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pcttrailsidereader · 2 years

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Pastor Mary Dodges the Mosquito Fire

Mary Davison, who completed the Triple Crown a few years back and at 81 has been chipping away at the American Discovery Trail, is truly a force of nature. Pastor Mary, as she is known on the trail, started long distance hiking late in life and hasn't stopped. In our anthology of PCT stories published as Crossing Paths: A Pacific Crest Trailside Reader (Mountaineers, 2022) we included a contribution from Pastor Mary based upon some of her first experiences hiking on the PCT in southern Washington. That glimpse into Pastor Mary on the trail is both humorous and inspiring.

This is an article that appeared in SF Gate back in late September.

Mary Davison in the Tushar Mountains of southern Utah, part of Fishlake National Forest. (Bob Palin)

Amanda Bartlett, SFGATE

When Mary Davison smelled smoke as she approached Palisades Tahoe on the American Discovery Trail earlier this month, she instantly knew something was wrong.

The 81-year-old hiker had already logged at least 4,000 miles on the westbound route of the nation’s only coast-to-coast trail, which stretches from Cape Henlopen State Park, Delaware, to Point Reyes National Seashore in California. Davison kicked off her journey in 2015, and has been working to complete the trail in 300- to 400-mile sections twice a year since then. She had hoped to finish the final leg of her trek in Nevada before heading to California, when her friend and travel companion, Kathy, texted her.

“I think there’s a fire in Foresthill,” the message read.

Sure enough, it was the Mosquito Fire, which had consumed more than 41,000 acres at the time and was rapidly spreading north, causing the United States Forest Service to issue a closure order that shut down a large portion of the trail until the end of the year, as Hiking America first reported. As of Thursday, the fire has burned 76,539 acres with 60% containment and is California's largest of the year.

Davison was the only American Discovery Trail hiker immediately affected by the blaze, Bob Palin, Utah trail coordinator for the American Discovery Trail Society, told SFGATE. She had no choice but to turn around as the fire raged about 45 miles away and a thick layer of smoke shrouded the hills around her. Even so, she said the circumstances could have been much worse.

“If it hadn’t been for the heat wave, I would have already been down [on Foresthill road],” she told SFGATE by phone, noting that she had adjusted her route so she would be closer to Washoe Lake, where the temperatures were slightly cooler. She would have met up with Kathy at Robinson Flat, which turned out to be in the evacuation zone. “If I was coming there after three days of backpacking, and I had no food and water, and a fire separating me from everything, I wouldn’t have been able to get out.”

In spite of the mounting obstacles further derailing Davison’s trip — her travel companion’s van where she sometimes sleeps also recently broke down when they were driving through Truckee — she feels fortunate.

Trees burn during the Mosquito Fire on Sept. 14, 2022, in Foresthill. The Mosquito Fire has become California's largest wildfire of the year. (Eric Thayer/Getty Images)

A retired pastor, physical therapist and grandmother of 10 who grew up in Puyallup, Washington, Davison always loved the outdoors — a passion that began when she became a Girl Scout in fifth grade.

“The rest of my life was immaterial and irrelevant to me,” she said, chuckling. “I just wanted to go to Girl Scout camp again.”

As an adult, Davison became a member of the Mountaineers and learned how to climb snow glaciers, eventually conquering Mount Saint Helena and Mount Baker. From there, she went on backpacking trips and day hikes just about whenever she could, but it wasn’t until she was 60 years old that she decided to pursue long distance hiking.

“When I retired, I picked a number out of the air. I thought 400 miles sounded like a good hike, so I could make the trek but go home and have the rest of my lunch, too,” she said.

Since then, she’s earned the Triple Crown of Hiking for traversing the entirety of the Appalachian Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, and the Continental Divide Trail, chronicling her expedition in two books — “Old Lady on the Trail” and “Aren’t You Afraid?” (It's a question she’s asked rather frequently, be it about bears or other dangers a hiker might encounter on the trails.)

She isn’t — and still hopes to check the American Discovery Trail off her list.

“When you see that you’ve ticked off states as they go, and you only have two left, you think, I ought to be able to do that,” Davison said. “I’m probably only going to get 150 miles this year, and that means if I want to finish next year they would have to be longer hikes than I would have anticipated.”

But ultimately, the decision she made to turn back was an invaluable one, and she hopes other hikers heed that advice, too.

“You do have to be flexible on long trails because things can happen. We all know the West has been burning, and if you’re on any long trail, you have to take into account there’s going to be a fire,” she said. “You have to make the call if you value your life.”

Davison acknowledged that there can be a pressure for thru-hikers to complete a trail from start to finish without stopping. But learning to pursue longer hikes later in life taught her to be patient with herself — she hikes 13 miles a day, sometimes less for elevation gains, and makes sure to limit the weight of her backpack to 20 pounds or less.

“You have to know what you can do with the age that you are and the physical condition that you have. I have two knee and shoulder replacements, but I can still do stuff. I can’t do it fast, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do them,” she said. “You have to arrange your hiking plans to fit your ability.”

