BOC: The Tale Of Leadfoot...

[Douglas A Mitchell]

Once upon a time, there was a quiet man, known to the people
of his humble village as Cathcart.  He was a private fellow, and
never ventured far from the flourescent glow & paved security of
his home.  Now Cathcart drove to work everyday, like everyone
else in the village, and each morning he methodically followed
the same brown streets to his modest office.  The river & trees
would call to him in the early twilight, but he would hunch over
the wheel and trudge along, eventually arriving at his destination...

Cathcart was a man of simple pleasures, and his undying love
was music.  Each morning, as he slogged along in the gray
snake of automobiles, he would listen to his weathered tapes.
Each way, to & from each day, his music was the only constant
that kept him moving through the dull paces of his work-a-day life...

One day, during the early days of summer, Cathcart found himself
broken down by the side of the road on his methodical drive home.
He realized, as he fumed silently at his auto, that he was less than
a mile from his 3rd floor apartment, so he set to walking home, to
call for assistance.  As Cathcart walked along the bank of the river,
he began to notice how wonderful the breeze felt in his mussed hair,
and marveled at the smells wafting past him on the warm afternoon
breeze.  As he traversed the hedges & shrubs of the mosaic tiled
walkway, he noticed an object underneath one of the iron benches
that cropped up along the pedestrian concourse, and knelt down
to pick it up.  A cassette tape?  "I wonder what it could be" he
mused, as he placed it in his vest pocket and resumed his
course among the gardens & stones lining the riverbank...

Continuing along the meandering path, less & less concerned
with the fate of his dying auto, he followed the river walk on past
the turn he would normally take to reach his dark little neighbor-
hood, and headed for a bright light that seemed to be only a
half mile or so away...

As Cathcart walked along the path, eyes gazing forward at the
source of the brilliant light, he began to wonder what it could possibly
be, casting such penetrating beams, it seemed, right at him.  His
walk changed to a shuffle, and to a trot, as his curiousity grew.  As
he approached the bend in the river, he could see that there were
two beams, and that they shone eerily around him, casting a
strange hue on the flora & fauna along the angling riverbank.
They were headlights!

The low black auto was unlike anything he had ever seen in his
wildest dreams!  The panels were painted in a black so deep & dark
that they seemed to absorb any light that attempted to draw near.
The headlights were elliptical & wide, and flashed as he stepped
onto the flat brick mezzanine that overlooked the expansive bend
in the river.  Momentarily blinded by the unnaturally white burst of
light, he did not see the door on the driver's side of the vehicle slide
open with a hush.  As his vision returned, he could see the door
sitting ajar, and walked around towards the passenger side of the
car, looking for the license plate under the brilliance of the lights.
It read "1277"...

Cathcart had lived his entire dreary life as cautiously as he possibly
could, and as he slowly circled around behind the car, fear gripped
him by the throat.  He wanted to run.  His heart pounded in his eyes.
On the rear panel of the car, he could read small white letters, in a
beautiful white script, "Leadfoot".  The sun dropped quietly behind
trees on the distant bank of the river as Cathcart rounded the driver's
side of the car, and peered in to the darkness unfolding around him.
The only light within the opening that was the door of the car was
a small red blink, and he realized that his as his heart beat a heavy
rhythm in his chest, that the little red light was flashing in time with
his pulse...

His mind screaming at him to run home, home to the safety of his
dark little apartment, Cathcart stepped closer to the door.  Willing
one reluctant step after another, he moved closer to the machine.
He could hear a low beat pulsing from within the dark interior, and
using every ounce of energy & courage he could muster, he com-
pelled himself to step into the doorway and sit in the driver's seat.
His eyes ranged along the dash of this enormous black ellipse,
and within reach of his right hand, he could see a cassette deck.
Curiousity getting the better of his sense of self-preservation, he
reached into his vest pocket, and removed the shiny black tape...

As he placed the cassette into the player, the huge door swung
around, closing soundlessly alongside him.  As the long arc of the
dash began to glow a odd shade of red, he could feel his eyes
begin to burn.  The glorious music rose around him, and he marveled
at the power coursing through his quaking body.  As he lay his
hands around the supple leather of the steering wheel and placed
his feet firmly on the pedals, he heard a deep, familiar voice speak
to him from the darkness that was the back seat...

"LET'S GO FOR A DRIVE..."

1277 express to heaven
Speeding along like dynamite
1277 express to heaven
Rumbles the steel like a dogfight
You caught me in its spell
Trying to leave but you know darn well
The heat from below can burn your eyes out...

(dedicated to Charlie & Anita...)

"The Snowman"           _?_     Tuned in to life's essentials...
Douglas A. Mitchell        I         Skiing, Backpacking, & the
                                                mighty Blue Oyster Cult!
Home:  dwnthemtn at aol.com
Office:  dmitch at microscan.com         WE UNDERSTAND...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
"They're OK the last days of May, but I'll be breathin' dry air,
I'm leaving soon, the others are already there...Wouldn't be
interested in coming along, instead of staying here?  It said
the West is nice this time of year, that's what they say."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
                                       --- Donald 'Buck Dharma' Roeser