The Romantic Ghost of Highway 6

On a long and lonesome US Highway 6, West of Iowa City, I could hear the engine of my black metallic 4-doors sedan humming like 66 humming birds flying on top of its hood. I departed from the campus of the University of Iowa about 40 minutes ago, where I had a great time visiting as always with a good friend whom I first met during our elementary school days. I was trying my best to keep a steady pace driving towards Grinnell. It was almost midnight. I had my radio turned on and tuned to a soft-rock station. The car stereo volume was several decibels just above the humming sound of my car’s engine. It was a very clear night with little or no wind. My car just sped past the town of Merango and I figured that I should be back in my dorm room in approximately 46 minutes tops. As I was approaching Ladora, a glitch on my car radio occurred. It didn’t sound static like a mis-tuned radio. It was as if there was someone actually turning the radio tuning knob rapidly left and right. Then, it suddenly stopped and the sound of the soft-rock music I had set it on when I was departing Iowa City came back on, clearly and sharply.

Six seconds after driving out of Ladora, up ahead at a junction with a country road before Highway 6 bends a little bit towards the northwest direction, I saw a man standing on the right shoulder of the road. He was wearing a black tuxedo with red bow tie. He had his right arm extended straight out in front of him with his thumb pointing up into the sky. He was asking for a ride.

I had given rides to several hitchhikers during my days driving between Des Moines, Grinnell, and Iowa City on I-80 as well as on US-Hwy 6. Despite all the horror stories I had heard about hitchhikers harming drivers and vice-versa, my positive outlook on humanity kept the horror stories at bay in my mind. Besides, I’ve always been confident about my martial arts training and skills developed since childhood. I wasn’t a dragon warrior by anyone’s stretch of imagination, but I knew that I could give someone a great fight, if need be.

There were no cars following behind me or in the oncoming lane. I was the only one driving on this stretch of the highway at that moment. I slowed my car down and steered it towards the right shoulder of the road. I brought it to a complete stop next to the man. He dropped his right arm, walked towards the rear door and got in. After he gently closed the car door I glanced up to look into the rearview mirror and asked, “Where to?” He replied in a deep whispery monotone voice, “Six miles up ahead, I’ll let you know when.” That was all we said to each other.

I turned my car back onto the main pavement and started to accelerate up to the speed limit. My sedan followed the highway’s bend and headed up onto an overpass going over the railroad track. Just as the vehicle entered the bridge a song came on the radio. It was a Ritchie Valens song, “We belong together”. It immediately mesmerized me. [Available on YouTube, please have a listen while reading on]

[Verse 1]

You're mine

And we belong together

Yes, we belong together

For eternity

[Verse 2]

You're mine

Your lips belong to me

Yes, they belong to only me

For eternity

[Bridge]

You're mine, my baby

And you'll always be

I swear by everything I own

You'll always, always be mine

[Verse 3]

You're mine

And we belong together

Yes, we belong together

For eternity

I’ve listened to this song ample times, but it has never mesmerized me like it did that night. I’ve also watched the movie, “La Bamba” starring Lou Diamond Phillips. Yet, this song never had such an effect on me.

While listening to it in the car along with my silent guest passenger, I could visualize vividly my summer vacation plans with my girlfriend, who was at that time attending Duke University in Durham, North Carolina. We had planned to spend a week together in New York City before she was to fly back to Taiwan to visit her parents. As I was picturing us walking in New York’s Central Park holding hands the song came to an end.

I was still in a trance for at least 6 seconds and had even forgotten during those moments that I had someone riding in the backseat of my car. I snapped out of my imaginary romantic walk with my girlfriend and glanced up to my rearview mirror. He was gone. My passenger disappeared into thin air!

My mind was in a frenzy. My heart sank down to my knees. I was sure that I had picked someone up and he had gotten into my car, and I’ve not dropped him off anywhere yet! “Breathe, breathe, breathe, deep breaths, deep breaths,” I spoke out loud to myself. At the same time in my mind I was also saying, “What the F just happened? It cannot be! Am I crazy?”

I had several drinks with my good friend in Iowa City after dinner, but we didn’t smoke any joint. “There has got to be an explanation,” I muttered sibilantly with a little of teeth grinding.