At this point, Davison is uncertain whether she’ll be able to finish the trail at all, or how long the journey ahead of her could be. Trail coordinator Palin helped her find an alternative form of transportation to Utah so she could attempt to continue her hike from there while the van underwent repairs, but floods and mudslides from the recent downpour upended those plans, too. Fortunately, she was able to meet up with Kathy and the van again, and their next course of action is to drive to Baker, Nevada, and see if she can venture west from Cave Lake State Park.

“I’m an upbeat person so I’ll deal with whatever I have to deal with. I didn’t come by that easily,” Davison said. “There’s things in life you can’t change. … I can’t make the fire not happen. Sometimes, it’s a matter of realizing you’re not in control of the world. It’s about enjoying the time you have.”

#Mary Davison #Mosquito Fire #fire #American Discovery Trail #hiking when older

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

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chapter seventeen: the city by the lake

“So here we are in Lone Pine—what's next again?” Alex asked her as he drank down his fresh coffee.

“Independence. Fort Independence and also Manzanar.”

“Oh, damn.”

“Yeah. I remember the first time I polished up on my history and my dad told me about it. I was horrified, especially by how it's so close to home, too. But yeah, it's Independence, Manzanar, and then Big Pine, and then finally Bishop. We'll stop there and I'll show you one of mine and my parents' favorite places to go at during this whole road trip: right on the main street. Maybe the next time around—like when it's closer to summer, we can go up to Tom's Place—up the hill north of Bishop. My dad stopped at Tom's Place once years ago, and he said they have literally the best blueberry cobbler.”

“Yum,” Alex declared as he rolled his eyes up into the back of his head, and it made her giggle.

He sipped on his coffee some more and he peered out the window which looked out to the west. Mount Whitney was still buried underneath those clouds, but every so often, those feathery wispy sheets dissipated and they both looked on at those high jagged points as they stood strong and foreboding and blanketed with a fresh layer of pure white snow, like the highest most haunted castle in all of the land. Sam shivered at the sight of those points and then she returned to her French toast.

“Just looks cold up there,” he said.

“Where? Up there?” Sam pointed out the window to the top of the mountain, and he nodded. “You know, we're not too far from Death Valley.”

“Oh, yeah, there's that race they have every year. You know, the run from the very bottom of Death Valley to the peak of Mount Whitney.”

“Oh, that! Yeah! That takes place every summer, though. I mean, it makes sense—given how cold it is up there and everything but—still.”

“Right?” Alex showed her a little grin as he reached for another piece of toast. “We should go to Yosemite at some point.”

“I dunno if we can go up there, though,” she confessed. “I didn't see the sign that says that the roads are closed, but that one in particular on this side of the mountains—Tioga, because it's so high up—is closed for most of the year.”

“'Cause of black ice and whatnot,” he added.

“Right! But that's another adventure for us, if you ask me, though. When I went on the road trip with Louie, he mentioned the Eastern Sierra being so peaceful. I kinda wish I agreed with him the first time around because—it really is. There's so much to this side of California. So much to offer, so much to see, so many unique adventures away from L.A., San Diego, and the Bay Area. So much more than meets the eye.”

“It's almost as if you're showing me the one place that you go to when no one's looking,” he said with a thoughtful look on his face. Sam hesitated and then it dawned on her. She really was showing it to him. She was showing him her quiet place. “And at some point, I probably should show you mine, too.”

“You have a quiet place, too?”

He nodded at that and the black hair dye on the crown of his head seemed to fade away with the movements of his head.

“It's not where you think, though,” he explained. “If and when you and I have time and there's a right place for it, I'll show it to you. And I want it to be just you and me, too—there's only one other person I think of who's been to it and that was my mom.”

“Mama took her baby to a place to keep him quiet,” she teased him as she brought her cup of coffee to her lips.

“Yes! Exactly!” he laughed at that, and he raised his coffee cup to her and they made a toast to one another. A toast to one another and then they ate up the rest of their toast. He took one last sip of his coffee and then he leaned back in his chair.

“Feel better?” she asked him.

“Oh, yes,” he replied with a nod of his head and a hand on his stomach, “a lot better actually. I was getting ready to roll out of the car, chase something down and kill it with my bare hands.” She burst out laughing at that.

“I was, though!” he insisted. “And it was that—like—real sudden hunger, too. You know, it's like you're fine one second and then all of a sudden, it's like 'hooooly fuck, I'm starving!'” He said that last part under his breath. “It's sudden and leaves you feeling kinda sick, too. It's almost like you're carsick.”

“Ooh, yeah, that sucks,” she said with her nose wrinkled, and then she took another sip of her coffee. “It also didn't help you were actually in a car, too.”

“Right!”

One more sip of her coffee and then she wiped her mouth with her napkin.

“Shall we?” she offered him.

“We shall,” he said back to her and he put his sunglasses back on over his nose and gave his flattened stomach a loving pat. Sam led him back outside, and she held the door for him all the while.

