Honeymoon takes unexpected turn when we run short of fuel in eastern Wyoming

Photo shows young couple

These folks hosted us at the Ringsby Trucking ranch. I wish I could recall their names. This was the morning we left.

By Kevin S. Giles

The man who answers my knock at a trailer house behind the locked gas station holds a pistol. Behind him, a television flickers black and white images on a bare window.

“Too late for gas, Bud, we’re closed.” He brushes his wild gray hair back with the hand holding the gun, swinging the barrel toward the darkening Wyoming sky. “Damn insurance people don’t allow no gas this time of night. Can’t turn on the pumps so I can’t help ya, get it? We open at dawn if you’re still around.” He motions me away with the gun and slams the door.

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That memorable time renting in Alberton, Montana, autumn 1973

By Kevin S. Giles

That dog looked obedient enough, staring at us with shining eyes and nary a whimper until the retired teacher told us Tippy was dead and stuffed and nailed to a board. A black poodle she couldn’t bear to part with when the parting time came. Dead dog on a board decorating the living room in the dead old house.

The house sat on a hillside beneath an umbrella of trees, pretty enough at a glance. Just out the back door, half a dozen steps north, the mountain began its steep climb to somewhere a thousand feet above us. Watch for bears when you hang your clothes outside to dry, she warned us. They come around, right down that mountain, wandering into the yard just as they please. They like it best after dusk.

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Hitting the open road in California in 1971. Rolling down Highway 1 on a hippie bus.

By Kevin S. Giles

Oranges rolling down the aisle. That’s what I remember about that bus. Bright oranges as big as softballs tumbling from a yawning-open drawer in a rattling dresser.

Roy and I gripped an array of battered furniture as the old school bus shook and swerved. The hippie chick stayed with her man up front as he drove toward Los Angeles. They were nice enough folks, completely trusting, as they welcomed two hitchhikers aboard. “Hey man,” the driver greeted us. We were young. He looked hardly older. As the man grinded the bus into gear, the girl guided us through a doorway of dangling beads into their apparent living quarters. Tapestries ballooned from the ceiling and music posters blocked light from the windows.

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‘Down Under’ … yes, even years later, our living in Australia remains unforgettable

Photo shows wallabies in Australia

Becky and Kevin S. Giles found a few wallaby friends in Queensland, Australia.

(I wrote this for Australian newspapers after our visit in 2002 to renew friendships made when we lived in Brisbane. It’s worth repeating for anyone interested in a journey Down Under.)

By Kevin S. Giles

The conversations go something like this:

“I heard you went somewhere exotic on your vacation?”

I grin, because I can hardly stop myself from sharing one of those dreaded “you know what I did?” travelogues.

“Yes, I went to Australia.”

“That’s so cool!” comes the reply. “I’ve always wanted to go there. I hear it’s a really great place.” And then comes the puzzled question: “Where exactly did you go?”

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Listen closely. The wind tells tales. Author Kevin S. Giles takes note in Maui, Hawaii

By Kevin S. Giles

(This is a journal entry from June 2015 that I wrote in a fierce wind on the southern seashore of Maui, Hawaii — and with a pencil of all things. I was reading Moby Dick and you can see the influence here.)

Photo of Kevin S. Giles

Trade winds keep the palm trees in constant motion on Maui. This was taken on the island of Maui where the wind and waves kept us mesmerized. (Photo by Becky Giles)

The message comes in the wind. It arrives from a place far away, on the wings of a beginning that’s timeless and remote. We wonder of its origins. And so, the wind is much like a messenger. Think of where it has been.

Think of its travels, what it has seen. It rolls over land and sea as poetry in motion, gathering rain and dust and all other essences it touches. It passes by me with a whisper and sometimes a roar. Where is it going? What have I learned of it?

Wind away. Unfurl your sails and take me aloft. Show me your beauty, your urgency, even fury. Do I look adequate for the journey? You are my inspiration, wind, much like fish and turtles. You tutor me in the simplicity of nature – simple to my eye, perhaps, complex to yours.

Our existence is intertwined and interconnected, born of reliance and toleration. What do I know of you? What you of me? Shall I find a story in you, wind? A breath of understanding in every gust you bring me?

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I’ve read of you many times. You’re Jonathan Livingston Seagull and Ishmael and Charles Lindbergh. You’re a freight train for welcome rain, sometimes a villain of forces beyond our control (hurricanes and tornadoes), a calming lull in our trees. You ride the waves to our shores. I hear you sing.

Shows cover of 'Summer of the Black Chevy'

The novel ‘Summer of the Black Chevy’ by Kevin S. Giles grew from memories of his hometown. The novel also takes place there, in Deer Lodge, Montana.

You can’t disturb a rainbow nor will you move mountains. You will erode them, though, with your eternal touch. The earth feels its hands upon you, as does the water. You carry stories on your lips – places seen, people married, times that existed and changed, cultures that disappeared. Still, you blow.

I’ll write words about you, wind, maybe many more than today. I’ll tell of your comfort. Your strength! Your invincibility! Or is it omnipotence?

You guide boats, stir waves, churn palm trees in perpetual motion, whisk dead leaves from their branches, bring us new snow. Your relentless presence dries the land, or soaks it, while we curse you even for ruffling pages in our books. Shame!

You are our friend, to us always charting a course of your own free will, and we respect you for it.

Blow on, wind, blow on!

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Western Montana native Kevin S. Giles wrote the popular prison nonfiction work Jerry’s Riot, the coming-of-age novel Summer of the Black Chevy, and a biography of Montana congresswoman Jeannette Rankin, One Woman Against War, which is an expanded version of his earlier work, “Flight of the Dove.” His new novel, Headline: FIRE! is the third in the Red Maguire series. Masks, Mayhem and Murder is the second. The first is “Mystery of the Purple Roses.” More information is available at https://kevinsgiles.com.