“On one hand, the book is a quick read, and yet what Padgett does with his sentences is to be savored ... He takes a deep pleasure in the words, their sounds and variable meanings ... All of it is marked by the ease of Padgett’s writing, his unrivaled directness.” ―John Yau, Hyperallergic When the spinster Miss Helen Campbell sets off in a motorcar called “The Comet” with four high school girls, their cross-country car ride promises to fulfill their singular dreams of grand vistas. Unprepared for the ensuing plane crash, a stolen car, a trip to The Singing Ranch, encounters with cryptic individuals, a painting by Henri Rousseau, a train robber on the lam, an Italian village located in California, a talking door and the assistance of cowboys, Blaise Cendrars, Indians and mountain outlaws who turn into statues, the redoubtable Motor Maids are compelled to dream even larger. Ron Padgett (born 1942) grew up in Tulsa and has lived mostly in New York City since 1960. Among his many honors are a Guggenheim Fellowship, the American Academy of Arts and Letters poetry award, the Shelley Memorial Award and grants from the National Endowment for the Arts. Padgett’s How Long was a Pulitzer Prize finalist in poetry. His Collected Poems won the William Carlos Williams Award from the Poetry Society of America and the Los Angeles Times prize for the best poetry book of 2013. In addition to being a poet, he is the translator of Guillaume Apollinaire, Pierre Reverdy and Blaise Cendrars. His poems appeared in Jim Jarmusch's film Paterson . Ron Padgett grew up in Tulsa and has lived mostly in New York City since 1960. Among his many honors are a Guggenheim Fellowship, the American Academy of Arts and Letters poetry award, the Shelley Memorial Award, and grants from the National Endowment for the Arts. Padgett's HOW LONG was a Pulitzer Prize finalist in poetry and his COLLECTED POEMS won the William Carlos Williams Award from the Poetry Society of America and the Los Angeles Times prize for the best poetry book of 2013. His other recent books include MOTOR MAIDS ACROSS THE CONTINENT, HOW TO BE PERFECT, JOE: A MEMOIR OF JOE BRAINARD, and IF I WERE YOU. In addition to being a poet, he is the translator of Guillaume Apollinaire, Pierre Reverdy, and Blaise Cendrars. His poems appear in Jim Jarmusch's film Paterson . Motor Maids across the Continent By Ron Padgett The Song Cave Copyright © 2017 Ron Padgett All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-9988290-0-5 CHAPTER 1 "At my age, too," began Miss Helen Campbell, leaning back in her seat and folding her hands as if they were a letter of resignation. "At your age what, dear cousin?" asked Wilhelmina "Billie" Campbell, supervising the loading of five huge suitcases and other paraphernalia for a long trip by motorcar. "At my age to turn emigrant, emigrant, emigrant!" exclaimed the little lady. "At my age to become a gypsy vagabond. Emigrant! Vagabond! What would grandpa have said?" "He would have been delighted, I am certain, Cousin Helen," answered her young relative. "And," added Nancy, "such an up-to-date gypsy vagabond, one who rides in a motorcar and wears a chiffon veil." "And has four ladies-in-waiting. But now when we are, at the last moment, about to start on this amazing journey, I cannot help but think that it is a wild adventure. Do I use the correct word?" asked Mary. Elinor said nothing. With a happy laugh the four girls jumped into their seats. One of the attendants from the hotel gave the crank a dexterous throbbing sound of machinery, and up shot the horsepower, eager to be on the road. Miss Campbell's rose still had dew on it when she and the Motor Maids began their journey across the continent from Chicago to San Francisco. It was a glorious morning toward the last of May, the air just frosty enough to make the blood tingle across the cheeks. The red car sped through the sunshine with all the beauty of machinery in perfect order, and the polished plate glass of the windguard reflected the four happy faces of the Motor Maids and the inscrutable face of their aunt off on a lark, which, when all is said and done, will have carried them through many an adventure along the way. Through Chicago they whirled, past fine homes where sleepy maids and blinking butlers were raising the blinds to let in the morning light, through business streets already humming with energy, and at last out through the interesting suburbs. Billie the motorist knew it all like a book because she had written it for the past week. Every day she had taken pencil and paper along some fifty maps and guide books until her mind reflected now only a great bird, through the center of which was drawn a bright red line — the road The Comet was to take straight to the Pacific Ocean. There was nothing now, however, in these flat, monotonous wheat fields to pique even a paranoid's interest. But there was much to talk about. "Was it only last week that we were schoolgirls at West Haven High