“Thank you,” he told her and he adjusted the lapels of his windbreaker. The cold winds flooded down from the Whitney Portal and the rugged tall mountains off to the north; she huddled closer to him as she got the keys ready for the next stint of the trip and yet even more cold desolate desert.

Soon, they returned to the road and the short series of stoplights all the way to the edge of town and even more barren, wide open road. Alex peered out the window and the morning sun, which had now risen up over the windswept landscape: a fine layer of clouds blanketed those cold rays as if it behaved as a veil. The shine on those mirrored lenses appeared as more of a glow rather than a straight glare.

“So new album's gonna be called Practice What You Preach, right?” she asked him as the signs for Manzanar entered her view.

“That's the running title, actually,” he explained, “I do hope it's gonna be called that. It just feels appropriate, you know? Especially for this time and era, but at the same time, I don't wanna be like—really on the nose about the things I'm thinking of with writing lyrics.”

“The power of art!” she said. “I still owe you a demo.”

“It's okay,” he assured her, “we needed breakfast after all. And there's so much you wanna show me, too.”

“There really is, Alex. Like I said, this whole road is like a gateway to a whole bunch of adventures. A lot of things that so many don't know about, and a part of me wants to keep it all to ourselves.”

“You didn't call it a quiet place for no reason,” he pointed out.

“True.”

On the left side of the highway, the sage brush and scraggly low trees gave way to partially collapsed chain link fences and the low buildings that made up that old Japanese internment camp. The house in Elsinore felt like a prison for sure, but the sight of that old abandoned compound left Sam speechless. She took a glimpse over at Alex and the thoughtful expression still plastered on his face, even with the sunglasses upon his nose.

To think that she and him wanted nothing to do with each other at one point, much like how she didn't care for Marla at first, and to the point she was willing to take Charlie from her. She still had a long way to go with him, especially when the beautifully desolate desert gave way to even more low rolling foothills and steep slopes along those ferocious towering mountains with their thick sheets of snow, those massive, thick glaciers indicative of the Palisades, the rather treacherous part of the Sierra Nevadas. Even in broad daylight, they looked ready to take these two young kids under their darkness as if they were dragons that guarded the castle down by Mount Whitney.

All along the fine white sands under the seemingly endless droves of scraggly sage brush. All within even more black volcanic rock.

Within time, they reached Big Pine and the titular big sequoia tree at the northern end in all of its lush light greenery even in the dead of winter, like the tallest turret of the castle.

“Here's a fun li'l fact for you, Alexander,” Sam started again. “That tree right there was planted by Teddy Roosevelt.”

“Really?” He was genuinely stunned by that.

“Planted it almost a whole century ago, and it just got bigger and fuller and healthier with time.”

“Sounds like my belly,” he joked, and she laughed at that.

“Past that tree is yet another road to Death Valley. But keep going on it and you end up in Nevada and eventually the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest—right on the other side of those mountains over there.”

“Ancient bristlecone pines,” he echoed that.

“Literally some of the oldest trees in the world out there.”

“Yet another adventure for us.”

“Right?”

The Palisades soon gave way to a far more elaborate complex of rugged rough mountains, all covered with even more snow and glaciers. Meanwhile, the sun dipped behind a thicker part of clouds, such that Alex took off his sunglasses and revealed his deep set eyes to the world. The black hair dye upon the crown of his head glimmered and shone under the faint gray winter light and for a second, she swore that she saw that little tuft of gray there right over his brow once again.

“Do you plan on dyeing your hair again?” she asked him.

“Um—” He stopped and those eyes caressed over the immense corridor of land before them. “Actually—no. Unless there's a reason for it.”

“I don't want you to,” she told him. “That little tuft of gray hair is what makes you—” She hesitated for a second in search of the right word. “—unique.”

He nibbled on his bottom lip and sighed through his nose. She was sincere with that: that little tuft of premature gray set him apart from everyone else whom she had known before then.

Another fifteen miles of flat sands across the landscape and soon the first trees, the ones that weren't bristlecone pines or anything akin to them, appeared in their view. The mountains dipped away into the low hanging gray clouds and gave way to a bowl shaped valley before them. The town of Bishop emerged in their view.

“So the place that my parents and I liked to go to on the way through here,” she began as they slowed up for the main street and the deserted, rolling golf course off to the left, “it's—on my side.”

He looked out the windshield along with her. They rolled at a slow pace, past all the little shops and boutiques. The big city of the middle of nowhere right at the base of all the giant mountains. All the rocks to climb and master. All to uncover and carry the weight upon: for a fleeting moment, Sam thought of Belinda and how much she loved to work with her hands. She wondered how Belinda would fare in such a stark terrain because it all but required one to work with their hands, especially if they were artists.

She recognized that rusted sign as it poked out from the side of the road, right beyond the stoplight at the center of town.

“Ah! Here we are.”

Lucky for them, there was no one else in the parking lot given it was New Year's, and thus she eagerly took the first spot closest to the heavy wooden front doors, right in the narrow parking lot. The clouds overhead thinned out a bit for the sun's rays as it began to reach the apex of the sky: but the fact that the mountains had disappeared behind a block of white clouds told Sam that the snows were upon them.

