“Now we’re going to need one of those,” said Mel, with the children excitedly asking, “Does she have any more?”
“Yes, a few, actually. It seems not too many people volunteer to have another mouth to feed right now, let alone pay to buy one,” said David. “Besides, you and I have to make a trip over there in three days for Mark’s appointment and to pick up the second truck. We can stop by and take a look.”
“Perfect! Our Katie misses Ringo and Mini. She needs a friend,” replied Mel.
“That brings me to my next discussion. We’re going to need every adult in attendance because it’s big news that will affect all of us,” said David.
* * * *
They gathered for dinner outside tonight with something simple—chili and cornbread. Every man and woman was eager to hear about David and Mark’s adventures and the big news only rumored about.
The children were mesmerized by David’s account of his bear encounter, with Tina telling him to tone it down so the kids wouldn’t have nightmares.
Mark received sympathy from all and thanked them, but he couldn’t shake the girl from his mind. Her smile, the way she walked and talked, the smell of her hair. He was confused, a fifteen-year-old with his whole life ahead of him, living with his dad and new family miles from anywhere. What if she doesn’t like me? he worried, or is seeing someone else? He would see her again in three days’ time and vowed not to leave until he had his answers.
David ended the riveting story with James’ proposal. “Be a part of Weston now or wait until another town sweeps you in, without a choice.”
The vote was nearly unanimous, with David surprised at the enthusiasm.
“We could lose some residents, maybe,” he told Mel later, “if they can live in town.”
“Maybe so, but not me and my family,” he replied. “I’m good to trade on Saturdays and would like to take my family to church on Sunday, but we will be here working for the common good for the rest of the week. We need a safe road down the mountain, though. Both times—with James and Janice, plus you and Mark going down it—someone almost got killed. I don’t want that risk for my family every time we head down the mountain.”
“That’s a fair point,” said David, “and I’ll bring that up to James. It would be nice, though, to trade wares once a week.”
David settled into a routine of sorts, mostly directing the greenhouse plantings with his ribs on the mend. Mark resumed radio duty, being the least physical job in the camp. They planned the follow-up doctor visit and hoped for a safe trip.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Thirty-two
Rocky Mountains, Colorado
Lonnie pulled up the map, pointing out the route.
“It’s about 80 miles to Grand Lake,” he said. “From there, we go up the mountain and then back down Trail Ridge Road. We have a heavy load that’s going to be a struggle both ways. The chances of having to unload Bert and drive over before loading him back on the trailer is probable. We keep that trailer in the last spot of our caravan, either way. Grand Lake is not far from Estes Park, and then it’s a straight shot down the canyon to Saddle Ranch.”
“This is going to be a tough last leg of the trip,” I said, “but we need to make time. I’m hoping to be at Saddle Ranch in two days’ time. We will only stop for bathroom breaks, any danger or maintenance issues, and a quick lunch today. We will shoot for Grand Lake by tonight and try a shot all the way in tomorrow. Any questions or concerns?”
Nobody raised a hand or had any objections. They are probably as tired as I am and just want to be done with the traveling, I thought.
* * * *
The day was long, with only a few stops. Bert sailed us through the occasional barricades without paying a toll and only answering a few questions about our group. Grand Lake was beautiful, even now littered with tents lining its shores. The caravan pulled in late afternoon, making great time through the mountains with mostly clear roads. Lonnie gathered everyone to discuss the plan.
“We have a big day tomorrow,” he said, “and I’m proud of everyone today pitching in to get us this far. One more tough day, and we will be home. Let’s only unpack what we absolutely need, and nothing more. I’m going to bed early after dinner and will be sleeping except for my guard shift. I recommend you consider doing the same. We leave tomorrow morning at first light.”
“Good speech,” I told Lonnie, with Jake agreeing.
“I didn’t want to come off like I was telling everybody what to do, but every day we are out on the road is another chance of bad things happening,” Lonnie replied. “Besides, we need every extra day we can to help them get ready for the Great Battle at Saddle Ranch.”
