“You?” Hugh asked. James looked like he might have been in the military. He looked fit and confident in the manner of someone who maybe at one time had “been there and done that.”
“Navy.”
“Where did you see duty?” Hugh asked.
“Here and there.”
“You must have started at Great Lakes,” Hugh said, knowing that the Navy’s only location for enlisted basic training was at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center on the western shore of Lake Michigan. He wondered why James was being so evasive. “Where did you go from there?”
“You hear of Coronado Island?” James asked.
“Of course,” Hugh said. “I mustered out at San Diego. Some buddies and I went to the beaches and partied at the hotel there. Blew most of my cash.”
James remained silent.
“Oh.” Hugh felt stupid. He now recalled that Coronado Island was the location of the training center for the Navy Seals. The famous BUD/S school was held there. BUD/S stood for Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL. The Coronado Island facility’s official name is Naval Special Warfare Center at Naval Base Coronado-Naval Amphibious Base.
No public tours are allowed there so, obviously, Hugh only knew about it. Even as a Marine he had never seen it.
“Would you care to elaborate?” Hugh asked.
“No.”
Something else that Hugh now knew was that this James guy was no light-weight. Whatever Hugh had been through in his short career with the Marines, during boot camp, advanced training after that, and his deployment, it was probably nothing compared with the extreme physical and mental hardships that James must have gone through just to be called a SEAL, much less what he had likely been through in his tours of duty with them.
He needed to re-evaluate this guy who he had chosen to ride with. If James was in his mid 40s and he had been driving truck for about 15 years, that means he couldn’t have been a SEAL for very long. Hugh wondered what took place in James’ past to cause such an early exit from something that undoubtedly took such a huge effort to get into in the first place.
James again broke into Hugh’s thoughts. “Where’d you see duty?” he asked.
“No place interesting,” Hugh answered, only being partially truthful. “Mostly right here in California. Marine Logistics Base just outside of Barstow.”
Hugh had hated duty there. It was warehouse duty in a desolate God-forgotten desert … the setting was too much like another desert, another time. While there, he’d had some exposure to the Marines’ logistics vehicles, the strange-looking hybrid MK48s and MK16s, but he’d never driven either one.
Mostly, he was the grunt who loaded the trailers. Only thing going for it was the extremely well-equipped physical fitness center, and the fact that nobody was shooting at him anymore.
They coasted down the long six percent downgrade on the Bakersfield side of the Grapevine. The Jakes were on their maximum setting to help keep the truck slowed down to the thirty-five-mile-an-hour truck speed limit.
Once on the level, James had the truck up to cruising speed for only a short time before pulling into the truck stop where they would park for the night.
Little did Hugh realize that a fateful encounter on this night with five hijackers would have lasting implications that would dramatically change his life fifteen years later.
Chapter 14
Present Day
Again, Hugh had gotten so wrapped up in telling his story that he had forgotten to edit out any clues as to what had happened fifteen years ago at that Wheeler Ridge truck stop.
But, Jenny, as usual, didn’t miss a thing.
“Wheeler Ridge? You were at Wheeler Ridge fifteen years ago?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Hugh answered noncommittally, hoping her questioning would end there.
“When you were there, did you hear about the fight that my uncle and dad had with those truck drivers?”
“Hear about it? No,” Hugh answered truthfully.
“Oh, well. I was just curious,” she said.
Then, to Hugh’s relief, Jenny dropped that, and continued the conversation in a different vein. “So, you took quite a chance letting an inexperienced driver do that hot seat swap with you, huh,” she said. “If I’d’a crashed and gotten you killed, would you have found a way to come back and ‘put an unpleasant end to my life?’” she asked.
“Nah, that was just male chest-thumping when James said that,” he answered. “I’m just glad it didn’t come to that … in either case. So, what did you think of your brief driving experience?”
“I was scared to death,” she said. “Both from those guys attacking us, and from having to drive while you took care of the other guy. You realize, don’t you, that you didn’t have a chance to explain to me how to do it, like James did with you?”
“Yeah, it was the circumstances. I just flat out didn’t have time,” Hugh said. “But, you did real good. I’m very proud of you.”
Hugh could tell that this turn of the conversation had gone a long way toward softening the hard feelings that he had caused when he accused her of setting up yet one more hijacking. He knew now that his accusation was misplaced, and showed a lack of consideration and trust on his part.
“Jenny, I’m sorry I jumped so quickly to accuse you back there. I really am,” he said.
