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  • Indiana wants me, Lord I can't go back there.
    Indiana wants me, Lord I can't go back there
    I wish I had you to talk to.


    If a man ever needed dyin', he did
    No one had the right to say what he said about you
    And it's so cold and lonely here without you.
    Out there the law's acomin', I'm gettin' so tired of runnin'


    Indiana wants me. Lord I can't go back there.
    Indiana wants me, Lord I can't go back there.
    I wish I had you to talk to.
    [ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/r/r_dean_taylor/indiana_wants_me.html ]

    It hurts to see the man that I've become
    And to know I'll never see the morning sunshine on the land
    I'll never see your smiling face, or touch your hand.
    If just once more I could see you, our home, and our little baby.


    I hope this letter finds it's way to you,
    Forgive me, Love, for the shame I put uou through, and all the tears
    Hang on, Love, to the mem'ries of those happy years.
    Red lights are flashin' around me, yeah Love, it looks like they found me.

    Indiana wants me...

    (Lyrics by R. Dean Taylor)

    Imagination, extreme heat and sun, and excess exertion, combined with not quite enough sleep, can do funny things to you.


    I dropped the car off at the service station across from the Steel Mill down in Georgetown. I had my brother’s bike in the back, and the plan was to ride the bike back up to his place in Debordieu, where I could leave it and pick up Mom’s old car there, so I’d have wheels back up at Mom’s, just in case, while they worked on my car. They said they’d need a couple days to do everything that needs to be done. Chris had offered to have one of his friends give me a ride back, but he was back in Michigan, and I figured, “Naw, I got this.”


    It made sense. I’ve been riding every morning and every evening, 45 minutes to an hour each, and this would only be about an hour and a half ride. Of course, two thirds of the ride would be right along a narrow shoulder, if you could call it that, of busy Route 17. Crossing the double bridge that connected Georgetown to the Grand Strand, about a mile and a half across, could prove to be a challenge.


    So, off I pedaled. Going through Georgetown itself wasn’t so bad, as there were sidewalks and not many people out walking in this extreme heat, so I had a pretty decent ride for that first mile or so. As the big double span bridge approached ahead, I pulled into a gas station convenience store to get a cold water to have before I hit that next 5 mile stretch of “no-man’s land”, where it would be just me, the bike, the passing cars, and heavy woods on either side of the road. No rest stops or anything like that.


    I stopped at the top of the bridge span to snap a few pictures of the vista from up there, then pedaled on. The wind up there was refreshing, after riding through what felt like a convection oven that first mile or so. As I reached the bottom of the bridge, waves of heat radiating up from the pavement welcomed me to “no-man’s land”. I found out the hard way to stay away from the choppy grading made intentionally to remind drivers if they’re veering off the road. You do NOT want to find yourself riding on that doing good speed on a bike with cars and trucks whizzing by just feet away from you on the left. I was bouncing all over the place, trying to find some purchase of shoulder to the right of the grading before I found myself bouncing right into a big-assed truck flying up behind me.

    This seemed like such a good idea, on paper. When I clocked the distance with my car the other day, and noted the tiny shoulder - “Oh, yeah, that looks ride-able” – I hadn’t counted on this. And, I had seriously underestimated the heat. It had to be pushing 100 degrees, probably higher when you factored in that heat radiating up off the pavement.


    Just about 5 miles to go to Debordieu. I needed to entertain myself as I pushed and pedaled my way through the heat and monotony of the endless straight road with nothing but endless trees on either side. I imagined myself on the lam, a prison escapee, here in the deep South, Cool Hand Luke on one of his many esapades, running from the Chain Gang. “Indiana Wants Me”, a song I probably haven’t heard in 30 years, started playing, just as a Horry County Police Car passed to the left.


    I finally made it to Debordieu! Then I realized I was only about halfway to my brother’s place. His house was just about as far back in the community as one can be from the front entrance, about another 4 or 5 miles. I pedaled on, through the woods and the salt marshes, the hounds of hell on my trail, the heat sapping my strength, pushing through it, freedom but a dream, somewhere down that road.


    Next time, I’ll let Chris arrange for a ride for me from the garage.
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