Ray 7

I went to the pastors' breakfast Friday morning. Eddie Carpenter was my first stop before I sat down with my coffee. He had no new leads on a pulpwood truck or Ray and neither did my new buddy, Jack Marshall, a United Methodist pastor who attends Wesley Biblical Seminary thus giving us a natural connection. The meal was good, and I ate bacon until I was embarrassed. But I didn't hear much of the chatter or the ubiquitous stories. My mind was on pulpwood trucks and Ray Azal. 

I left North Carrollton Baptist Church about 9:00 am determined to track down the one source that I didn't find last week: Roy Blackmon. I was given a phone number at Vaiden Timber Company, but the number didn't work. They also told me that he lived off Highway 17 on Cedar Hill Ranch Road. Leaving the church, I made another slow drive down that lovely road looking for trucks and for Cedar Hill Ranch Road. 

I made it to a store a few miles before you get to Lexington and stopped, went inside, and asked about Roy Blackmon and Ceder Hill Ranch Road. The lady running the store went out to her car and looked up the road on her vehicle's GPS. That showed a street in Lexington. I didn't think that was right, but I decided to check it out anyway. 

Before leaving, I searched for the road on my phone. The only thing it showed was also in Lexington so I drove into town, found the street which the phone map called Cedar Drive but the actual street sign said something else. I drove the short street, and convinced that was not it, I headed back out Highway 17.

I don't know if it was an old memory or what, but I had a hunch about a road I had driven by just south of Blackhawk. A rusty old sign hung on a tree near the gravel road's ingress and egress from Highway 17. Something inside told me that was Cedar Hill Ranch Road. I drove back to there, made the turn and drove until I came upon a house to my left. I pulled in the long drive and as I approached a yard full of cars, an occupied one met me and stopped. We both rolled our windows down, and I told him my business. To my surprise, he gave me directions to Roy's trailer. 

I say "to my surprise" because I am now truly shocked when someone gives me a straight answer. The suspicion I run into when I start asking questions about people is amazing. I haven't written a fraction of that. One man who has a couple of trucks gave me a false name and it took around thirty minutes and several inquiries to get that. I didn't even bring up Ray, I was just trying to get him to discuss selling a truck. Unbeknownst to him, I already new his name and he lied to me about it. Another man threatened to whip me and asked me if I was "R-I-S-ing." I told him I didn't even know what that was. He responded by asking me if I worked for the IRS. Really, that happened. Many won't say anything but just give me the evil eye. So when this fellow gave me directions, my thoughts were, "We'll see."

Just like he said, I continued down the road, went straight at the first turn, passed the redbrick church and came to some trailer houses. Was it the first or second trailer? I forgot. A short log truck sat between the two. I parked at the first residence, got out, and knocked on the door. An elderly African-American lady answered the door. When told her I was looking for Roy Blackmon, she pointed next door.

After re-parking, I stepped up onto the wood deck of the trailer next door and noticed another elderly African-American lady in a pink dress come to the storm door and open it just wide enough for our voices to pass back and forth through.

"Hi. I'm looking for Roy Blackmon."

"He ain't here right now. He should be home in about an hour." 

I was surprised she admitted I was at the right place.

"The reason I'm looking for him is I want to buy a pulpwood truck, the old short wood kind. I was told if anybody had one it would be Ray."

I decided not to mention Ray Azal. If he was known here, it would be Mr. Blackmon who could help me. I'd surly get to speak with him later.

"What you gone do with one of them thangs?"

"I'm going to drive it to work, and around North Greenwood and watch people's faces when I pass by."

"You must be crazy."

"Yes Ma'am. I've been told that a time or two."

Then she just looked at me like she really believed I was a nut case. I get that reaction so often that I'm starting to believe it myself. That many people can't all be wrong, can they?"

"Could I leave a number?" I asked. "If he has one or knows of anyone who does, please have him call. I have money, and I'm ready to buy."

She took the number I had scrawled on the 3 X 5 index card and kept giving me that "you must be crazy" look as I walked to my truck. She was still looking when I backed out and onto the gravel road.

I didn't care. I drove home in joy because I was certain Roy Blackmon would ring me up as soon as he came home and got the message.