“That’s the irony,” said Jake. “Us hurrying to get out of the mountains, only to quickly arrive at a battleground.
“We’ll try to get the tank up the hill tomorrow,” said Lonnie. “But if we can’t—Vlad, we need you, Sheila, and you too Jake, to drive it over the hill. Once off the Divide, we should be able to load it back on the trailer and head down in low gear. It will be all downhill from there, so we all need to be careful not to burn out our brakes. There’s a reason they have ‘Runaway Ramps’ up here for the big trucks.”
“I’ve seen it,” I interjected. “One came right by us once, honking its horn, and went a good couple hundred feet up the gravel-filled ramp right before a corner in the road that would have flipped it for sure. Let’s not try that this time.”
The night was calm, peaceful almost, and felt more like a lake campground on any weekend before the day and not the temporary refugee camp it actually was now. There was no gunfire, no apparent danger, only quiet campers who somehow found a way to get along, and hopefully even help each other out.
* * * *
We got an early start. And Lonnie, true to his word, had us pulling out a few minutes past sunrise.
It wasn’t long to get to the bottom of the steep hill heading up over the mountain. The old truck carrying Bert struggled to inch up the winding hill in low gear. Steve was driving and stayed at the rear of the caravan. Everyone agreed they did not want to be on the downside of him if something happened.
“It’s like that movie,” he said—Final Destination, where the logs come off the truck up ahead and hit the vehicle behind it. This time it would be a tank and not a log!”
Steve made it halfway up before Vlad called it. “That’s enough!” he called over the radio. “This truck won’t make it up or down with that kind of weight on it, and we are going to need it on the other side for sure.”
Unloading Bert was a time suck and took more than an hour. The time was still early, just before 9 a.m., so the morning wouldn’t be lost. Now they would take the lead to the other side.
“Single file, everyone!” called out Lonnie over the radio, once they had reached the top. “Let’s give each other enough room to navigate if needed, but not enough to get split up. We’re at near 12,000 feet above sea level, so pop your ears if you need to; and if you get a headache, it’s normal. This Divide designates which ocean the rivers run into. Some will hit the Pacific, others the Atlantic, and some spill into the Gulf of Mexico—that’s a fun fact you may not know. We will stop at the bottom to reload Bert on to the trailer and get some lunch. With any luck, it will be smooth going after that.”
With Bert in the lead, we made our way down the back side of the Divide. Taking extra time creeping down the steep grades, we made it to the bottom, stopping for a quick lunch while getting Bert loaded back on the trailer.
* * * *
It was the children who first saw the smoke, asking who was camping so far away. I was helping the best I could with getting Bert loaded, and we all blew it off for a minute.
“Daddy!” called out Hudson.
“Yeah, buddy, just a minute,” I said, without looking at him.
“Daddy, there’s some smoke way off.”
“There are a lot of campsites now, son,” I responded.
Other
kids joined, getting all of our attention at once.
“That’s no campfire,” said Lonnie, pointing to the now-obvious plume of smoke off in the distance, to the north.
Some of us got binoculars out but couldn’t see flames.
“I think it’s in a valley,” said Jake, looking as well.
Lonnie already had the Rand McNally map out, as we tried our best to determine its location.
“It’s north and east of us, for sure, but not much,” said Lonnie. “Since we are traveling almost straight east, we should stay parallel to it. I can’t tell which way it’s headed, but I don’t want to get stuck up here trying to figure it out.”
“What about the wind direction?” asked his wife, loud enough so we all could hear.
“That can change in a minute up here,” Lonnie replied. “It’s another reason I don’t want to hang around. I want us to be long past this thing before we lay our heads down tonight.”
* * * *
“We leave in five minutes,” he called out. “Finish your lunches, or eat them on the way.”
We had seen fire firsthand more than once, and this was different than the last time, for sure.
