Route

By Dilan Darco

Each of us follows their own route during their life. The routes are roads that cross each other or travel in parallel, they are cycles repeated endless times from beginning to end. James is the protagonist of this story, he's a middle-aged man who lives in Florida, a stone's throw from the Atlantic Ocean. His journey is about to start, or rather, to start over.
A book that captures the essence of traveling by motorcycle, describing the feelings experienced crossing breathtaking landscapes along the boundless roads of the western United States. A man, his thoughts, his dreams, and hundreds of asphalt's miles to travel to reach the final destination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dilan Darco
• Release date: Jul 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463435564

Dilan Darco

When I was a child I liked to invent fantasy stories, inside my head. Further ahead I started putting on paper the short stories and poems that were born in my mind. I discovered the pleasure of writing. I have always been a curious guy, I like to observe and understand the world around me. The hunger for knowledge has always been a strong motivation for me to explore unknown territories. One day, at primary school, I read my first book: “The Call of the Wild”, by Jack London. I was immediately caught by it. I was in class among my classmates, I totally immersed myself into the story and everything else disappeared. I express myself by writing, much better than with words. Words are abstract, they have no shape, they vanish in a few instants. Writing is something concrete, well defined, something that resists the passage of time. It survives its author, somehow makes it immortal.

Book preview

Route

Dilan Darco

When this body will be too old and too tired, I'll still find other challenges, challenges to the mind, challenges to the soul. So I'll have new reasons, yet, to keep going.

Dark and silence around me. I open my eyes, still darkness. I move my arms and legs, I am completely wrapped, immersed in a liquid. I continue to agitate myself with my whole body in search of a direction, the liquid is all around my naked skin. I hear the beat of my heart rising, it rumble in my ears, it's the only noise I can hear. I swim with all my strength in the limbs, cleaving the liquid with my hands in an attempt to get out of it, but I have the impression of always remaining in the same spot. My muscles soon get tired, I stop to recover energy and I stay suspended in the liquid.

It's like flying, it's an incredibly pleasant feeling. I feel that this has always been my home, I am totally at ease, like a fish inside the vastness of the abysses. The liquid cradles me with its slight wave, keeps me warm and safe. My heartbeat is back to normal, I can't hear it anymore, it gets confused with the silence and the peace of the place.

Suddenly the brief state of ecstasy is interrupted by a roar that comes from the bottom, from the depth. The liquid starts to stir. It seems like a wave comes from below, below me. I feel panic again. The beats of my heart speed up again, beating like a drum in my ears. The wave that comes from the bottom is closer and closer and the pressure that it exerts pushes me upwards. I try to resist with arms and legs, but the current is too strong, I can't fight it. I see a small light up there, in the direction in which the current is pushing me. I can see it better as I approach it. It has a round shape and a color tending to yellow, a very light yellow. It must be the moon.

I let myself go and let the current drag me on. The darkness slowly gives way to the light that comes from above and spreads in the environment in which I'm immersed. The liquid is revealed for what it is, transparent like a glass. I can see the surface above me and with a certain fear I prepare to come out of there. My head comes out of the water first, I take a deep breath and feel the lungs burn. It's like I breathe for the first time.

I look around and see some lights in the distance, they don't seem too far away. It's a city, maybe I can get there. I begin to swim with all my strength, anxious to save myself. I get close enough to see a beach and a large Ferris wheel. I move my arms faster and faster, swimming in the direction of the beach. Finally with my feet I can feel the soft backdrop below me. I stop to swim and walk with difficulty to the shore, exhausted.

I get out of the water and drag myself weakly crawling on the soft and dry sand, the drops slide on my body caressing my skin. I feel cold and tremble, I'm no longer protected as when I was immersed in water a while ago. I try to lift myself from the sand. First I go on my knees, then slowly I get up and walk with small steps towards trees with a very high trunk. I believe they are palm trees. The beach is really huge. On the left I can see the Ferris wheel, it's located above a pier. Suddenly a loud sound comes in violently in my ears.

The sharp sound of the alarm clock continues to hammer in my head with great annoyance, it just woke me up from a deep and restful sleep. I open my eyes and read the digital digits on the alarm clock above the bedside table, next to the bed. They are red and marked, stand out in the darkness of the room: five zero zero. I extend my hand to push the alarm off button and lie flat on my stomach to relax a little longer. I look at the ceiling lit by the little light that filters through the curtains of the window, the chandelier is different from that of my room. After a few moments, still a bit dazed by sleep, I realize I'm not in my house. I have little desire to get up, I would be willing to laze until late morning, but I have to resume my journey.

I reluctantly pull myself up from the bed, rest my feet on the wooden floor and get up on my legs. I feel the floor creak under my weight with every step I take when walking towards the bathroom door. I open the door and approach the sink to rinse my face. The cold of the water that bathes my face is the definitive wake up, it sends away once and for all dreams. Like that I had a little while ago, before that terrible sound brought me back to reality. That dream keeps coming back to my mind.

I leave the bathroom and look at my stuff scattered here and there in the room. I collect the spare clothes and other items I carry with me. I take the cell phone and the cigarette pack on top of the desk, near the ashtray full of cigarette butts. I try to arrange everything as best I can in the black fabric bag. I slowly put on my jeans, white socks and sneakers with a high collar, then I put on my T-shirt and the black leather jacket. I put on my wrist my old watch with a leather strap, a gift from my father. I take the helmet and the bag and collect the keys and sunglasses from the bedside table next to the bed. I put the keys in my jeans pocket and hang the glasses on the T-shirt neckline. I open the door and leave the motel room.

Outside it's still dark and the breeze of the early morning envelops me and catches me by surprise. It is pleasant, an unexpected freshness at this time of the year. The road that passes next to the motel is smooth and clean. It seems to have just been built, as if no one has ever set foot in it, or rather, wheel. I approach the reception door, slowly lower the handle and enter. Behind the counter is the man who welcomed me last night when I arrived. He's a elderly person, short gray hair, black eyes, dark skin, balding and full of wrinkles. He's dozing. As soon as the door closes behind me, the man wakes up with a sudden click, jerking in his chair. I approach the elderly, put the bag on the floor and put the helmet on the counter.

«Good morning sir, here's the key of the room. My name is...»

«Ah, yes, recuerdo» says the old man, interrupting me before I can finish the sentence. «El senor...» he continues, opening the old register where the names of the people who stop in the motel are written. He begins to scroll the forefinger on the page and stop the tip of the finger on a row.

«James Rising, right?» he asks. I nod with my head.

«Ready to leave? Where are you headed, senor Rising?»

«L.A.» I answer. The old man looks at me bewildered, maybe he hasn't heard what I said. «Los Angeles!» I say in a more determined voice.

«Ah, Los Angeles, muy bien!» he exclaims aloud. «It's forty dollars for a noche, senor.»

I pay the room.

«Buena suerte y adios senor!» says the old man with a hand raised and a toothless smile. I think he wished me good luck, for the little Spanish I remember from my school days.

«Adios!» I exclaim, nodding my head. I collect the