“It’s OK, Hugh. I’m OK now. Thanks,” she replied. Then, smiling shyly, she added, “And you did call me honey.”
“Yes, I guess I did,” he admitted.
They were silent then, for awhile, as they motored through some of the most interesting and beautiful scenery that California has to offer, for they had long ago crossed over into the Golden State at Topaz Lake.
He pointed out features as they drove past, such as the Walker River, which is a favorite destination for fly-fishermen. They actually travelled alongside the river for quite a few miles. Hugh told her he always enjoyed this section of the road.
He pointed out the turnoff to Sonora Pass that takes one up over the Sierras. It is strictly prohibited for big-rig trucks to take that route, he told her, as there is a short stretch of 12-percent grade on the pass, and very sharp curves.
Then they drove through the quaint little Sierra eastside town of Bridgeport, followed shortly by the turnoff to Bodie ghost town, which is one of the West’s best-preserved old-time mining towns.
When they came upon Mono Lake he told her about some of the features of that unique lake—its Tufa Mounds, especially, and the fact of how inhospitable the highly alkaline water is, providing habitat for only algae, brine shrimp and sand flies. He told her it does, however, teem with bird life, especially serving as a migratory-bird nesting area.
“Someone told me once that this is where every seagull along the Western coast comes to lay their eggs. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s interesting,” he told Jenny.
They went through the quaint little tourist town of Lee Vining, which serves as the exit port for travelers coming from the west over the sierras through Tioga Pass. That’s another road prohibited to truckers, he explained, because it goes through Yosemite National Park, which is a “no-truck” zone.
Then they went past Lake Crowley, and down a long, long grade to the Owens Valley where they cruised into the town of Bishop.
“And this, Jen, is almost where I met you. We’ve gone almost full circle,” he concluded as they drove past the turnoff to Highway 6, near where his adventure with Jenny had begun—how many days ago?
“That was a lifetime ago,” Jenny answered quietly, as if reading Hugh’s mind. “I’m not that Jenny anymore.”
Driving through Bishop, and seeing all the tourist cafes and such, reminded Hugh that it was lunch time. There was no place to stop in town, no rest area outside of town, and no truck stops in the area. But, Hugh knew of a couple of wide spots on the shoulder just outside of town where they could pull over and make sandwiches.
A few minutes later, he came up on one of the pullouts. It was uno
ccupied at the moment, so he pulled in and shut down the engine.
“We’re just going to stop here for a few minutes and grab a bite to eat,” he told Jenny. “Plus, I need to take a jug break.”
When he looked over at Jenny, and saw the worried look on her face he realized he had a problem. After all, it had been more than four hours for her, just as it had been for him.
“You need to take a jug break too, huh,” he said.
She nodded.
Hugh thought about it for a minute, then said, “Well, about the only choice you have right now until we get you set up with your own jug is to go outside.”
He expected to see her react sharply to that idea, but was surprised when she didn’t.
“Don’t worry, Hugh, girls sometimes have to just make do,” she assured him. “And, I’ve been camping before. Just tell me where’s the best place,” she said to him, looking around outside through her window.
“Behind the tractor tandems, between them and the landing gear, is the usual place. You’ll have some privacy there.”
She opened her door and started to get out.
“I’ll take care of my business in here while you go out there, and then we’ll meet back here for a bite to eat,” he said.
When she climbed back into the cab, he handed her a wet wipe, and they both washed their hands for lunch.
Hugh reached for his knife to cut open a fresh package of lunchmeat. But, his knife wasn’t in his pocket. It was still on the floor where it had dropped after his fight with the attacker on Jenny’s side of the truck.
“Holy cow! I forgot about this mess,” Hugh exclaimed, retrieving his bloody knife.
He put the knife into a baggie and sealed it shut, planning to stop at the next rest area to clean it properly. Then he grabbed a couple of wet wipes and wiped down the top edge of the window on his side where it had mangled and bloodied the guy’s fingers.
“It looks like we fought a war here,” he remarked.
“It sure felt like it,” Jenny responded.
“Well, hey, Jen, you sure are a trooper … about everything,” Hugh told her.
While they ate their sandwiches and chips, and drank their cold bottled waters from the fridge, Hugh thought about the timing for the rest of the day. They were a little less than two hours from their pickup at the water place, and a couple more hours from there to Bakersfield.
They’d already been on the road for a little over four hours. So, depending on how long it would take at their pickup, he might be able to stop for the night somewhere on I-5 after Bakersfield. From there, it would be an easy half-day’s drive up to his Tracy delivery.
