Route E-Book

Dilan Darco

• Herausgeber: Dilan Darco
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Each of us follows their own route during their life. The routes are roads that cross each other or travel in parallel, they are cycles repeated endless times from beginning to end. James is the protagonist of this story, he's a middle-aged man who lives in Florida, a stone's throw from the Atlantic Ocean. His journey is about to start, or rather, to start over.
A book that captures the essence of traveling by motorcycle, describing the feelings experienced crossing breathtaking landscapes along the boundless roads of the western United States. A man, his thoughts, his dreams, and hundreds of asphalt's miles to travel to reach the final destination.

Leseprobe

Route

Dilan Darco

When this body will be too old and too tired, I'll still find other challenges, challenges to the mind, challenges to the soul. So I'll have new reasons, yet, to keep going.

Dark and silence around me. I open my eyes, still darkness. I move my arms and legs, I am completely wrapped, immersed in a liquid. I continue to agitate myself with my whole body in search of a direction, the liquid is all around my naked skin. I hear the beat of my heart rising, it rumble in my ears, it's the only noise I can hear. I swim with all my strength in the limbs, cleaving the liquid with my hands in an attempt to get out of it, but I have the impression of always remaining in the same spot. My muscles soon get tired, I stop to recover energy and I stay suspended in the liquid.

It's like flying, it's an incredibly pleasant feeling. I feel that this has always been my home, I am totally at ease, like a fish inside the vastness of the abysses. The liquid cradles me with its slight wave, keeps me warm and safe. My heartbeat is back to normal, I can't hear it anymore, it gets confused with the silence and the peace of the place.

Suddenly the brief state of ecstasy is interrupted by a roar that comes from the bottom, from the depth. The liquid starts to stir. It seems like a wave comes from below, below me. I feel panic again. The beats of my heart speed up again, beating like a drum in my ears. The wave that comes from the bottom is closer and closer and the pressure that it exerts pushes me upwards. I try to resist with arms and legs, but the current is too strong, I can't fight it. I see a small light up there, in the direction in which the current is pushing me. I can see it better as I approach it. It has a round shape and a color tending to yellow, a very light yellow. It must be the moon.

I let myself go and let the current drag me on. The darkness slowly gives way to the light that comes from above and spreads in the environment in which I'm immersed. The liquid is revealed for what it is, transparent like a glass. I can see the surface above me and with a certain fear I prepare to come out of there. My head comes out of the water first, I take a deep breath and feel the lungs burn. It's like I breathe for the first time.

I look around and see some lights in the distance, they don't seem too far away. It's a city, maybe I can get there. I begin to swim with all my strength, anxious to save myself. I get close enough to see a beach and a large Ferris wheel. I move my arms faster and faster, swimming in the direction of the beach. Finally with my feet I can feel the soft backdrop below me. I stop to swim and walk with difficulty to the shore, exhausted.

I get out of the water and drag myself weakly crawling on the soft and dry sand, the drops slide on my body caressing my skin. I feel cold and tremble, I'm no longer protected as when I was immersed in water a while ago. I try to lift myself from the sand. First I go on my knees, then slowly I get up and walk with small steps towards trees with a very high trunk. I believe they are palm trees. The beach is really huge. On the left I can see the Ferris wheel, it's located above a pier. Suddenly a loud sound comes in violently in my ears.

The sharp sound of the alarm clock continues to hammer in my head with great annoyance, it just woke me up from a deep and restful sleep. I open my eyes and read the digital digits on the alarm clock above the bedside table, next to the bed. They are red and marked, stand out in the darkness of the room: five zero zero. I extend my hand to push the alarm off button and lie flat on my stomach to relax a little longer. I look at the ceiling lit by the little light that filters through the curtains of the window, the chandelier is different from that of my room. After a few moments, still a bit dazed by sleep, I realize I'm not in my house. I have little desire to get up, I would be willing to laze until late morning, but I have to resume my journey.

I reluctantly pull myself up from the bed, rest my feet on the wooden floor and get up on my legs. I feel the floor creak under my weight with every step I take when walking towards the bathroom door. I open the door and approach the sink to rinse my face. The cold of the water that bathes my face is the definitive wake up, it sends away once and for all dreams. Like that I had a little while ago, before that terrible sound brought me back to reality. That dream keeps coming back to my mind.

I leave the bathroom and look at my stuff scattered here and there in the room. I collect the spare clothes and other items I carry with me. I take the cell phone and the cigarette pack on top of the desk, near the ashtray full of cigarette butts. I try to arrange everything as best I can in the black fabric bag. I slowly put on my jeans, white socks and sneakers with a high collar, then I put on my T-shirt and the black leather jacket. I put on my wrist my old watch with a leather strap, a gift from my father. I take the helmet and the bag and collect the keys and sunglasses from the bedside table next to the bed. I put the keys in my jeans pocket and hang the glasses on the T-shirt neckline. I open the door and leave the motel room.

