like the wind

They'd sent us to fetch fence and stakes to surround the twenty foot hole where the twelve inch pipe lay. A hundred and fifty pounds of pressurized gas within, we were preparing to tie-in from a far off well to the main line. Anything could happen. Asphyxiation from deadly hydrogen sulfide, or a stray spark to the odorless, tasteless gas in the line itself might cause instant immolation, assuming tons of clay and earth didn't bury you alive first.

You hear the bosses talk about taking a chewing out "like a man" from time to time. How do you reconcile that sudden realization of impending doom? With honor and dignity, or scream like a little girl as you piss your pants?

Josh was driving the one-ton dualie back to the oil derrick's pad. Traversing the dirt road across the prairie's mounds and hills, he began to pick up speed. This nineteen year old from Florida had more gumption than most, I'll testify to that, but with a few less brain cells at his disposal. Formerly the whipping boy of the roughneck crew, I had taken his place. This pleased him to no end.

As the truck gained speed it left the ground over the high spots, taking us airborne for precious seconds. I'd raise my head to see if anyone was coming the other way. No matter what, it would be too late if they were. I held tight to the hand grabs like I'd mounted a runaway steed. Josh just stared bug-eyed above his leering mug.

"We're doin' a hundred miles an hour!" he croaked.

With out checking the speedometer, I watched the telephone poles go by like sticks in a tornado. Then I laughed, loud and hearty, from deep within the gut.


a cock pheasant
flushed from high grass-
wind on the prairie