She led him inside the bakery, into that initial narrow corridor followed by the room off to the left with all of the bread and pastries they could possibly imagine. On the far side of the room stood the case with all the fresh cookies and cakes either of them could ask for. She thought of Joey on the previous New Year's Eve, in how they could have all the ice cream they could possibly imagine some day.

A part of her felt as though she and Alex could have all the fresh pastries they could ever ask for some day themselves. Alex himself set a hand on his stomach even though they had only eaten an hour before; Sam raised two fingers to the older baker, who then took out one of the fresh dark reddish brown cookies with a kiss of pearly white frosting on the front side from the row right before her with a sheet of white tissue paper.

Alex chuckled at what she was buying for him.

“Yet another ginger snap,” he remarked.

“Except these have frosting on them—these are nothing like the one I bought for you when we were in Germany. And you're getting two this time around, too.”

“I really am going to gain weight hanging out with you,” he joked with a straight face and a shake of his head.

“It's all good for ya, son,” the baker behind the counter said. “Handmade ginger cookies.”

“Think of it as healthy weight,” she pointed out. “Healthy weight for your little body. And ginger's real good for your stomach, too.” She returned to the baker. “And I'll have one of these big round sugar cookies here, too, please.”

He kindly got the big cookie in question for her and then wrapped all three in that tissue paper, followed by a little brown paper bag. She thanked him and then the two of them doubled back towards the cashier: all the while, Sam swiped a bag of freshly baked cheesy bread from one of the racks.

“My parents love this stuff,” she told him. “It's like the ultimate road trip snack for us.”

“Just break off a piece and eat it every so often,” he followed along. “It's so humble. I kinda like it.”

“We don't have much but we have each other,” she stated.

“We don't have much but we have each other, right.”

She reached the cash register at the wooden desk first and she took out her wallet from her purse.

“I'm gonna be right over here,” he told her, and she nodded at him. She stepped forward with his ginger snap and her sugar cookie in that little paper bag as well as the cheesy bread, and the cashier rang her up in one fell swoop. She looked over at Alex as he walked on over there.

“Beautiful boy,” the cashier told her in a low voice. Sam glanced over at Alex, who gazed on at the rows of freshly baked breads on the racks on the other side of the room.

“Yeah, I guess he is,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. The cashier squinted her eyes at her.

“Hon—he's gorgeous,” she told her. “Don't lose him. It's not often you see a boy as gorgeous as him.”

Sam pursed her lips together and the cashier handed her her change. She just treated him as she would a good friend and treated him well, even with all of the complex thoughts she had in mind: she dared not look at Alex that way, especially with him still not even old enough to drink alcohol yet. She still had those thoughts within her, but thoughts would have to remain as thoughts regardless of everything else. She thanked her and beckoned Alex to follow her back outside to the gray late morning: the sun disappeared behind the thin veil of clouds once again as they returned to the car yet again.

“You smell like freshly baked bread,” she told him as he buckled in.

“And you smell—like—baked bread, too,” he retorted to her, to which she giggled at him. She fired up the car again and they doubled back to the mouth of the driveway, and back onto the main road once the light turned red. They were alone on the street: despite it being the big city of the middle of nowhere, the sidewalks had already rolled up for New Year's Eve.

She caught the next and final light green and she rounded a lefthand turn, away from the next turn off to Highway 6: she had a vague memory of that turn off, and how her father told her it extended all the way out east, all the way back to New England, but she dared not tell Alex that just yet. They had a mountain to climb in front of them.

The highway separated out into four lanes once again, two in their direction and two which headed back to Bishop: in between was a sandy barren center divider.

The clouds collected all around the summit of the gargantuan Mount Tom right before them.

“Right up this road here,” she explained as they stared the mountain straight on, “when we get to the top, is Tom's Place.”

“The place with the amazing cobbler,” he recalled.

“That's the one!”

They soon cleared the city limit and they meandered over even more barren landscape. So bare and stark, and yet there was something so endless and stunning about it all, much like the coastline. Where the coastline with Louie's presence proved to be serene and intense at the same time, the mountains paired with Alex's presence brought her in touch with herself more than ever. She dared not tell him about it as they reached a series of pastures and ranches on the edge of town.

The highway took a sharp curve around the bend and they were met with a daunting hillside.

“This part of the trip here bothers me the most,” she admitted.

“Why's that?” he asked her.

“It just goes up.”

“It just goes up?”

“All the way up.”

She realized that they were in an older car, too. She had no clue if they would reach the top still in a cool spot.

She gripped onto the rim of the steering wheel and sighed through her nose. The snows were upon them after all: she could feel it through the glass of the windshield.

She took a glimpse over at Alex and his relaxed pose, although those deep eyes were locked onto the cold pavement before them. Another glimpse and she realized how wide they had gotten with the sight before them, as if he had seen a ghost of some sort. She recognized that look in his eyes from the fire ball incident in Germany.