Outside it's still dark and the breeze of the early morning envelops me and catches me by surprise. It is pleasant, an unexpected freshness at this time of the year. The road that passes next to the motel is smooth and clean. It seems to have just been built, as if no one has ever set foot in it, or rather, wheel. I approach the reception door, slowly lower the handle and enter. Behind the counter is the man who welcomed me last night when I arrived. He's a elderly person, short gray hair, black eyes, dark skin, balding and full of wrinkles. He's dozing. As soon as the door closes behind me, the man wakes up with a sudden click, jerking in his chair. I approach the elderly, put the bag on the floor and put the helmet on the counter.

«Good morning, here's the key of the room. My name is...»

«Ah, yes, recuerdo» says the old man, interrupting me before I can finish the sentence. «El senor...» he continues, opening the old register where the names of the people who stop in the motel are written. He begins to scroll the forefinger on the page and stop the tip of the finger on a row.

«James Rising, right?» he asks. I nod with my head.

«Ready to leave? Where is headed, senor Rising?»

«L.A.» I answer. The old man looks at me bewildered, maybe he hasn't heard what I said. «Los Angeles!» I say in a more determined voice.

«Ah, Los Angeles, muy bien!» he exclaims aloud. «It's forty dollars for a noche, senor.»

I pay the room.

«Buena suerte y adios senor!» says the old man with a hand raised and a toothless smile. I think he wished me good luck, for the little Spanish I remember from my school days.

«Adios!» I exclaim, nodding my head. I collect the bag from the floor, pull it up and put the shoulder strap on my shoulder. I take the helmet from above the counter and I turn going towards the door. I open it and exit the reception.

Bonnie is there waiting for me, where I left her last night, as a faithful companion. I put the bag on the back of the saddle and fix it with two straps, then I insert the key into the ignition lock and get on saddle. I raise the kickstand by pulling it back with my left foot and I turn the key in the ignition lock. With the right foot I hit the starter lever with all the weight of my body and the engine turns on at the first stroke. The crackling noise of the two-cylinder is familiar and reassuring, it gives me peace of mind.

I take the helmet out of my right arm and put it on my head, tightening the strap under my chin, then I put the sunglasses on my face, putting the rods inside the helmet, above my ears. I pull the clutch lever back with my left hand while pushing down the gear pedal with my foot to put in the first gear, which engages with a sharp snap. With the other hand I slightly rotate the throttle handle, slowly release the clutch lever and Bonnie starts to move. I leave the parking and take the road again. Looking in the right mirror, I see the sign of the motel moving away in the middle of a cloud of dust. In the other mirror I can see a road sign with a white background and a write marked in black: Gallup, New Mexico.

The heavy metallic thunder coming from the exhausts exceeds any other noise around me. I look at the speedometer at the bottom of the instrumentation, it marking about sixty-five miles per hour. The needle of the tachometer is constantly positioned just under four thousand and the vibrations of the engine coming from below spread throughout my body, without annoying me. I look up again, towards the road, a long strip of dark gray asphalt. It seems it must never end.

At the top, the sky is illuminated by the very first lights of the morning. The aurora, a show that is repeated every day, but to which only a few attend. The light that colors the sky takes on different shades as I continue to stare it. The initial light lilac turns little by little into a peach tending towards orange. It's the birth of a new day. All things appear renewed, the world seems new to me, as if I looked at it for the first time. My head is clear of thoughts, it's fresh and rested. Everything starts all over again. Yesterday's shadows are distant, they have already become a memory, the past.

I'm crossing New Mexico, the wheels of old Bonnie spin smoothly on the asphalt below. The road is so close that just take a foot off the footboard and stretch it down to touch it. The immense semi-desert prairies are lost on the horizon on both sides and in the distance I can distinguish the bright red rocky highlands. I decide to stop at the side of the road to enjoy the sunrise, after all I'm in no hurry.

The sun begins to peep out. A tip of glowing yellow light comes out of the earth, changing the color of the sky into a reddish-orange hue. I observe the birth of the sun that moment after moment emerges from below and rises towards the sky. It's incredible how clear this passage is when you have a fixed reference point like the horizon line, it happens in real time, second by second. When the last end of the sphere of fire comes out, it's as if it were detached from the ground, taking flight towards the immeasurable vastness of the sky. I look away from the sun, my dark glasses protected me from its blinding light and protect me from the wind when I run on the road. I get back into the saddle and get back on the road.

There is something more in this life than the only things we see, hear, smell and touch every day. It's something that goes beyond our normal perception, beyond our limited ability to understand. I feel it into the nature, when I look at a boundless expanse of grass, when I look at the ocean, the mountains, a beautiful blue sky. When I witness the spectacle of a sunset or a sunrise, like that of a little while ago. I feel it when I think of absolute freedom. It's inside of me and outside, everywhere into the nature. I feel that there is, but I cannot say exactly what it is, yet it's there. I only know that I like it, that makes me feel alive and that makes me feel, for a moment, immortal.