“There are no planes coming up this high in the mountains to put this thing out,” I said. “There needs to be a good rain or this thing will be an inferno in a few days’ time.”
“It’s already getting bigger,” said Vlad, “however, that’s possible.”
I looked up from my binocular’s fine focus, and it looked like more smoke to me too.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” called out Lonnie. “We can talk while we’re driving,” he added, pulling ahead once again. “Any adult not driving needs to keep their eyes on the smoke and report anything new!”
Vlad, Jake and I took turns scanning the area with and without binoculars. Lonnie was making good time and maybe going a bit too fast, but he was in the lead.
“Flames up on top!” called out Vlad.
“Where?” I asked, scanning the ridge in detail.
“Right up there,” he pointed, so I could zoom in.
“I got it,” I announced. “It’s going up the next ridge over—the valley couldn’t contain it.”
“What’s near here?” asked one of the ladies.
“Allenspark, a small town, is pretty close. Estes Park is the one we need to make it through to get where we’re going,” I said over the radio. “We have two choices to get halfway down the canyon from there, but then we are committed for sure. Right now, we need to keep moving. Don’t stop unless it’s urgent.”
We drove down the windy roads in low gear, saving our brakes and watching the growing fire over our left shoulders for the next two hours.
“We’re coming up on Estes Park,” said Lonnie—“just about three miles ahead.”
“It’s a pretty good-sized town,” I added, “at least for these parts, so I’m expecting a barricade and some type of passage trade. Let’s slow down when we get close. They may take Bert as more of a threat than a curiosity.”
“Estes Park—Two Miles” the road sign read. I looked back at the massive fire that before the day would have planes dropping slurry or water on it, picked up from Lake Estes in the middle of town. Not today. The sky was an orange-black, taunting anybody brave enough to stick around.
“Watch the dogs,” I called out, holding Ringo’s collar.
“Why is that?” asked Joy over the radio.
“That’s why,” I said, watching the parade of animals coming out of the trees and into the large meadows.
Ringo gave me a 150-pound tug, wanting to jump off the trailer.
“Easy, boy,” I said, watching Jake have an easier time with Mini.
Deer and elk poured from the trees, with rarely seen predators doing the same. Black bear, coyotes, foxes, and even a mountain lion could be seen in close proximity to each other.
“There’s nothing else up here that will make predators and prey stick so close together without something getting eaten,” I said to Vlad and Jake.
“They are all prey to the flames now,” added Jake.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Thirty-three
Estes Park, Colorado
“Barricade up ahead,” called out Lonnie. “We’re going to approach real slow.”
I stood up, but not too high, to look through my binoculars at the barricade I guessed would be at the Rocky Mountain Park entrance we were coming up on from the other side. It was formidable from what I could see—the most fortified I had seen since Breckenridge. But it was open. Not completely, but enough for us to go through single file.
The town was bustling with people, all hurrying to get somewhere or just standing on the street, pointing at the fire. It no longer took binoculars to see the rising flames. Sirens roared throughout the town, and an old ice cream truck drove the streets with the music every kid ran towards for the last fifty years.
A man called out over the megaphone. “Citizens of Estes Park! Make your way down to the lake in a swift but orderly manner. This is the Estes Park Police Department.” He repeated the same message over and over.
It was strange to hear the sound of the truck jingle that drew every child in the vicinity into a mad dash to find some money before he left, contrasted with orders to keep moving and presumedly “Do not get ice cream!”
To my surprise, and the others in our caravan, very few people in town gave us a second look, with even police directing us through the center of town without a single question.
“Keep moving,” the officer yelled at Lonnie when he tried to stop and talk to him.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, heading our weary group through the center of town and towards the lake, passing near the waterwheel and the carillon clock tower on Fall River.
