New story “Riding Shotgun” in Stories Through the Ages Baby Boomers Plus 2021!

This story is adapted from a scene in my novel Lucky Ride.

Thank you to Living Springs Publishers!

There is a special discount for pre-ordering the anthology:

Here is a preview from the publisher:

Author Terry Tierney has written an excellent tale of a hitchhiker and his journey through Texas. A recent Vietnam era veteran, Flash, sets off on a cross-country hitchhiking trip to escape his unraveling marriage. In Fort Worth a Texas Ranger orders him into his patrol car at gunpoint, and Flash fears arrest or worse with an ounce of weed rolled into his sleeping bag.

Read more about Lucky Ride, which will be published 12/31/2021 by Unsolicited Press: Lucky Ride

Preorder a copy of Lucky Ride.

Did Kerouac Drive a U-Haul?

My mind conjures Jack Kerouac every time I embark on a road trip, even one driving a U-Haul truck from Kansas to California. If Kerouac made this trip I imagine Neal Cassidy would do most of the driving with the box frame buffeting in the wind and allowing Jack little sleep.

Every rut awakens clangs and screeches but the truck holds together as if it were designed to instill a fear of disintegration and encourage the drivers to keep their speed under control. Just in case, the engine has a governor at 75, ensuring that other travelers and most semis will further pummel the U-Haul in their wakes.

I wonder if the interstate highways were in better shape during the idyllic fifties of Kerouac’s crossing. We pass expanses of road work between miles of worn pavement with the occasional surprise of a smooth surface and fewer decibels of tire noise. My kidneys welcome the respite though we know it won’t last.

I also ponder how much Kerouac would recognize the towns and landscapes strung out along the freeway. The gentle hills and sinuous rivers of the plains are still there, though suburbs have gorged on farmland like concrete kudzu. They sprout with the sameness of box stores, national brands, and three-bedroom abodes, though the scenery is still striking.

Along the front range near I-25 outside of Denver mountain peaks emerge from the fog and rise above the clouds with ghostly promise. I find it hard to keep my attention on the road, a weakness Cassidy never shows, but some of the structures in rural towns and ranches must have populated his vision.

Rusty beams and leaning walls mark abandoned farms where people once raised crops and cattle. Some larger, well-kept houses, and irrigated fields reveal the continued richness of the land, but many of the acres do not include a house, only the sheds and corrals of corporate ventures. The American dream of owning a family ranch seems more a myth than ever.

Kerouac would certainly be aroused by the increasing disparities of wealth and race along with the political separation between rural and city. He would be surprised by the lack of hitchhikers and our greater distrust of others.

On Kerouac’s road the social chasms were apparent but they seemed less stark. I sense in Kerouac, Gary Snyder, Michael McClure, and other beat writers an underlying belief that America will figure it out, even if it means transcendence more than political action, though political action is certainly a tool.

I want to believe there’s still hope for the American experiment of democracy and social equality despite our missteps and continued problems. That we can still load up our U-Haul and strike out across the country, trusting in the future. I want to believe Kerouac and Cassidy still share our road.

Check out my road novel, Lucky Ride: Lucky Ride

Day Without Sunrise

No sunrise this morning, just a dirty yellow glow, blood orange at the edges. Perpetual smoky twilight. Photos in the news hardly convey the ominous colors and the absence of sun.

Today is our second day at home in Northern California after our four-week road trip to Kansas, which included ten days of driving and one day on United Airlines. I always enjoy traveling, and despite the smoke I’m glad to be back.

Walking our dog Pearl this morning (carefully in the dimness), I saw my first Biden-Harris sign after all the Trump flags in Kansas and rural Colorado and Utah. We even spied a Trump banner flying from the back of a Werner semi on the interstate.

Michael Moore is right; Trump motivates his base. Anyone concerned about overt racism, rising fascism, immigration rights, the environment, free speech (the real free speech), minority rule, and economic equality should be worried. Stay healthy and don’t forget to vote.

The yellow twilight flashes its warning.

First Chapter of Lucky Ride, My Irreverent Sixties Road Novel

After finishing the Lucky Ride copy edit based on editorial feedback from the publisher, Unsolicited Press, I wanted to share the entire first chapter here: Lucky Ride

The novel will not be published until next year, but I am excited to complete this step in the editorial and production process.

Here is the synopsis:

Set in the Vietnam era, Lucky Ride tells the story of a recent veteran, an unraveling marriage, and a hitchhiking trip steeped in hippie optimism, post-war skepticism, and drug-induced fantasy.

When his friend Rick shows up in Binghamton, New York, with an interstate weed delivery, Flash jumps at the chance to escape his wife Ronnie’s affair with her middle-aged boss. Joining Rick on a speed-fueled drive to Fort Worth, Flash dodges a highway stalker and recalls his military service on Adak, a desolate cold war outpost where Seabees bravely defended their country with marijuana and LSD. Hitchhiking west from Fort Worth, Flash confronts Texas Rangers, amorous witches, armed felons, and good Samaritans, all offering advice and misdirection. But his dreams of starting fresh in California recede like a spent wave, his money gone and no chance of a job. Ronnie offers reconciliation and Flash must decide how much he still trusts the seductive pull of the irresistible campus radical he married before the draft descended on their lives.