Sam sighed through her nose and, once she switched off the heater, she let the road guide their way.

They climbed all the way up the hillside, a continual gradual incline to the very top, high above the desert and the Owens Valley, and almost level with the mountain tops. The halfway point already had a fresh dusting of snow upon the ground.

“Jesus,” Alex muttered as the road continued on and on up the side of the hill.

“Yeah. People overheat on this mountain pass all the time.” Once the words left her lips, they passed a trailer with a water tank aboard specifically for that problem in question. She took a glance down at the narrow red needles within the gages: the one with the temperature rose a little bit but she knew their saving grace was the cold and the snow.

More snow emerged along the sides of the road. More snow, more slope. Alex shifted his weight in the seat: he clung onto the safety bar over his head. His breathing was steady but she could still see it in his eyes.

They both sat still until they spotted that sign on the side of the road that told them they reached the top of Sherwin Summit. A gentle curve downwards and then the road finally leveled out. At least a foot of snow covered either side of the road and all of the dark forests that lined the way. Miles and miles of thick dark forest covered in white snow so they resembled to those fake trees on a display at Christmas.

“Reminds me of the Black Forest,” Alex said aloud.

“Reminds me of upstate New York,” Sam followed up.

It really did, too: the highway snaked through the trees, complete with big views of Mount Tom and all the snow capped mountains before them, and Lake Crowley and the Long Valley Caldera along the way it all made her think of Finger Lakes and the thick lush forest that she and Joey drove through over to his parents' house. Alex switched the heater back on, but it was rather futile given the cold and icy feeling of everything outside the car.

She pictured Joey in the back seat right behind them as they passed the turn off up to Convict Lake as well as even more forest. She knew that, had she shown him this trip sooner, he probably would never have met Krista in the first place. He probably would love this place as well, especially with the added fact that it was all volcanic.

“This place is so stunning,” Alex remarked as he peered out the window to the vast volcanic plain, now blanketed with fresh pure white snow. “Can't believe this has been right under my nose the whole time, too.”

“Some day I'll show you Convict Lake, Rock Creek Lake, and June Lake,” she vowed as they scoured the rim of Lake Crowley: its black waters glassy under the gray sky and in between the white snow. “There's one place I haven't been to up here with my parents yet and that's Mammoth Mountain, Mammoth Lakes, and Devil's Postpile, right up this way—”

Straight ahead, Mammoth Mountain towered back against the cold gray, but soon they reached another gentle curve in the road and headed for more dark forest. More dark forest lined with small snowy clearings and tiny ponds of black icy water.

“Somewhere along the way here is Obsidian Hill,” she told him as they slithered through those tall trees, “a literal five hundred foot high pile of obsidian.”

“Volcanic glass,” he said.

“Don't take any of it, though,” she advised him. “We are in a volcano, after all.”

“Something about the goddess Pele or something?” he recalled. “I remember reading about her in that book when we were in England. The one where I read about the Wandering Jew. Like if you take something from a volcano, it'll erupt or something—I don't completely recall it.”

“Please the goddess somehow,” she declared. “But how is another question.”

They reached the top of the next ridge, albeit a low one in comparison to the hulking Obsidian Hill, which hid away back in the trees like a troll. Another sign appeared on the side of the road which told them they reached the top of Dead Man Summit. At that point, Alex set a hand on his stomach yet again.

“Ginger snap time,” she said.

“Time for a snap,” he said with a snap of his fingers. He took one out of the paper bag in between them: right underneath it was the cheesy bread. While he took a cookie for himself, she reached into that bag with one hand. With two fingers, she sloughed off a piece of that bread and stuck it in her mouth.

“Yeah, I'm gonna be so plump by the time I'm thirty,” he confessed as he broke off a piece of ginger snap and set it on his tongue.

“Let me ask you something,” she began.

“Ask me anything.”

“Why are you so concerned about your weight? Like that's something that I worry about. I've never met a guy who was so finicky about that.”

“'Cause I'm Jewish—we have health problems galore. Obesity and trouble with the heart runs in my family, too.”

“Aw, I had no idea.”

“It's okay—you didn't know. But—you know—I can't help myself sometimes. I don't care. I like to eat!”

“You grew up in the Bay Area, too. You guys aren't really known for your food so much.”

“No, we aren't! When we eat, we eat.” He took another bite of ginger snap and closed his eyes.

“Man, I wish we had Mexican hot chocolate with us,” she declared. “You ever had that?”

“YES,” he replied with his eyes so big that he resembled to a cartoon character.

“I made a couple of cups of that for Cliff when we were together,” she said in a soft voice, “he loved it. And I feel like that cookie there would go excellent with a little cup of that.”

“Oh, my god, talk about spicy,” he said as he covered his mouth with his free hand. He then swallowed. “By the way, what's the food like over in New York? I only caught a small sliver of it the times Testament went out that way to record but is it really as extensive as everyone says it is?”

“That's an understatement,” she told him. “Alex, I only lived there for three years but I feel like I only scratched the surface. Marla and Bel know far more about it than I do and I think they get overwhelmed from time to time.”

