tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35623882024-03-19T00:48:26.303-04:00TruckinShort Stories, Sagas and Tales from the RoadPaulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.comBlogger769125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-56311907334499285792011-06-01T16:20:00.001-04:002011-06-04T12:22:33.761-04:00June 2011, Vol. 10, Issue 6It's June and the summer hath arrived. Oh, and Truckin' is now nine years old. Wow? Nine.1. Cusco to Ollantaytambo to Augas Calientes by Paul McGuirePeople were streaming in all directions from all areas. A group of Peruvian guides, all short men around 5 feet in height with reddish brown skin in alpaca hats, had disembarked from what looked like a cattle car and two Peruvian rail workers at Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-33411457235734221542011-06-01T12:03:00.001-04:002011-06-04T12:15:20.375-04:00Cusco to Ollantaytambo to Augas CalientesBy Paul McGuire © 2011The wake-up call was set for 4:30 -- that's AM, in the fucking morning -- a time when I'm usually winding down the night and going to sleep. I passed out around around Midnight after chewing on a Vicodin to help ease the throbbing headache that accompanied altitude sickness after my abrupt ascent into the 11,000+ zone.Our caravan had to ship out of Cusco no later than 6am ifPaulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-67928179936866145332011-06-01T11:52:00.000-04:002011-06-04T12:01:04.054-04:00The ChosenBy John G. Hartness © 2010Chapter 1I sensed him before I saw him. I always do. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, playing a little blackjack when I felt his presence over my right shoulder.“Hi, Lucky.”“Big A.”I hate that. He always has to go there right away. And he’s supposed to be subtle. Ass.“Been here long?” He asked.“A while. Playing a little cards. You?”“Well, you know me, Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-46912929784598849322011-06-01T11:33:00.000-04:002011-06-04T12:20:32.068-04:00The Beatles and IBy Wolynski © 2009The Beatles are back, not that they ever went away, it’s just that there’s new, expensive Beatle product to be flogged to aging baby boomers.To a child growing up in communist Poland, the Beatles were everything. There was Lenin, Marx and Brezhnev staring grimly from posters everywhere, promising a life of desolation, but just beyond the horizon, there was John, Paul, George andPaulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-16329742315812747002011-06-01T11:31:00.000-04:002011-06-04T11:56:54.077-04:00Isn't It Good?By Kent Coloma © 2011My favorite Beatles song is Norwegian Wood. I’d always liked it, but then I heard the song that one night at the UCLA party where we ran into Mike Fortner quite unexpectedly. His name isn’t really Mike. It’s David. His older sister was there too, and I can’t remember her name for some reason, even though she was one of those older girls that was always very sexy and memorablePaulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-44913035347774040852011-06-01T11:29:00.000-04:002011-06-04T11:55:29.231-04:00Zen and the Art of the FrijolBy George Tate © 2011Pinto beans are the Mexican equivalent of the staple of life. Breath is the staple of life. Being able to focus and enjoy the simplicity of everyday things is the joy of living. You’re asking yourself where this bullshit is headed. I believe there is a Zen return to the Art of making a pot of beans. Breathe deeply and pour a fine glass of wine. Savor it and its flavor for thePaulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-68966451359658005462011-05-03T16:42:00.003-04:002011-05-04T19:51:51.142-04:00May 2011, Vol. 10, Issue 5Welcome to the May edition.... better late than never.1. Cusco by Paul McGuireThe tiny lady with the limp handed us cups of light greenish tea -- the infamous coca tea or coca matte. Instead of chewing coca leaves to help adjust to the altitude, we sipped the bitter tasting green tea. I eventually acquired a taste for what the locals subbed "Incan Red Bull"... More2. Cheers by John HartnessShe Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-25233281948177800162011-05-03T16:41:00.000-04:002011-05-03T16:42:13.799-04:00CuscoBy Paul McGuire © 2011I probably should have slept for more than an hour, but I wasn't thinking properly. I blame the decent bag of weed a friend of mine scored in Lima along with a steady flow of local beer Cusquena. Whenever I'm done with a work assignment in a foreign country, I partake in a tradition among my fellow reporters and stay up as late as possible partying, drinking, and gambling. Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-12580042733062995222011-05-03T16:40:00.002-04:002011-05-03T16:41:10.884-04:00CheersBy John G. Hartness © 2011So I woke up hung over. Again. With no idea of where I was. Again. With a woman whose name I didn’t remember asleep on my arm. Again. This was getting to be a habit, one that wouldn’t be so bad if there was anything good to be said for it. So I slowly and gently slid my arm out from under my sleeping bedmate, trying like hell not to wake her, and started the search for Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-21038942644133551892011-05-03T16:40:00.001-04:002011-05-03T16:40:22.858-04:00September 11By Katitude © 2011When I woke up I had no idea what was coming.It was a wonderful September morning in New Hampshire. The kids were in school, the campgrounds were empty and the tourist traffic had almost disappeared. An ideal riding day.It had rained like God was trying to wash away our sins the day before and we managed to find a motel just before the Kankamagus Highway, one with a surprisinglyPaulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-46713569653667927212011-05-03T16:37:00.000-04:002011-05-03T16:39:49.510-04:00The Last Time I Saw Buddy Hollyby Johnny Hughes © 2011When I was in the first grade, Niki Sullivan (one of the original Crickets with Buddy Holly) and his parents lived with my family in a very small house. There was a piano, guitars, and music every night.Niki did not leave the Crickets before they made it big. They made it big on the first tour, Lubbock to New York, and appeared on the Ed Sullivan show. He was in the band Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-54744552381362307312011-04-01T17:19:00.004-04:002011-05-03T13:37:40.365-04:00April 2011, Vol. 10, Issue 4Welcome to the Spring Fling edition. You will soon realize that this month's stories have very little to do with spring or flings. Or do they?1. Solomon's Cranium by Paul McGuireI couldn't get image out of my head, so I started drawing images of giant skulls, or stick figures of my father in a ditch with giant bones...More2. Traffic Jam at the Top of the World, Part 2 by Tim LavalliA cold hard Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-30616332909488913312011-04-01T17:17:00.000-04:002011-04-01T17:18:50.454-04:00Solomon's CraniumBy Paul McGuire © 2011"I always wanted to be an artist.""Well, you are...in a way.""I'm a musician, sure, but I wanted to be a traditional artist. I wanted to become a painter and when I was a kid I used to draw all the time.""But what happened?""My parents got really angry and outlawed drawing in my home.""What? Where did you grow up? Russia? Nazi Germany?""Boston suburbs. Okay, it's a really Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-58620762790198418662011-04-01T17:15:00.001-04:002011-04-01T17:17:03.962-04:00Traffic Jam at the Top of the World, Part 2By Tim Lavalli © 2011As I cleared the cornice of the massive boulder I saw the line backed up in front of me. There had to be fifteen or more climbers going absolutely nowhere. I sagged back against the rock face and tried to steady my mind. Time was critical, we were in the death zone, who the fuck thought it was a good idea to call it that? Death Zone! Shit can’t let my mind wander like that, IPaulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-7048148834057752172011-04-01T17:12:00.003-04:002011-04-01T17:15:21.780-04:00Zombie MomBy John G. Hartness © 2011I never gave a whole lot of thought to what it must be like for the zombies. You know, I was just like everybody else: I saw a zombie, I hit it in the head with a baseball bat, or an axe, or on a really good day a chainsaw. But when my mom got infected, I really had to change my opinions on a lot of things. It’s one thing when it’s your fifth-grade PE teacher you’re Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-65575598070007529192011-04-01T17:12:00.001-04:002011-04-01T17:12:28.866-04:00Deja VuBy Katitude © 2011Hot, dry wind whipped her hair around her face, fast enough so that everything seemed to be blurred with red.Above her she could see the sun beating down on this desert place from a clear sky, the pale expanse broken only by a single jet contrail slicing across it from east to west.On the ground in front of her a roll of 35mm film, pulled from it's canister to lay on the dry Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-82560475560149315342011-04-01T17:11:00.002-04:002011-04-04T19:00:15.487-04:00L'OrangeBy Alex Villegas © 2011I remember walking by the Golden Nugget and hearing a bartender scream, “Does anyone know French?”“I do!” I screamed as I ran over.I took French for a couple of years in high school and always write that I can speak French on my resume. I met the criteria.