A meadowlark calls, bright and incongruous. More yells from the greasy concrete: "Hey you know what?"

"Hey you know what I don't give a shit is what."

"Hey you know what?

"Yeah, I know what… I want one of those downers is what."

"Who got some downers? Who?"

"Who shits through feathers?"

"Hey you know what? I'm so damn proud…"

"I slid down the snow to the other lane and fuckin near got hit by a diesel, too!"

"… to be here…"

"Who's got a yellow? I need a mellow yellow."

"… to-day!"

The girl for the interview shows up, her East Coast attire provoking whistles and howls. "Take off them ray-ud pants!"

The knife hits the pumphouse. You can tell it doesn't stick that often.

"Hey, where's Varmint-boy? Let's bug the Varmint some more."

"Yeah, where is that weird little Varmint dude?"

"Bug the Varmint! Bug the Varmint!"

"The Varmint's already bugged out," Dobbs yells from the cabin. "Headed for the hills this morning while you guys weren't watching, bow and arrow and all." "Ahhh," everybody says.

The knife hits the pumphouse.

"Hey, Lucifer! Run up to the store and get us something while we're waiting."

"Yeah, some pussy."

"Yeah! Hey you up there in them red pants" – boredom is beginning to stiffen into horniness – "why don'cha interview me?"

"O, cook, cook, cook that ol' dog!"

They've got Reject masturbating Stewart. A roar of applause congratulates the ejaculation.

"Hey you know what? I can do better'n that."

"Right on, Little Lou! Do it! Do it!"

"Cook! Cook! Get it, dog!"

"Yea! I won!"

"You won my dick! Reject pumped out a good half a quart more than you."

"So what? You want quantity or you want quality? I made him shoot all the way to that piece of wood. If you're talkin quality I can jack off circles around Reject and you both!"

"Lucifer, get us some warshwater."

"Hey, Lucifer!"

"Where the hell is he? I want my hands warshed."

"He's getting Bert a beer. Reject, see if you can find a hose."

"I know what! Let's sit that chick with the toothache over there and see if Stewart can hit her in the mouth."

"Yeah! There you go! Cook!"

The black car again, like a dispatch runner back and forth from the front.

Jenneke bends over to feel the temperature of the pond. Even sixty yards away her ass shines like a beacon through the thin kimono.

"Hey you know what? I could go for some smorgasbord." More talk of leaving and worry about the State Troopers. They've managed to locate one helmet and Awful Harry has it on, out in the goat pen. He's down on all fours battling Killer the goat. Jenneke the animal lover strides around, hands on her hips, glowering and joggling.

"Mmmboy let's hang around another day," somebody suggests on the basis of Jenneke's boobs.

"Mmmboy let's fucking not! I aint no oral surgeon."

"Hey where's Old Bert? We're getting ready to roll anybody seen Old Bert?"

Going to pee I find Bert and Harry's hithchiking ladyfriend drying off after a shower. The 45 portable is sitting on the dryer – "Take a… take another little piece of my har-ar-art…"

Bert grins at me. "Be outta here in a hot second," he says, sheepish. Old Bert's the only one I know anymore. Everybody else crippled or busted or snuffed. Bert used to be president, says now he'd rather ride than ride herd. "- we just had to rinche off the cum."

Back up in the office I hear more bikes starting. Harry comes walking across the yard, bare-bellied, swinging his arms wide out like his ribs hurt. Maybe old Killer tagged him one.

Now Bert is kicking his old chopper over. Same one he took to London, years ago. The girl puts the record player in the black car then shuffles around, uncertain. Awful Harry rolls his big luxury model out of the garage, declares he's got brakes again. The girl looks from Old Bert's old bike with its skimpy seat, to Harry's new Electroglide with elaborate leather cushions and sissybar. Harry shakes his head at her.

"Oh no you don't, bitch! He balls you, he hauls you."

She climbs on behind Old Bert and wraps her sunburned arms around his waist. He grins up at me.

More popping, roaring, backfiring, churning brown dust and blue smoke… stalling and stalling… then, all at once, they are leaving, whooping and roaring, rolling in a long detonating wave out our dirt road to the pavement, west, rap-bap-bapping up the grade toward Mt. Nebo, then out of sight, south, echoing their way through the smokey afternoon.

"Right off!" Rumiocho squawks when the last one is gone.

A civilization begins to drift back over the farm, like the settling dust. The silence is a thunderclap of relief.

Me, I'm gonna go change out of these boots and back into my moccasins.

About the Author

Ken Kesey was born in Oregon, where he still lives. He graduated from the University of Oregon and later studied at Stanford with Wallace Stegner, Malcolm Cowley, Richard Scowcroft, and Frank O'Connor. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, his first novel, was published in 1962. His second novel, Sometimes a Great Notion, followed in 1964. Kesey's Garage Sale provided a highly personal portrait of the author and his friends, with whom he shared many extraordinary experiences in the sixties. His third novel, Demon Box, was published in 1986. Caverns, by O. U. Levon (Kesey and the thirteen members of his graduate writing seminar at the University of Oregon), was published in 1989. The Further Inquiry, a screenplay examining Neal Cassady and the 1964 voyage of the bus Further, with 150 color photographs by Ron "Hassler" Bevirt, was published in 1990. His fourth novel, Sailor Song, was published in 1992 and his fifth, Last Go Round (with Ken Babbs), was published in 1994. His two children's books are Little Tricker the Squirrel Meets Big Double the Bear (1990) and The Sea Lion (1991).