“Jew boy paradise,” he said as he took another bite.

They passed the June Lake Junction followed by a small series of frozen creeks in the woods, and then they were met with a watershed in the shape of a small valley. A thin layer of snow covered the grass out there. Once Alex finished his ginger snap, he licked his lips and gave his black hair a little toss back. In that stint of the trip alone, the black hair dye faded even more to the point Sam could actually see those grays once again.

“Kinda thirsty,” he said.

“We'll stop in Lee Vining and get some water,” she assured him, “we need to get gas anyway.”

Indeed, they turned the next bend, which brought them down lower into the watershed: off before them stood the noxious glassy salt water Mono Lake. They turned another bend and she caught a glimpse of the salty turrets down by the shoreline.

“I remember Mark Twain talking about this lake,” he said aloud, “how it's so salty that it's like swimming in brine.”

“Yeah, it smells, too,” she added, and she couldn't help but think of the East River back in New York all the while; “and not how the beach and the ocean smell, either. Salty and even more volcanic than Lake Crowley. Not the best combination for humans.”

Even though it was midday, the shadows of the mountains next to them cast down upon them like a veil. Sam thought about Zelda and the name she wanted to give the Cherry Suicides' album, that of Black Veils. She was yet another person she wished could see this trip with her and Alex.

They passed the turn off for Tioga Road, which led into Yosemite, and all the while, he muttered, “some day... some day...” to himself.

“Some day, indeed,” she vowed; the road dipped down and they slowed up a bit for the town of Lee Vining. She brought them to the gas station right in the center of town, where he offered to fill them up and she offered to get him some water. She was the only person in that gas station, too, such that she considered merely taking the water bottles for herself when the clerk in the back stopped her in her tracks. They had a good laugh but she was in fact serious about it.

“Man, there is no one here,” Alex said as he stood before the tank door and held the pump steady.

“Middle of the day on New Year's Eve,” she told him, “all the hicks and the tourists went home or they're in the city.”

Within time, and after he washed his hands, they were back on the road and they scoured the edge of Mono Lake. He peered out the window at those dark waters as they loomed just under the road's edge. Lucky for them, the snow hadn't yet come again and they cleared the lake's edge in no time. They stared straight ahead to the next kink in the road, or rather series of kinks in the road as they ascended up another side of a mountain.

“Yet another hill,” he said as he took a piece of cheesy bread for himself.

“Well, at least this time around they got it right,” she assured him as they turned the first right hand corner.

The next one turned left and they rose up a bit. The next one to the right. To the left. To the right. And on the third left one, Alex clasped a hand to his forehead.

“You okay?” she asked him.

“Kinda dizzy. This road is making me dizzy.”

“It's alright, we're almost at the top. Just one more little grind up this hill and—”

A sign appeared on the side of the road that told them they reached the top of Conway Summit, at eight thousand feet above sea level. They made a sharp right turn and began on down the other side of the hill. There at the top, the snow was the thickest it had ever been: tall steep drifts lined the sides of the separated highway as if they were genuine walls.

“Poor guy,” she said aloud.

“This is such a new thing for me,” he confessed, “being a city boy and all.”

“The rough country life is not for the faint of heart,” she told him. “Although a part of me sees you thriving out here.”

“Nah, I'd rather be in the city. Although that doesn't mean I can't not appreciate the wilderness, mind you.”

The road snaked along the other side of the hill: Sam peered out her window at the wispy light gray clouds over the mountains on the far side of the valley.

“Over that way is Twin Lakes,” she pointed out. “My mom's family visited this place so much when she was growing up.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, my great aunt is buried down here in Bridgeport.”

They scoured the edge of a huge snowy pasture and right before they reached the outskirts of that small town, they passed yet another junction to a road less travelled, the highway up to Yerington.

“We're getting close, Alex,” she told him as they strolled through Bridgeport, which too had buttoned up for New Year's Eve. “Another eighty miles—I think.” At the edge of town was another sign, but a thick layer of snow and ice obscured the words from her view.

Another straight shot across the pasture ended by a sharp right hand corner past an old dilapidated house surrounded by barren cottonwood trees, and they headed back to another series of hills.

“How's the car doing, by the way?” he asked her as he reached for his second ginger snap.

“Doing excellent! The only time I was kind of worried about it was when we went up the Sherwin grade. It got a little warm but it never went any higher because it's so cold outside. I dread to think how it'd be if we went in the summer time.”

“Oh, right? And how're you doing?”

“I'm doing excellent! My hands are a little stiff, but I've got it, though.” He flashed her a wink and took a little nibble off of the cookie.

The hills only rose up around them as if they too withheld dragons inside. All the dips and curves in the road and they were soon at the top of a hill. Another sign told them they reached the top of Devil's Gate Summit, and the fourth and final one to boot, and the one that ran adjacent to a creek.

But then Sam remembered.

