sludgo’s Mile Markers

The ramp wasn’t that high. Only about up to my knees when I stood next to it. And it seemed sturdy. I’d walked up and down it and bounced on it a couple times and it had passed my boy-daredevil’s inspection with flying colors. So I hopped onto my trusty battle-worn lemon-yellow Sting-Ray and rode slowly up to the other end of the long sidewalk where I turned around and stopped. Took a moment to ask the Big Kahuna to provide his oversight on my upcoming flight then clenched my teeth as I stood up off that silver-sparkly banana-seat and began pedaling down the walk hard as I could.

It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and we’d gotten early release from school and I was walking home trying to catch snowflakes on my tongue. The day was cold and grey and still and the flakes were big and floaty and fluffy and filled my mouth with a cold splash of wet each time I caught one, making me smile bigger than I already was. It was going to be a great holiday break—four full days far removed from the drudgery of sixth grade at St. Marten’s Elementary. And as I shuffled through the ankle-high snow I gave myself a smug little chuckle. I was captain of the Nerd Patrol back then so I’d gotten all my homework done beforehand and had nothing to do over the break except whatever I wanted to do whenever I wanted to do it. And mostly what I wanted to do was spend time with Charlie, my girlfriend.

I inched the TT up to the starting line, stopping when the steward waved his hand. I squinted through the windshield at the course laid out in front of me—hundreds of orange traffic cones dutifully showing the way I should go and the way I shouldn’t. The goal was to complete all the twists and turns and short straights as fast as I could without hitting any of the cones or spinning out or worse. It would be a race against the clock, the most ruthless opponent of any racer, and my heart was pounding. I shook my head clear, reminding myself it was my first autocross ever and that I had to lowball my expectations. Temper my approach. Drive within my limits. Not be too eager or aggressive. Rely on my half-century of driving fast in all sorts of cars and conditions and let the seat of my pants be my guide. Easy peasy, right? Right. So I looked over at the steward. Gave him a thumbs-up and he gave me a nod back then signaled the starter to switch on the Christmas tree. Gulp.

It was just before midnight, New Year’s Eve 1976, and a light snow had begun to fall as me and the rest of the crew walked wearily out of the service bay door of Mark & Randy’s Red Owl. We were beat-down, dead-dog tired but were all in a great mood. The supply semi had pulled in a couple hours ahead of schedule that evening, having left home base in Fargo early because another blizzard was on its way, so we’d gotten a head start on Stock Night, unloading the giant trailer and unpacking all the boxes, then filling the freezers and refreshing the coolers and stacking the dry-goods shelves to their very brim, making sure the product was orderly and neatly placed right-side-up with all labels dutifully facing front. I was anxious to get over to Anne’s and welcome in the New Year with a big wet smooch, but decided to stop for a minute to have a cigarette with the guys. And that’s when it happened. I had a great idea. One of the best I thought I’d ever had. The Red Owl Gran Prix.

Scout hopped up into the Audi like she’s done ever since I first brought her home eleven years ago as pup, just a bit slower. Those damned hips of hers. I scratched behind her ears and heard her sigh as she settled in shotgun and looked at me lovingly through cloudy brown eyes. I’d left her not-much-younger cousin Tess behind in the house and could hear her howling. Had tried to act normal all morning long but somehow they know when we’re going to the vet instead of the dog park. This visit was no big deal, though, just Scout’s annual checkup and shots. So I gave her a reassuring smile and scritched and scratched her here and there some more then whispered the two words she always wants to hear from me: “Good Girl.”

Ten years quickly passed for everyone, including Shadow. By then we’d moved from our salt-box on the numbered streets to sludgo manor, a lovely hillside home with an expansive yard she could roam at her leisure. As old dachshunds go we thought she was doing fine as she lazily snoozed in the sun or dug around in the garden looking for God-knows-what, but she was definitely slowing. In the meantime I’d started to feel bad she was spending most of her days in that giant house alone, what with the kids at school and the Redhead and me downtown at the office sunup ’til sundown so one night I took the Redhead out for dinner. A nice one. Ordered a spendy bottle of champagne then settled in and after a sip or three popped the question. Asked if she’d be cool with getting another dog. Reminded her how the ‘new puppy trick’ had rejuvenated Moon and said it might do the same for Shad and now that we had a larger place we could get a larger dog. Maybe another Sheltie, in honor of Moon. I was going to keep making my case but she interrupted me with a bubbly giggle and a nod that made me grin big. Puppy Time, sludge.

My secretary Suzanne softly knocked on the door of my office and cracked it open. I put down my cold turkey sub then took a gulp of my flat root beer and furrowed my brow at her. She quietly apologized for interrupting my lunch break then told me a client of mine had just called and said he was five minutes away and was coming in to see me. Told me she’d told him I was at lunch and booked all afternoon but he’d said he’d come in anyway. Told her he had to see me even if it was just for a second or two because it was an emergency so he’d wait however long he had to and then he’d hung up. She gave me a weary smile then asked if I wanted her to put him off when he arrived. That she could try and squeeze him in for a formal appointment tomorrow or the day after but I waved her off. Told her an emergency is an emergency. Said I’d see him when he showed up, check out what was going on, and take it from there. Then I turned my attention back to my sandwich but before I could take a bite I heard the front doorbell jingle.

It was a couple weeks ago. Two in the morning and my brain wouldn’t shut off so I couldn’t get to sleep. I laid restlessly in bed for a while, listening to the alarm clock on my nightstand tick. And tock. And tick. And tock. Reminded me of how I used to tell my clients if they found themselves wide awake in bed in the middle of the night, rather than tossing and turning and fretting and burning about not being able to sleep they’d be better off to follow their body’s lead and get up and do something—anything really—as long as it was healthy and relaxing. So, I clucked my tongue and shook my head then rolled out of bed. Walked into the living room and clicked on a light. Thought about reading but had read every book in the house at least twice. Thought about turning on the tube but knew there’d be nothing on at that hour that would interest me. Thought about having a snack but wasn’t really hungry and was still doing pretty well on my New Years’ diet. Then an idea of what I could do struck me. Something that would be both healthy and relaxing. I could go for a drive.