The Wheel
The Wheel  (Terry Christenson, Shawn Maguire 2016)

In the summer of 1964 I found myself in the passenger seat of a 442 Oldsmobile desperately trying not to piss my pants as my girlfriends 18 year old brother Davy raced a freight train to highway 559 crossing just north of Nobel. I had answered affirmatively to the question: You want to see what she'll do? In those days the cars were made of steel and they had big motors. As a young man you could buy a '53 Ford Sedan like my first car for $150, and for five bucks take your drivers test, spend another $15 for public liability insurance and be legally on the road at sixteen. Some of us had been driving old trucks on back roads from the age of twelve. I considered myself a good driver and at best a nervous passenger. Davy was a gifted driver. I once saw him carve figure eights in a new snow on a parking lot with his dads' Volkswagen van. Anyway, when we came over the hill driving north on what is now called Nobel Road, we picked up the unmistakeable taillights of the caboose picking up speed ahead of us. Considering we only had about 2k to the crossing it seemed to me that Davy sure took his time pulling alongside the engines which were now doing about 60k and accelerating fast. With about half a kilometre to spare Davy slides it into third and burns rubber. I feel my weight pressing back into the seat as fourth gear engages and suddenly we're doing 130k. The last 300 meters or so before the left turn onto 559, the road veered slightly to the right, away from the rail, and I remembered feeling that we were loosing ground. Suddenly we were sliding into the turn as Davy downshifted to second and burned more rubber across the little bridge and when the tires grabbed the black top we literally flew up the hill and cleared the train by maybe 30 meters. I know it seems like a lot but the train was now doing 80k. Half way up the hill I would have slammed on the brakes. Davy never hesitated. You can't hide your heart in that situation and his heart was huge. Born in September 1946, he got killed Nov 12, 1969 in an early snow with a friend going back to work in the city after deer hunting. A truck driver heading north in the passing lane took them and one other vehicle out and kept going. Every time I get to that hill south of Coldwater I think of Davy.. It could have been any of us. This ones for him. Cheers. t

Produced by Shawn Maguire. Vocals, bass and guitars - Shawn Maguire. Drums - Mackenzie Longpre