(If you have not yet read Part One of this tale, do it now. You might also want to get something to drink, as this will be a long post. I’ll wait for you.)
Okay, now that we’re all on the same page—literally—here’s the rest of the story:
Crazy Man wore flip-flops and a “vest” that had enjoyed a former life as a long sleeved shirt before the amputation of its sleeves. His jeans were cut upward about nine inches from the hem every inch or so, creating a fringe effect. As he talked to me, he acted out each story with dramatic flair. Early on, he explained that he has ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder). I had already surmised that fact.
This guy has an interesting real life as well as a rich fantasy life. Here are just a few of the things he told me: He’d had an altercation with a man that caused him to spend three days in jail in Granby. Somehow, though, he’d also just left the hospital because during his fight, he broke two ribs and his lung collapsed. The medication he took at the hospital caused him to chase the nurses around while “buck naked.” He was traveling to Glenwood Springs to settle a judicial matter. He didn’t have a train ticket, but that was all right because a judge had given him a paper for the conductor. Crazy Man grew up on a cattle ranch in Texas, where his people were wealthy. At nine years old, he inherited millions of dollars from his grandfather, but his dad stole it from him. But he still had plenty of money, even though he didn’t carry any of it with him. He had even set up a foundation “to help people” and he had just given $1400 to a church to supply coffee for an AA group that met there. One of his current projects involves working with some bigwigs to build a monument to the USS Indianapolis. He’d joined the Navy after dropping out of high school thirty years ago, and in fact, he’s been training to become a Navy Seal. Many times he has talked with high-ranking military personnel, and they always like his ideas. He has met Condoleezza Rice, and he once lived across the street from Sammy Davis, Jr. He’s an expert on neuroscience, and he is familiar with all the psychotropic drugs. When he was messed up on heroin, he did things like cut off the appendages of cows. But he’s been sober for 21 years now. He goes to AA, NA, OA, GA and all the other twelve-step programs.
Crazy Man talked nonstop for two hours. Finally I interrupted him by saying “I HAVE to go to the bathroom!”
At that point, the train was over half an hour late, and three other (normal) passengers had arrived. Crazy Man went off to find a maintenance guy. When he returned, he announced that the train would not come for another hour and a half. He left to find an AA meeting.
An hour or so later, Crazy Man returned, carrying a sandwich and cigarettes. People at AA had given him ten bucks, he said.
More time passed, and the California Zephyr was nowhere to be seen. I spent a lot of time staring at my environment and avoiding eye contact with Crazy Man.
The (normal) men walked into Granby and bought sandwiches for all of us. (I had long since devoured all the snacks I’d taken from Margie’s pantry.)
We watched several freight trains go through.
The eastbound train arrived, only thirty minutes late, and picked up a couple of passengers.
The Amtrak status update gave us an estimated time of arrival of 4:55.
Around five o’clock, we heard a whistle. All of us scurried outside and gazed into the distance. Sure enough, we saw a light down the track.
The California Zephyr pulled into the station! Six hours and 23 minutes behind schedule.
Not so delightful or beautiful were the butts of the four different groups of people who mooned us as we passed by, but I guess that’s the thing to do when a train comes along. Popular culture never ceases to amaze me.
Darkness fell long before we arrived in Grand Junction at around 10:00 p.m. I have been pleased to see Dr. Lobo on many occasions, but I was extra happy to see him waiting on the platform when we pulled into the station.
The next day we explored the gorgeous land east of Grand Junction.
I wish I’d been able to view that area from the observation car of the California Zephyr during daylight hours, but . . . well, you know—the train was running late.