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Route 6 came over the river, wound around a traffic circle, and disappeared into the wilderness. In fact he'd just been working on a ranch, Ed Wall's in Colorado, before marrying Marylou and coming East. Now I was scared. We got a ride from a couple of young fellows- wranglers, teenagers, country boys in a put-together jalopy- and were left off somewhere up the line in a thin drizzle of rain. And his "criminality" was not something that sulked and sneered; it was a wild yea-saying overburst of American joy; it was Western, the west wind, an ode from the Plains, something new, long prophesied, long a-coming he only stole cars for joy rides.
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All I could see were smoky trees and dismal wilderness rising to the skies. Dean had arrived the night before, the first time in New York, with his beautiful little sharp chick Marylou; they got off the Greyhound bus at 50th Street and cut around the corner looking for a place to eat and went right in Hector's, and since then Hector's cafeteria has always been a big symbol of New York for Dean.
I ate another apple pie and ice cream; that's practically all I ate all the way across the country, I knew it was nutritious and it was delicious, of course. With the coming of Dean Moriarty began the part of my life you could call my life on the road. The Rock Island balled by.
Two keen minds that they are, they took to each other at the drop of a hat. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future, and maybe that's why it happened right there and then, that strange red afternoon. I started hitching up the thing.
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I think he was running away from something in New York, the law most likely. During the following week he confided in Chad King that he absolutely had to learn how to write from him; Chad said I was a writer and he should come to me for advice. My shoes, damn fool that I am, were Mexican huaraches, plantlike sieves not fit for the rainy night of America and the raw road night. In the bar I told Dean, "Hell, man, I know very well you didn't come to me only to want to become a writer, and after all what do I really know about it except you've got to stick to it with the energy of a benny addict.
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I arrived in Chi quite early in the morning, got a room in the Y, and went to bed with a very few dollars in my pocket. Eddie drove alone, the cowboy and myself following, and no sooner were we out of town than Eddie started to bee that jack ninety miles an hour out of sheer exuberance.
I took a straight picture that made me look like a thirty-year-old Italian who'd kill anybody who said anything against his mother. I decided to spend a buck on beer; we went to an old saloon in Stuart and had a few. All this time Dean was telling Marylou things like this: "Now, darling, here we are in New York and although I haven't quite told you everything that I was thinking about when we crossed Missouri and especially at the point when we passed the Booneville reformatory which reminded me of my jail problem, it is absolutely necessary now to postpone all those leftover things concerning our personal lovethings and at once begin thinking of specific worklife plans.
A tall, lanky fellow in a gallon hat stopped his car on the wrong side of the road and came over to us; he looked like a sheriff. My aunt was all in accord with my trip to the West; she said it ogallaka do me good, I'd been working so hard all winter and staying in too much; she even didn't complain when I told her I'd have to hitchhike some.
The most fantastic parking-lot attendant in the world, he can back a car forty miles an hour into a tight squeeze and stop at the wall, jump out, race among fenders, leap into another car, circle it fifty miles an hour in a narrow space, back swiftly into tight spot, hump, snap the car with the emergency so that you see it bounce as he flies out; then clear to the ticket shack, sprinting like a track star, hand a ticket, leap into a newly arrived car before the owner's half out, leap literally under him as he steps out, start the car with the door flapping, and roar off to the next available spot, arc, pop in, brake, out, run; working like that without pause eight hours a night, evening rush hours and after-theater rush hours, in greasy wino pants with a frayed fur-lined jacket and beat shoes that flap.
It was like having an old friend along, a smiling good-natured sort to goof along with.
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I promised myself to go the same way when spring really bloomed fof opened up the land. We got a brief ride from a wealthy rancher in a ten-gallon hat, who said the valley of the Platte was as great as the Nile Valley of Egypt, and as he said so I saw the great trees in the distance that snaked with the riverbed ogqllala the great verdant fields around it, and almost agreed with him.
This is all far back, when Dean was not the way he is today, when he was a young jailkid shrouded in mystery. One night when Dean ate supper at my house-he already had the parking-lot job in New York-he leaned over my ogallsla as I typed rapidly away and said, "Come on man, those girls won't wait, make it fast.
There went our wrangler. And that was the night Dean met Carlo Marx. Carlo took off his glasses and looked sinister. I ran for it with my soul whoopeeing.
We saw the faces of Pullman passengers go by in a blur. I went out on the platform to smoke, and there we was in the middle of nowhere and black as hell, and I look up and see that name Shelton written on the watertank. Nonetheless we understood each other on other levels of madness, and I agreed that he could stay at my house till he found a job and furthermore we agreed to go out West sometime. Chicck wrote back and said I'd be satisfied with any old freighter so long as I could take a few long Pacific trips and come back with enough money to support myself in my aunt's house while I finished my book.
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Finally a car stopped at the empty filling station; the man and the two women in it wanted to study a map. It started to rain harder.
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I was tremendously interested in the letters because they so naively and sweetly asked Chad to teach him all about Nietzsche and all the wonderful intellectual things that Chad knew. But, outside of being a sweet little girl, she was awfully dumb and capable of doing horrible things.
She took one look at Dean and decided that he was a madman. He was simply a youth tremendously excited with life, and though he was a con-man, he was only conning because he wanted so much to live and to get involved with people who would otherwise pay no attention to him. Eddie ber down.