“There is a walking bridge and wooden deck with stairs that led up to WaterWheel Art Gallery,” I pointed out. “The artwork was all by local artists associated with Saddle Ranch between 1975 and 1986. My dad, Bill, managed the Gallery and was one of the artists.” The aroma of salt-water taffy that I remembered as a kid filled the air, now coupled with smoke from the fire. Sweet and smoky, reminding me of more than a few camping nights growing up with s’mores and hot chocolate. “Look to your left, everyone!” I said.
“Is that the Overlook Hotel?” blurted out Lonnie over the radio.
“Well, kind of,” I replied. “You see, the Stanley Hotel bore the idea for the book The Shining and subsequent movies by Stephen King. Filming took place in multiple locations for the original movie, including studios in England and the Timberline Lodge on Mount Hood in Oregon. In the second adaptation with Steven Weber, Rebecca De Mornay, and Elliott Gould in 1997, the three-episode made-for-TV series was shot right here at the Stanley. My mom Sharon was even an extra and can be seen walking down the steps to the front lawn in the opening scene. My dad, Bill, stood in for Elliott Gould, being about the same height and build. Both movies are worth a watch when you get the chance.”
* * * *
We stopped just beyond the lake, at the mouth of the canyon.
“Let’s take five,” said Lonnie, “for a bathroom break only.”
He came back to talk to Vlad, Jake and me, asking, “Lance, what’s up ahead?”
“It’s just over twenty miles to the bottom, and then another seven to go around and enter on the north end of the Saddle Ranch property. There’s a quicker route once we get down, but we can’t make a bridge turn with the trailers. I don’t expect any more barricades, but I’ll guide us the last bit when we exit the canyon.”
“The last leg is coming up,” called out Lonnie, getting a “Wahoo!” out of most of us.
“That’s not going to do!” said Vlad. “We’re here at the finish line—let’s hear it again!” he yelled out.
This time everyone pitched in, including the kids, getting the most looks from townsfolk that we’d had all day.
* * * *
The last twenty miles down the canyon brought up a lot of mem
ories for me. Mostly good, like hiking, camping and fishing when growing up, and some not so nice.
“This is where that Big Thompson Flood happened back in ’76—the big one I told you guys about,” I called out to Vlad and Jake.
“I can see how so many lives were lost,” replied Vlad. The canyon, it’s not very wide, and it was at night. I remember you telling us.”
Our caravan followed the river down the canyon, passing houses that were spared by the flood, and others rebuilt the next year. We passed by one of my favorite places to stop as a kid, The Colorado Cherry Company—“A Taste of the High Country,” the sign out front read. The signature jugs of likely red dye I always thought was cherry cider hung completely around the outside of the quaint one-story riverfront building that had been there since I could ever remember. I had half a mind to see if they were still open before recalling that bad things happened when we stopped.
The canyon, feeling ominous to many with its winding road and high narrow cliff walls, made me comfortable, like an old T-shirt. I had never felt more protected on this whole trip.
“Passing the Dam Store, another popular haunt when we were young, I was filled with emotion. It seemed strange since that wasn’t one of my personality traits, but I felt a mix of excitement, exhaustion, relief, sadness for what lay ahead, and a comfort I had not known in some time. We passed right by my elementary school, Big Thompson Elementary, and up the valley just adjacent to Saddle Ranch.
“Let me do the talking when we arrive,” I told Lonnie. “I don’t want any misunderstandings with the guards.
We arrived at the nothern border to the Valley. “Hold tight, everyone!” I called over the radio. I knelt down, sifting the soft earth through my hands and proclaimed, “We’re Home!”
To be continued...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lance K. Ewing lives with his wife, three boys (Hudson, Jax and Hendrix), Ringo, Mini and Bobo (dogs and a cat) in McKinney, Texas. When he is not at work, he can always be found with his family, preferably outdoors. Lance grew up in the foothills of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, with the Rockies quite literally in his backyard. Families First is his debut novel. Volume six is being written now.
Next World Series | Vol. 5 | Families First [Homecoming] Page 26
