, such a variety and profusion of wildlife that occupied the Interstates now that there was no longer any vehicle traffic. Unlike further west, where the animals could be seen far off from the road in the tall grass and were quite common on the road itself, I found myself driving more carefully to avoid running into small groups of deer, flocks of turkeys, herds of wild pigs and even occasional groups of dairy or beef cows grazing along the grass still growing where the trees had not yet taken over.
But it was the bison and elk that were surprising and dangerous to hit with the truck. I found myself having to slow down countless times and having to stop driving altogether at dusk for fear of running into a large animal at speed when I didn't see it. Animals, having no memory of humans or vehicles in their short lifespans did not naturally flee the truck. My cow catcher plow front end saved me countless times from damage when it threw large animals out of the way rather than kill them. Still, there were enough kills from birds and small animals to keep me readily supplied with fresh meat without having to dry or smoke meat anymore except in the fall, expecting winter when I wouldn't be driving. Any animal caught in crevices on the truck or trailer had to be removed at night to avoid predators attracted by the scent.
The sleeper was a godsend because flies and mosquitoes came out at dusk. I usually only had an hour or so to allow the goats to graze while under my watchful eye for danger that was everywhere about. Charlie remained helpful in that regard warning me of anything from the ground or sky that he detected. In this new, world without humans, my animals, and even me, were part of the food chain.
Memphis had become more overgrown and less a city from when I had seen it before. But the Mississippi was still the grand old lady and was currently spilling over her banks and flooding parts of the lower city because of the recent hurricane that dumped flood level waters over the entire region. I headed north on US 51 out of town until I picked up the Kentucky Parkway and drove into more wilderness than I had seen before. Destroyed towns disappeared altogether with only the Parkway to let me know that civilization was ever there. The only difference was there was no overhanging canopy of ancient forest. What forest was there was new and recovering from the scars of the big burn. Still, it covered the rolling hills and valleys completely once again in primal green. Except for the battered highway signs and roadway, civilization had disappeared.
I camped on I-71 on the south side of the Ohio River overlooking Cincinnati. Riverfront Stadium was still there, but when I scoped it, I saw that the stadium had become a haven for eagles and osprey who made their nests in the high girders and lights. Overlooking the overgrown ballfield below on one side and the river on the other, they could raise their chicks in safety and hunt the river. The only sound that emanated from that stadium anymore were the calls of the young screeching for food. I could hear them all the way on the other side of the river. Not unlike the rabid fans that I imagined once filled that place. A ghost, that sound still echoed in my mind from my memory of it.
The bridge was still sound, like so many Interstate bridges, built to last 200 years or more, so I crossed over the river the next morning bound for Columbus. Something was drawing me northward where I had seen those tracks so many years before, hopeful that I might see them again. But, something caught my eye in passing, one of those signs for city attractions that are on the freeways in brown. This one, weathered and partly covered over with vines, read "Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Gardens." I couldn't pass it up…
I took the first exit to Martin Luther King Drive and followed the signs that still remained along a debris ridden street that made going very difficult with my big, long rig. Remains of a business and residential district were on my left and a huge medical center ruin on my right. Luckily, I saw a sign at Vine Street that was falling off its post or I would have missed turning right to the zoo but gone straight ahead instead.
As we approached the zoo, Charlie became animated and chattered as he hopped around the cab. It was as if he had a sixth sense about such things. But then, he often got like that when we slowed down and saw me looking or getting ready to pull over, knowing that he would get outside once again--very soon.
There was a huge parking lot on the left side and a huge parking garage on the right as we approached the zoo entrance. But I just pulled up under the over the street bridge that led to the walking entrance. There were sufficient vines growing about to feed the goats, so I let them out for a while, a half hour or so, to graze and give them water. Charlie sensed that something was up and moved around the entrance with a curiosity I had not seen him exhibit at new places like this before. Perhaps he smelled something that lingered from the time there were animals here.
I didn't expect to see any animals in the zoo, but I was interested to see if there were capuchins, and, given the size of this place, I expected that there could be. I kept it a secret from Charlie, but hoped upon hope that some monkeys had survived in the harsh conditions that followed society's downfall. Monkeys were very resourceful in the wild. I remembered that there was a troop of monkeys that survived in South Texas in my other life. But this was Ohio. Much colder than along the the Mexican border.
I put the goats back in the trailer for their own protection, reluctantly, and Charlie and I ventured into a partially burned layout of animal enclosures, concrete and steel. Coming upon the main entrance I noticed that the gates had been closed, but some of them had been forced open, their steel bent back either by humans or large animals like elephants and rhinos. Made me wonder how those animals would fare these winters here.
As expected, everywhere we found the ghosts of enclosures for creatures, big and small. I wasn't sure how many had escaped into the wider city, but I thought that with the concrete houses for protection in winter and evidence that many of the enclosures had gates probably opened by the caretakers or thieves that captured animals to sell in desperate times.
And, there were critters here. They could be seen scurrying about everywhere up ahead as we walked, catching Charlie's particular attention. But these were squirrels, possum, raccoon, sparrows, blackbirds and pigeons, what could be expected. The lay of this place particularly suited to their needs. But then, I saw a golden pheasant and knew that some of the original inhabitants may still be around.
As we walked around, we found lizards sunning in the afternoon sun, snakes doing the same, small rodents joining the mice and skunks, and birds of exotic color occasionally spotted on the edges of walls or roofs. We didn't see any larger inhabitants, but they could have easily moved out into the city and the countryside beyond. No doubt, hungry people hunted them for food in the waning hours of scarcity.
After walking 20 minutes, we came to a very large enclosure where monkeys once resided. A prominent rusty sign at one of the cages announced, "Capuchin," with another sign below describing pertinent information about their origin, statistics and habits in the jungles where they lived in South America. I wondered if capuchins still existed down there. The door was open, so Charlie excitedly jumped in and ran around the enclosure first, before disappearing into one of the entrances into the concrete home behind where I couldn't see him.
I heard a large ruckus and started to worry about Charlie's welfare, when two raccoons burst out of the holes and Charlie was close behind, scolding them. I laughed in relief knowing that he had taken charge and driven them from what he thought was "his" home. It wasn't long after that, when he took off, scurrying along the rooftops ahead and out of sight. I worried. There might be predators where he was going.
It wasn't long before I heard another ruckus again. This one was louder. I heard the hoots of monkeys scolding and I saw Charlie come running up over the top of the building in front of me, scurrying down a downspout and ran over to me climbing up on my back and hiding behind my neck. In less than a minute, four furry heads appeared on the parapet, waving arms and hooting and screaming loudly like only a monkey could love.
They were Japanese macaques. Probably the only monkey that could live in Ohio in the wintertime and survive. Charlie was shaking and whimpering in my ear. I gently stroked him while we walked out of the monkey area and into some other areas where large animals had once roamed. The various ponds and open areas there showed evidence of a lot of birds and small animals but none of the original residents--long gone or dead.
We returned to the truck where I made our evening meal while I let the goats graze by the entrance. Charlie waited while we ate and looked wistfully off into the zoo as if he knew that his relatives may have once resided there, but were probably long gone. Cincinnati was too large to search for them in its wreckage clogged streets. So we left first thing in the morning.
Just out of Cincinnati on my way to Columbus I saw tracks. I stopped and examined them and found that they were probably of a pickup with dual rear wheels and headed in the direction that I was going. The tracks soon left the freeway and took old US 50 eastward. It was not in my nature anymore to drive US highways. But the lure of those tracks was too great. I had to follow them and see where they led.