Within a matter of minutes, those low snowy hills to the left gave way to high stony columns that looked as though they were about to close in all around them. And that creek gave way to a full on rumbling river that ran parallel to the road.

“Let me guess,” Alex started as he licked the crumbs off of his fingers and put his sunglasses back on, “this is the—Walker River?”

“Yes! It's the west fork, too. Even in the summer time, that water is so cold and crisp.”

“Just looks cold,” he remarked as he took a drink of water.

The black river waters washed over beds upon beds upon beds of smooth stones: every so often, a small waterfall emerged out in the open. Meanwhile, the two lane road wound through the meandering canyon like the full body of a serpent. A big beautiful serpent, lined with dense evergreen trees and tall high stony cliffs, to which the head brought them to more snow covered grass land and the rim of Lake Topaz.

“The stateline, Alex!” she declared as they zipped through the snowy scraggly trees.

“Just saw a sign back there that literally called this place 'the quiet side of California,'” he told her.

“And that's exactly what this is,” she assured him with a wink.

They rode all along the edge of the lake, which too appeared so cold and crisp that a mere glimpse sent a shiver down her spine. A final straight shot uphill and—

“Welcome to the Silver State!” Alex proclaimed as he took another drink of water.

“You know, I had a feeling we'd get here by the middle of the afternoon,” she told him as they passed a small casino on the side of the road. “Anyways—welcome home, Alex.”

“Ah, you're taking me to Carson City!” he declared.

“One of the three places I call home,” she continued, “the others being New York City and L.A.”

“Wow,” he breathed out.

The road led throughout more low hillsides and low forests, this time of stubby little bristlecone pines and pinion pines, and then they reached Gardnerville and Minden. Another ten miles across a flat valley and they reached a low ridge. On the other side was Carson City, that old familiar crown jewel that always felt so close and so far away at the same time.

A little ways down the main street and she turned right on Clearview Drive, followed by another left onto Silver Sage Drive.

That old familiar neighborhood, all of those old familiar houses now covered in a blanket of that infamous powdery snow. If only Charlie was there to see it for himself. If only Cliff could see it all, especially when held in comparison to the house in Reno.

“So this is where you grew up,” he said aloud.

“One of the neighborhoods, anyway,” she corrected him. “This one, one up in Reno, and the one down in Elsinore.”

“This is all so precious,” he declared, “it'd be like me taking you to the place I grew up.” He froze and then he looked over at her. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Funny, uh—there's another place I wanna take you, too,” she declared, “but we gotta hustle, though. It might snow again.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She pulled up to the stop sign and nibbled on her bottom lip.

She remembered the way up. It would prove to be a bit of a challenge, especially since they had already gone over four hundred miles in that car. But she was willing to do it for him.

She made another left so as to head back to Carson Street.

Up the ever so slight hill, past the car dealerships and the little restaurants featured on the way out of town, and she recognized that old turn off to that big mountain road. She had only gone up that way once before and she was rather small when it happened. But that winding mountain road felt like visiting an old friend again.

She was amazed that it was even open despite all of the snow on the ground.

Alex shook his head a little bit at one point but she kept her focus on the pavement before her. A sharp turn followed by another and another so as to resemble yet another snake. He parted those sensual lips and let out a low whistle in response to the feeling within him.

But they reached the top, and all of those thick lush trees clustered together against the dense snow, and Sam recognized even more glassy black waters on his side, cradled by the stark mountain top.

“Spooner Lake, Alex,” she announced.

“Holy wow,” he breathed out as he ran his fingers through his black hair.

But it was an appetizer for what awaited them at the very top and beyond the forests and the next bend in the road as it overlooked the enormous valley down below, and as far as they both knew, the entire world at their whim. They had climbed the mountain to see the world, but before them was what she held dear, and for him in particular.

The snowy scapes cradled those freezing, perfectly still black waters before them. Where they had seen the ugly salt waters of Mono Lake, they were met with the massive beauty of Lake Tahoe. Alex lifted his mirrored sunglasses off of his nose for a better look before him.

“One of the places my mom loved going to when she was growing up,” Sam started again as the road gently dipped downward, “was Incline Village.”

“Is that what this is down here?”

“Nah, this is Glenbrook over here. Incline's over that way—” She pointed out his side of the windshield and the lush banks of snow that covered the forest along the lake side. “I have no doubt that had she not picked Catalina, she would've moved there. To the city by the lake.”

“What stopped her?”

“Her publisher's based out of L.A.”

“I see.”

“We'd have to turn around and head back to Spooner Lake to get there, too. But—” She bowed her head for a better look out the windshield. Even though it was only five o'clock in the afternoon, the night was upon them, as were the storm clouds overhead. All the way up they had gathered around the mountain summits, but now they were officially upon a mountain summit, and thus it warranted snow.

“I don't know if we can get back over there before the snow comes in, Alex,” she said aloud. “Or back down for that matter. That road sucks when it snows.”

“What do you think we should do?” he asked her, concerned.

“Well... we have that blanket in the back and we have our jackets with us.”

“That means we gotta fold the seats back, though,” he pointed out.

