Thanks for the Ride. By Dave M.

Doc’s a great guy for those of you out there who don’t know, or who may question that fact. He has always been a little off, but in a good way. Doc and I share a common ancestry, which makes him that much more trustworthy in my mind. At least I assume that we share a common ancestry, I’ve never really discussed it with him. We don’t look alike or anything, I just think that when they were passing out surnames our ancestors were European countrymen…Damn, I stray when I’m unfocused. Back to the proof, Doc is a great guy.

Many years ago I sat in my house on a late summer night. Clearly bored, but essentially sober I decided that the best thing I could do was go for a run. This wasn’t a twilight run, or even a midnight run. This was an approximately 2:00 in the morning run. My only explanation for running at such an hour is to request that you realize and accept that sometimes young men will make rash, seemingly nonsensical decisions to prove their own prowess to themselves. I can only assume that going for a several mile run in the middle of the night was probably the result of some such determination on my own part.

As I ran down the essentially deserted street I saw, projected on the street in front of me, the lights of an approaching vehicle coming from behind. I may have hugged the shoulder of the street a little closer to the trees on the side of the road and left the driver the entirety of his lane, but I otherwise made no thought for the pickup truck that quickly passed me by and slipped out of my view into the nighttime road ahead.

I thought more of it a minute or two later when another vehicle appeared down the street traveling towards me. This vehicle was moving much slower than the last, and as it got closer I noticed a familiarity to the truck. I did not recognize the approaching pickup truck, but as it got closer to pass, it slowed to a near crawl as the driver careened his head and watched me pass. It was dark and I could not see well. I was a little spooked at the truck, and my mind tried to process what the driver’s thoughts could be. Obviously the most logical explanation for such an action is that the driver had to slow down to properly contemplate why a jackass was running down the road in the middle of the night. But as the truck passed, I became a little more unnerved realizing or at least believing that it was the very truck that passed me only minutes before going in the other direction. At this point all logic escape my thought processes. This guy passed me going East and turned around to pass me going West as well. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t the same truck that passed me twice, but simply a coincidence that two white pickup trucks of the same make and model just happened to be the first two vehicles to pass me on my now clearly ill-conceived late night run.

This theory was quickly disproved as within another minute I could see and hear another vehicle approaching from behind. I turned around to determine what and who was approaching me, and I soon discovered that it would be same truck passing me for the third time. Now, clearly being stalked, I panicked. I turned and ran directly into the trees along the side of the road. I hide among these trees while the truck pulled up to where I departed the street and came to a stop. Left to my own thoughts for the next few seconds, I was certain I was headed for some trouble, and really only contemplated my best route for escape, and the closest house in which I could find refuge from the madman that at this point surely desired only to beat and murder me.

As I crouched there, looking about for the path that must surely be there, the passenger window of the truck rolled down slightly as the driver leaned across the bench seat and in a confused and yet truly inquisitive voice, questioned to the trees in which I was hiding, “David, is that you?”

To this point I had been utterly unable to recognize the driver of the truck. The darkness prevented me from seeing anything beyond a general shape of a person in the driver’s seat of the vehicle. But the voice, the voice was none other than the good Doctor’s.

As I stumbled out of the brush into the open I replied out, “Yeah Nate, it’s me.”

You should know that the Doctor was quite concerned that I needed some help, and knew that I definitely required a ride. He insisted that I permit him to return me home, or help with some car trouble I must have certainly encountered. I simply explained that I had embarked on a late night run and would return home by foot at its conclusion.

I don’t remember if Nathan convinced me that I was being a dumbass and drove me home, or if he decided to acquiescence to my desire to continue the run, but in any event I appreciated the thought and concern. And for that thought and concern so many years ago, I thank you Doc.