always so peaceful and quiet.”
“I understand. Nothing like the sounds of nature to make you feel like singing. So how about ‘The Other Day I Met a Bear?’ That’s a real classic. Everyone knows that one. The other day…” He paused. “Come on now. You must know it.” He swung his fleshy arms from side to side in rhythm with the tune. “I sing, ‘The other day,’ and you repeat, ‘The other day.’ Then I sing, ‘I met a bear,’ and then you sing, ‘I met a bear.’ It’s easy.”
Grace shrugged her shoulders and joined in, mumbling the words in a hushed soprano.
So glad no one’s here to post this on Facebook.
She trudged behind Choir Master in a wake of dust. The next song was “Doe a Deer” from The Sound of Music . Then loud performances of “This Land is Your Land” and “Cottage in a Wood,” the latter complete with intricate hand gestures. By the time Choir Master reached the fifth verse of “Rise and Shine” she was rehearsing tactful ways to tell him she would rather hike alone.
She stopped for a bathroom break, urging him to go ahead without her. But he waited. She retied her shoes. He waited. She filtered water from a hopelessly shallow stream. He serenaded her with “Singing in the Rain” while her filter float bobbed in half an inch of water. She feigned a limp, and he offered his chubby shoulder as a support. No matter how slowly she hiked, saying she was holding him back, he stuck to her like a burr.
“I’m beat.” She dropped her pack on a flat area near the trail at three in the afternoon. “I know you have to go on. You told me you have to finish this section by Monday.”
Choir Master’s face reddened with the sting of rejection. Grace avoided looking at him. She pulled her tent out of her pack and expertly flipped the poles. The inner elastic cord sprung them together with a snap.
He took a few steps, then turned around. “I’ll hike slowly and keep singing, so you know where to find me if you change your mind.”
I made the right decision.
She lay for a long time on her mat, looking up through mosquito netting at the endless blue of the sky. The hushed sounds of the desert exhilarated her. Beetles skittered across pebbles. Unidentified birds settled on rocky outcroppings. Bees hummed, investigating her gear. She imagined Lone Star lying next to her. Then drifted off. When she awoke, she thought she saw an extra large pair of boots outside her tent flap.
Shoot. They’re only rocks.
Over the following week, the regular routine of walking, eating, and sleeping condensed her days to the essentials. The vast and severe landscape offered up intimate surprises, like a yellow flower thrusting its head between two rocks like a miniature sun, dew sparkling on her tent tie downs, and luminescent spider webs at dawn. A constant monologue heavily peppered with “Lone Star” kept her company.
Grace left the trail fifteen miles from Idyllwild, her next resupply stop, and stuck out her thumb when she reached the road.
I’ve never hitchhiked. But Lone Star’s note is waiting for me in the hiker register. Nothing short of Norman Bates is going to keep me from getting there.
A white Chevy Camaro pulled to the side of the road almost immediately. Grace coughed and fanned at the dirt as she ran to the passenger side. A handsome square face beneath close-cropped hair leaned toward her through the window.
“Where are you heading?”
“Idyllwild.”
“Then hop in the back, honey.” His face disappeared behind quickly rising grey tinted glass.
Grace opened the rear passenger door a crack. “In the spirit of full disclosure, I haven’t showered for a week. I don’t want to get your car smelly. I’ll understand if you don’t want to give me a ride.”
“Sweetie, you obviously haven’t thumbed before.” The driver, a lanky, greying man so tall that his head bowed slightly under the low roof, waved her toward the back seat. “You get in first and let the driver
“I understand. Nothing like the sounds of nature to make you feel like singing. So how about ‘The Other Day I Met a Bear?’ That’s a real classic. Everyone knows that one. The other day…” He paused. “Come on now. You must know it.” He swung his fleshy arms from side to side in rhythm with the tune. “I sing, ‘The other day,’ and you repeat, ‘The other day.’ Then I sing, ‘I met a bear,’ and then you sing, ‘I met a bear.’ It’s easy.”
Grace shrugged her shoulders and joined in, mumbling the words in a hushed soprano.
So glad no one’s here to post this on Facebook.
She trudged behind Choir Master in a wake of dust. The next song was “Doe a Deer” from The Sound of Music . Then loud performances of “This Land is Your Land” and “Cottage in a Wood,” the latter complete with intricate hand gestures. By the time Choir Master reached the fifth verse of “Rise and Shine” she was rehearsing tactful ways to tell him she would rather hike alone.
She stopped for a bathroom break, urging him to go ahead without her. But he waited. She retied her shoes. He waited. She filtered water from a hopelessly shallow stream. He serenaded her with “Singing in the Rain” while her filter float bobbed in half an inch of water. She feigned a limp, and he offered his chubby shoulder as a support. No matter how slowly she hiked, saying she was holding him back, he stuck to her like a burr.
“I’m beat.” She dropped her pack on a flat area near the trail at three in the afternoon. “I know you have to go on. You told me you have to finish this section by Monday.”
Choir Master’s face reddened with the sting of rejection. Grace avoided looking at him. She pulled her tent out of her pack and expertly flipped the poles. The inner elastic cord sprung them together with a snap.
He took a few steps, then turned around. “I’ll hike slowly and keep singing, so you know where to find me if you change your mind.”
I made the right decision.
She lay for a long time on her mat, looking up through mosquito netting at the endless blue of the sky. The hushed sounds of the desert exhilarated her. Beetles skittered across pebbles. Unidentified birds settled on rocky outcroppings. Bees hummed, investigating her gear. She imagined Lone Star lying next to her. Then drifted off. When she awoke, she thought she saw an extra large pair of boots outside her tent flap.
Shoot. They’re only rocks.
Over the following week, the regular routine of walking, eating, and sleeping condensed her days to the essentials. The vast and severe landscape offered up intimate surprises, like a yellow flower thrusting its head between two rocks like a miniature sun, dew sparkling on her tent tie downs, and luminescent spider webs at dawn. A constant monologue heavily peppered with “Lone Star” kept her company.
Grace left the trail fifteen miles from Idyllwild, her next resupply stop, and stuck out her thumb when she reached the road.
I’ve never hitchhiked. But Lone Star’s note is waiting for me in the hiker register. Nothing short of Norman Bates is going to keep me from getting there.
A white Chevy Camaro pulled to the side of the road almost immediately. Grace coughed and fanned at the dirt as she ran to the passenger side. A handsome square face beneath close-cropped hair leaned toward her through the window.
“Where are you heading?”
“Idyllwild.”
“Then hop in the back, honey.” His face disappeared behind quickly rising grey tinted glass.
Grace opened the rear passenger door a crack. “In the spirit of full disclosure, I haven’t showered for a week. I don’t want to get your car smelly. I’ll understand if you don’t want to give me a ride.”
“Sweetie, you obviously haven’t thumbed before.” The driver, a lanky, greying man so tall that his head bowed slightly under the low roof, waved her toward the back seat. “You get in first and let the driver
Similar Books