“And? Here—”

She slowed to a stop at the next side street, which brought them closer to the water's edge as well as a few long low buildings, including a bar. Once they had come onto smoother pavement, the winds picked up. She pulled behind the bar, away from the water and ultimately the incoming wind and the blizzard.

“We'll park behind this bar here so we're out of the wind.”

“Eat some more of that cheesy bread, too,” he said.

“I'll go into the bar here if you want something more to eat,” she promised him. “I don't have much left on me except enough to get us back down the hill and then over to some place like the Bay Area, but that's for later on, though.”

“And I'll keep you warm,” he promised her.

Five o'clock in the afternoon and yet Sam was exhausted, with no desire to go any further. Indeed, she could see it on his face as well. Both of them had traveled hundreds of miles together and without the sense of a tour lingering over him in particular. She killed the engine and they both climbed out. Both of them wore windbreakers and yet Sam knew it wouldn't be enough. He opened the passenger door and took the blanket off of the seat before he adjusted it back: she did the same when flurries fluttered down from the darkening sky overhead.

“I got another couple of jackets back here, too,” he told her as he took a pair of dark puffy jackets out from under the seat closest to him. “Use these for pillows—”

He rolled up the first one and lay it down in front of him, and did the same for the next one.

Sam brushed the extraneous snow off of her head before she climbed in and onto the flattened back seat. Alex followed suit, although he had to skirt around the edge of the seat so he could lay right next to her. He shut that door above their heads and she shut the other door down by their feet. He then took the blanket and spread it over their bodies.

“Just like that—yeah—yeah—yeah, you got it?” He lay there on his side with the jacket rolled up right under his head; she nestled down right next to him with her head upon the other jacket. She lay right there with only an inch of clearance between herself and the tip of his aquiline nose. Four hundred miles of driving and they both had had enough despite it being early still.

“I do,” she told him in a hushed voice.

“Okay.”

His slender body was so very warm; even though he had slimmed down a great deal, his stomach was still very soft. She kept her arms around his slim waist: even as a thin, almost delicate young man, he had rather prominent hipbones and such thick sinewy thighs. Even when thin and having shed most of his childhood weight, he was still as warm and soft as a teddy bear. She pictured him as even more delicate in a few years time at the rate he was going at with his weight: even having eaten to his heart's desire at the house down in Catalina, he still maintained that slim figure. She tucked her head under his chin so she could better feel the warmth from his neck.

To think that she was laying like this in a bed in West Germany not long ago. To think that she had no one next to her, and for months, in that bed in the house down in Lake Elsinore. That room all to herself for months, such that it felt like a prison of sorts.

“This feels so weird,” she confessed.

“Why's that?”

“Well—because the last time I got this close with a guy was Joey. And I dunno if we're even a thing anymore.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at that. She kept her hand on the small of his back: it wasn't long ago she lay the same way with Joey before and with her hands down lower on him. Maybe she overthought the whole thing and he really was fooling around. No way she could ask him at that point, however.

Alex shivered a bit.

“Are you cold?” she gently asked him.

“A little bit—I'm feeling kind of a draft on the side of my neck. I also think I've lost too much weight.”

“What makes you think that?” she asked him.

“Even under the blankets, I'm cold.”

With a bit of a struggle, Sam lifted her hand and she tugged on the blanket a bit so it covered the side of his neck. She brought her hand towards the small of his back and she burrowed even closer to him so he was warm. Outside, the snow pummeled on the street and the sidewalk beyond the car: given they were behind a brick wall, every so often some of the snow hit the roof or the hood, but not enough to deafen them.

“I will say this,” he started again with a sniffle.

“What's that?”

“I'm glad we parked behind this bar here—” His voice was low and crisp sounding, as though he had a sore throat. “Listen to those winds.”

Sam nestled even closer next to him as the winds picked up out there to where they formed a ghostly howl. He may have felt cold, but his chest was warm and his body was soft and tender. He bowed his head a bit so he could better keep in the warmth between them.

“God, you're so soft,” she told him, “you're like a little teddy bear.”

“I'm gonna say this, though,” he said, “I'm sure you can feel my arms.”

“I do.” Indeed, even though his body was soft, his lanky arms felt so firm and toned, even when covered in that thick windbreaker. “I see you just being so elegant, though,” she confessed as she recalled his life's wish. “All wrapped in lace and standing tall.”

“I dunno 'bout lace,” he said. “Velvet, maybe. Velvet with—silk.”

“All silky soft,” she joked and he chuckled at that.

She had no memory of what happened after that: they both fell asleep, and she woke up to total darkness and the howl of the cold winter winds. And yet even in the wake of the noise outside, Sam caught the sound of voices on the street. Against the wind, she swore she heard church bells ringing.

“Happy New Year!” a man shouted. “Happy 1989!”

“Happy New Year, Samantha,” Alex whispered to her in a broken voice.

“Happy New Year, Alex,” she whispered back. She was practically squeezing his thin little body at that point, but she knew that he would be toasty warm in the morning.

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