117 Redux

New York in the summer. Everyone complaining about the heat. 94 in the shade. 98 in the sun. The hot bouncing off the concrete. Loose clothing. Walk close. Seek shade. Noon. High noon. No shade. None. But I've been hotter. On the road 1974. Hitchhiking. 117 in Needles California. I was a hippie back then as was my traveling friend Andy. Both longhairs. Hair down to our shoulders. Getting off a bus. We seek shelter. Across the road a Dairy Queen. Inside. Two ice cream sodas. Vanilla for me. I always preferred those at Dairy Queen. Body temp back to normal. We get back up on the highway. Once Route 66. Now an interstate. No soul. No shade. Hot as Death Valley. Cars whiz by. 80 plus. The back draft a flash on hell. An Oldsmobile 88 stops. An old couple heading out of the hot. They have hippie grandchildren. It's 1974. We are children of Kerouac, Easy Rider, and the Summer of Love. The old lady offers lemonade. We thank her, grateful for the ride and refreshment. Our conversation over fifty years ago. I remember no words, but I recall the AC, the desert, me sitting on the right in the back seat, passing Lake Havasu, the old lady's smile, my smiling back, and the Olds climbing into Arizona. Prescott. The old man' pulls into a motel. On the original 66. The Interstate not here yet.We say goodbye. Cool up high. In the 7Os. Crash on the woods. With the galaxy overhead. Two hippies happy to be away from Needles, California, but not Called fornia_