The Dharma Bums - Jack Kerouac [36]
“Comparisons are odious, Smith,” he sent sailing back to me, quoting Cervantes and making a Zen Buddhist observation to boot. “It don’t make a damn frigging difference whether you’re in The Place or hiking up Matterhorn, it’s all the same old void, boy.” And I mused about that and realized he was right, comparisons are odious, it’s all the same, but it sure felt great and suddenly I realized this (in spite of my swollen foot veins) would do me a lot of good and get me away from drinking and maybe make me appreciate perhaps a whole new way of living.
“Japhy I’m glad I met you. I’m gonna learn all about how to pack rucksacks and what to do and hide in these mountains when I’m sick of civilization. In fact I’m grateful I met you.”
“Well Smith I’m grateful I met you too, learnin about how to write spontaneously and all that.”
“Ah that’s nothing.”
“To me it’s a lot. Let’s go boys, a little faster, we ain’t got no time to waste.”
By and by we reached the boiling yellow dust where caterpillars were churning around and great big fat sweaty operators who didn’t even look at us were swearing and cussing on the job. For them to climb a mountain you’d have to pay them double time and quadruple time today, Saturday.
Japhy and I laughed to think of it. I felt a little embarrassed with my silly beret but the cat operators didn’t even look and soon we left them behind and were approaching the final little store lodge at the foot of the trail. It was a log cabin, set right on the end of the lake, and it was enclosed in a V of pretty big foothills. Here we stopped and rested awhile on the steps, we’d hiked approximately four miles but on flat good road, and went in and bought candy and crackers and Cokes and stuff. Then suddenly Morley, who’d not been silent on the four-mile hike, and looked funny in his own outfit which was that immense packboard with air mattress and all (deflated now) and no hat at all, so that he looked just like he does in the library, but with big floppy pants of some kind, Morley suddenly remembered he’d forgotten to drain the crankcase.
“So he forgot to drain the crankcase,” I said noticing their consternation and not knowing much about cars, “so he forgot to brain the drankbase.”
“No, this means that if it gets below freezing tonight down here the goddamn radiator explodes and we can’t drive back home and have to walk twelve miles to Bridgeport and all and get all hung-up.”
“Well maybe it won’t be so cold tonight.”
“Can’t take a chance,” said Morley and by that time I was pretty mad at him for finding more ways than he could figure to forget, foul up, disturb, delay, and make go round in circles this relatively simple hiking trip we’d undertaken.
“What you gonna do? What we gonna do, walk back four miles?”
“Only thing to do, I’ll walk back alone, drain the crankcase, walk back and follow you up the trail and meet you tonight at the camp.”
“And I’ll light a big bonfire,” said Japhy, “and you’ll see the glow and just yodel and we’ll direct you in.”
“That’s simple.”
“But you’ve got to step on it to make it by nightfall at camp.”
“I will, I’ll start back right now.”
But then I felt sorry about poor old hapless funny Henry and said “Ah hell, you mean you’re not going to climb with us today, the hell with the crankcase come on with us.”
“It’d cost too much money if that thing froze tonight, Smith no I think I better go back. I’ve got plenty of nice thoughts to keep me acquainted with probably what you two’ll be talking about all day, aw hell I’ll just start back right now. Be sure not to roar at bees and don’t hurt the cur and if the tennis party comes on with everybody shirtless don’t make eyes at the searchlight or the sun’ll kick a girl’s ass right back at you, cats and all and boxes of fruit and oranges thrown in” and some such statement and with no ado or ceremony there he went down the road with just a little handwave, muttering and talking on to himself,