“What’s up?” I asked the bartender.“This couple, I don’t know what they want,” he said, and pointed to the elderly Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-50448278771878746112011-03-01T16:23:00.003-05:002011-03-01T16:44:46.364-05:00March 2011, Vol. 10, Issue 3Spring is almost upon us, which means the March issue is the bridge between the winter of discontent and spring fever...1. Matisse's Chorizo by Paul McGuireLife is so much smoother if you're well-liked by the right people in this fucking town. Or I should clarify -- well-liked by the powerful watch guards of Hollyweird holding the clipboard...More2. Traffic Jam at the Top of the World by Tim Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-38713027092856741172011-03-01T16:20:00.001-05:002011-03-01T16:22:55.880-05:00Matisse's ChorizoBy Paul McGuire © 2011Washed-in morning. Cotton-candy mouth.Awoken from a dream. My alarm clock? Nope, rather from the conversational chatter from the neighbor across the alley.I stepped outside and looked up. A cigarette snugly fit in between her fingers from her hand that lazily hung out the second-story window. She gripped a land-line cordless phone with the other hand and rapidly spoke in Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-52455545373736535202011-03-01T16:18:00.001-05:002011-03-01T16:20:31.858-05:00Traffic Jam at the Top of the WorldBy Tim Lavalli © 2011As I cleared the cornice of the massive boulder I saw the line backed up in front of me. There had to be fifteen or more climbers going absolutely nowhere. I sagged back against the rock face and tried to steady my mind. Time was critical, we were in the death zone, who the fuck thought it was a good idea to call it that? Death Zone! Shit can’t let my mind wander like that, IPaulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-20214977953661357672011-03-01T16:17:00.000-05:002011-03-01T16:18:01.531-05:00Hard Day's Knight: The Black Knight Chronicles, Vol. 1By John G. Hartness © 2011Chapter 1I hate waking up in an unfamiliar place. I’ve slept in pretty much the same bed for the past fifteen years, so when I wake up someplace new, it really throws me off. When that someplace is tied to a metal folding chair in the center of an abandoned warehouse that reeks of stale cigarette smoke, diesel fuel and axle grease - well, that really started my night offPaulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-74747707295460692352011-03-01T16:12:00.002-05:002011-03-01T16:17:07.824-05:00EgyptBy Adam J. Weise © 2011There are few situations more guilt inducing for a healthy young man of a middle class upbringing than being asked by a sickly old man to move your poolside lawn chair so that he can continue his job of laying bricks. It made it all the worse that he kept referring to me as "Mr. Adam" and "sir" as if at any moment I might throw a tantrum because he interrupted my Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-65044478365150156632011-03-01T16:11:00.000-05:002011-03-01T16:12:23.146-05:00ParalysisBy lightning36 © 2011The situation was just so frustrating. Break up or continue the relationship? There was no easy answer.He knew that he had been an extremely lucky guy. How many men get to date television stars? Crystal was beautiful, well-known, and popular. But aside from the usual Hollywood trappings, she had a heart of gold. She exuded warmth and compassion, yet had enough of a bite to Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-14321410441341749912011-02-01T22:34:00.005-05:002011-02-03T16:53:11.051-05:00February 2011, Vol. 10, Issue 2Another issue to keep you sane for the shortest month of the year1. Sweet T'ings by Paul McGuireThe flavor of the Bahamas ran up my nose when I unpacked my bag and caught a whiff of my dirty clothes. If you ever want a quick and last memory of a vacation spot, just quickly inhale your clothes as soon as you unpack them...More2. Early Night by Alex VillegasI lit up and began my prowl around the Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562388.post-75158135422212998062011-02-01T22:33:00.000-05:002011-02-01T22:34:39.969-05:00Sweet T'ingsBy Paul McGuire © 2011Our cabbie took off from the airport without asking us where to go. Nicky was slightly concerned, but I reassured her that everything was cool. He was obviously engrossed in the middle of an important phone call. I tried to put together what he was saying, but it was a combination of English and Bahamanian Creole.After driving about five minutes the driver put his call on Paulyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09020689398161655082noreply@blogger.com0