As I drove past the junction with Hwy 21 I saw a blinking neon sign on my right located adjacent to what looked to be a small gas station. I decided to pull into the parking area. I immediately saw that the gas station was already closed when I approach the parking space; however, the place next to it seemed to be opened. The neon sign on top of the building read “Y-NOT-BAR”. I decided to walk in. I opened the front entrance door and immediately saw at about 6 feet from where I was standing a small bar set inside a room of approximately 36 by 36 square feet. The room was surprisingly well lit. The short end of the bar was facing my twelve O’clock, and the long side of the bar was facing my three O’clock. There were no stools on my short end of the bar, so I decided to grab one available at the long end of it. At the other short end of the bar sat a man who was trying to eat a bowl of soup very slowly. He was oblivious to my presence. After sitting down on the stool, at my six O’clock approximately 6 feet stood a tall skinny man in a full cowboy outfit holding a mug of beer in his left hand and a dart in his right hand. He glanced at my direction temporarily and resumed what he was doing prior to my arrival. The lady bartender walked up to me with a slight smile and asked, “What will it be?” I replied, “A shot of your house whiskey please.” She shot back immediately, “I’m gonna need to see an I.D.” I took my wallet from my back pocket and pulled out my driver’s license. She looked at the picture on the I.D. and looked at my face, up and down twice. Then she pointed her finger to the date of birth region of the I.D. and said, “You’re good.” She turned around and grabbed a shot glass from the shelving behind her. She skillfully poured me a whiskey in a split second.

She was a short medium built lady, about 5 feet 6 inches tall. She was wearing jeans, white long sleeve shirt, and a blue baseball cap with a white letter “C” on it. Her shoulder length brown hair was well kept inside the cap and tied back behind her head. My guess was that she looked about thirty-five or thirty-six years old. She walked away from me to the other short end of the bar and said something to the man who was eating a bowl of soup. He nodded back at her. Then, she walked back towards me with a bigger smile and said, “You look kind of pale there buddy. Did you see a ghost?” Right there and then, I had another “WTF” moment of the night. I replied hesitantly, “Yes, I think I did.” She started to chuckle and said, “You gave Billy a ride, didn’t you?” I said, “Billy who?” “Billy Jacobson,” she shot back. “He died way back in the early sixties, of a heartache. Since then, he’s been seen occasionally by travelers hitching a ride to listen to one of his favorite songs.” My heart was pounding faster as I listened intently. As she was about to continue with the story, I did not hesitate this time and asked her, “What happened to him? How and why did he die?”

She explained that Billy and his high school sweetheart, Mary Kate, were on their way home from their Senior Prom one night. Billy was driving. His father lent him the car for the night. As he entered Hwy 6 and accelerated the car up to the higher speed, he saw an oncoming farm truck swirling towards the median looking like it was about to cross into the lane he was driving on. He reacted with maximum panic and quickly turned his steering wheel to the right. In the process he over compensated the turn and the car flipped onto the driver side and rolled several times onto the opposite lane and into the ditch beyond the shoulder of the oncoming lane. The driver of the farm truck was able to steer the vehicle to his right just in the nick of time, and the truck did not hit Billy’s car while it flipped. Tragically, Mary Kate died at the scene of the accident, and Billy was taken to the hospital for broken bones and bruises. After two weeks in the hospital he was discharged. As his body began to heal better and better, his mental state took the opposite turn, it continued to deteriorate. Several weeks later he died of a heartache. The guilt and the thought of living without his sweetheart Mary Kate was unbearable for him to continue living. The song “We belong together” by Ritchie Valens was the last song they slow-danced with each other on the dance floor at the Senior Prom that night.

I called for another shot of whiskey. I chugged it down quickly, pulled $30 out of my pocket and slapped it down on the counter. I bid good night and good bye to the lady bartender, and made out of the bar quickly. I arrived at my dorm room much later than I had planned, of course. I decided to skip the shower and jumped into my bed right away. Ever since then, I have never told anyone about what happened that night.

Several weeks later, I built up my courage to drive on Hwy 6 at night again. It was an early evening of a Thursday. A dorm mate who had been looking for a ride to Iowa City came along with me. As we drove past the stretch of the highway where the “Y-NOT-BAR” was supposed to be, and all I saw was an empty lot. I stayed silent. My dorm mate had no idea what was going through my mind whatsoever. I kept on looking for the neon sign up until we approached Ladora. None, no “Y-NOT-BAR” sign was seen. I had another “WTF” moment again!

The next day, I returned to Grinnell driving alone on Hwy 6. It was about 1:30 p.m. when I drove into Ladora. I saw a small US Post Office on my right and decided to stop by. I walked into the Post Office and saw that there was one clerk behind the counter. She was wearing her full USPS uniform and looked to be in her late 50s. I told her that I had a question. I asked if she knows where the “Y-NOT-BAR” is. She replied confidently that she’s never heard of such a bar around this area. I thanked her and bid good bye. While walking out of the Post Office I had another “WTF” moment again.

Driving from Ladora to Grinnell that afternoon, I kept my attention on the right side of the road looking for a small gas station and a bar. I did not see them. To this day, I get an occasional “WTF” moment thinking about the “Y-NOT-BAR” more than when I think about Billy Jacobson.