January 29, 2011 - I've settled into Harrisburg, PA for the night, Philly tomorrow. Last night I slept in Elkhart Indiana, but not before driving to Goshen and falling back into a dream, a strange trip from two and a half decades ago. It was 1985. September. I was taking a drive-a-way from Anchorage, Alaska to Marlboro College in Vermont. A remembrance of a Mother for her daughter. I hadn't wanted to drive alone, so my brother Nick had connected me up with his friend, John Chandlar. Later simply known as Crystal John.
Crystal John and I went booming down the highway in that Subaru and I learned he was on a quest, into his past, for a Pink Cadillac - the last bit of his Father that remained now sitting in an old garage on the outskirts of Goshen, Indiana. He'd cruised in it in high school and after, and it brought a simpler life back to him. With his Father's death fresh, he needed to see it again. Drive it. Remember.
We drove through the nights from Anchorage, down the isolated beauty of the Alcan - and all along the way we were paced by the distant ring of the Aurora, like a guide or a protector. John claimed it was the quartz crystal that he had that brought the lights out, and he wrapped that crystal in duct tape and stuck it to a stick, creating a magic wand of sorts that he would periodically wave into the air - blessing our trip, marking our way - while space music, the odd tonal sounds of synthesizer music, played in unending loops on the tape deck. The duct tape came in handy. We fixed a broken door handle, and a gear shift with it, and even water hoses in the engine, but John never worried about those things. We had his crystal to lead the way.
We finally stopped one night in Canada - we'd been driving non-stop for two or three days. John wanted a drink, and he was sure that the crystal had told him where to find one. I can't remember the town, or the beer, but I know it was the rest we craved and we slept hard. I remember coffee the next morning - we had to be in Alberta. John lifting up the creamer and showing me that it said "a petroleum product" back when folks in Alberta were still proud of their oil. He poured it into his coffee anyway, smiling and saying, "well, at least its organic..."
On the evening of the fifth or six day (after a brief Minnesota stop to visit relatives - all of whom found John to be a ...treat) we caught the exit into Elkhart off the Indiana Turnpike. He regaled me first with stories of this birthplace of many a saxophone and tales of his time here when he'd been younger. But as we neared Goshen he asked me what day it was. "Friday" I answered. He smiled and looked at me like a teenager might... "The streets will be packed" he said. "Cruising, its all there is to do on a Friday night here." I didn't believe him for a minute. We'd seen no traffic, it was near midnight. But when we hit Goshen, we came to a stop. Lincoln Street - at least I think it was Lincoln Street - was impassable. In the strange courting pattern of youth of a time, big cars, and bravado had turned the main drag into a parking lot - punctured by the flashing red and blue of police cars, the roar of unmuffled engines and the coy shrieks of girls ready for guys on the make.
We slowly worked our way through the pack, and down some side streets, stopping by a modest house of indeterminate age. His Mother met us, and gave us a late night snack. We slept and I remember awakening to the smell of coffee. When I got to the kitchen, John was there. We quickly ate breakfast, and I packed up my few things into the car, and went back in to thank his Mom for the hospitality. John smiled when he saw me then. "Come with me," he said and headed out to the garage. He lifted up the door and there, like a mythic beast, sat a light pink and white Caddy. A beauty by any stretch. Quest complete. "I got a new plan," he said to me. "Gonna take this Caddy and head south. Warmer territory - Arizona or Mexico. Maybe I'll trade it for a Semi - and try running things back and forth between the two." I wasn't exactly sure what he meant by "things", but I had an idea that it might not be all that legal. Still, i wished him well and after a quick goodbye, headed out again, Crystal John and his Mom in my rearview mirror waving farewell.
I never saw Crystal John again, but I got a cryptic note from him some years later - a folded up poster saying simply "Jake for Sherriff" and some photos of the Sandia Mountains shot from a moving car, I'm guessing the cab of a Semi, or an old pink Cadillac. I later used one of those to help create the cover to "Albuquerque Road". And Goshen? I hit it last night, Friday night, at 11 pm, and there was hardly a car to be seen. It had changed, or maybe it had always been like this and that night twenty-five years ago John and that crystal had simply summoned up his 1970's life one last time, just as he remembered.