Assuming nothing crazy happens between here and there. No guarantees of that, these days. But, he kept that thought to himself.
He told Jenny the plan as they tidied up after lunch. Then they saddled up for their departure from this impromptu lunchtime stopping place.
They made their way down 395, slowing to twenty-five miles an hour as they drove through each of the several small towns that straddle the highway south of Bishop.
Then Hugh told Jenny they were nearing their destination.
“What is it about this place that you said I was going to find interesting?” she asked Hugh.
Hugh’s answer was to tell her to take a close look at the water bottle that she had kept out from lunch, and that she had been sipping from.
“Yeah, OK?” she said, quizzically, seeing the mountain scene printed on the label.
“That’s where we’re going,” he answered her.
“Up in the mountains? To where they bottle this spring water?” she asked, looking around at the bleak desert terrain that they were driving through.
“Not exactly. That’s what is interesting,” Hugh replied. “You’ll see.”
Shortly after, a group of large buildings loomed before them. The complex stood starkly alone in the vast expanse of empty desert. Hugh pulled into a driveway to this complex, drove to the staging area to park, then shut down.
“We’re here,” he announced.
Jenny looked around at the stark bleakness of the place. “This looks nothing like ‘mountain spring water,’” she said. All she could see were white alkali flats, with very little real vegetation.
“Yep. I know. It was a surprise to me the first time I came here. Apparently, they bring it down from the mountains somehow, or pump it from a spring-fed aquifer underground,” Hugh said. “All I know is that this is one of the plants where they bottle that water,” he added, pointing to Jenny’s water bottle.
“The cool thing about this place is that they give free bottles of water to truck drivers. We’ll pick up a couple gallons here before we leave.”
Hugh exited the truck and went into the office to arrange for his pickup.
When he came back, he told Jenny, “Our door won’t be available for a couple of hours. So, we’ll just have to hunker down here for awhile. It means we probably won’t make it past Bakersfield today. We’ll spend the night there at our company’s drop yard.”
“What will we do here until it’s time to get our load?” she asked.
“Personally, I’m going to take a nap,” Hugh said. “Truck driving is a lot like being in the military. You sleep when you can, because you never know when you’re going to be up for an extended time.”
With that, Hugh climbed into his bunk, and closed his eyes to rest.
Jenny stayed in her passenger seat, and thumbed through the few magazines that Hugh had in the door pocket—mostly trucker’s publications.
Hugh had fallen asleep, but woke up quickly at the sound of pounding on his driver-side door. Hugh opened his door, and a plant worker told him his door was ready for him to back into.
Then the plant worker spied Jenny, did a double-take, and then stood there blatantly staring at her. Hugh had to laugh to himself. He was beginning to realize that Jenny’s appearance had that affect on men.
Hugh backed into his assigned dock door. A few minutes later they could feel the whole truck and trailer shaking and lurching as the forklift drove in and out of the trailer loading up pallets totaling 45,000 pounds of bottled water.
“This will definitely be a heavy load,” he said.
Hugh then went to the office, and signed for the load.
Once back on the road, Hugh told Jenny that that went pretty well. They’d make a straight shot to Bakersfield, and then park for the night.
“Frankly, I’ll be real happy to end this day without any more incidents,” he said. “That last one was a doozey,” he added, rubbing his neck and throat where the attacker had tried to choke him.
Hugh cut off of Highway 395 at Highway 14 as a shortcut to Highway 58. He knew that anything’s better than going through Kramer Junction.
“You might recognize some of this,” he told Jenny as they approached the Red Rock Canyon area.
“I’ve never been here before,” she said.
“Maybe not. But think in your mind’s eye to some of the old Westerns you might have watched. This is where they filmed a whole bunch of them.”
“Yeah. I see what you mean,” she said, looking around. Then she said, “You really do know a lot about all these places around here.”
“A truck driver hasn’t got much more to do than sit, watch, and think,” he explained to her. “Some people might think it would be extremely boring. But, I don’t think it is. There’s always something new and different popping up at you. Just look at how exciting the past few days have been.”
Hugh saw the exit for a rest area coming up, and signaled to take it.
“I just need to pop in here and clean up my knife,” he said. “You can use the facility if you need to.”
As Hugh stood at the sink, lathering his blooded knife with soap, a tourist at the next sink saw what he was doing.
“Looks like you stuck a pig with that thing,” he remarked.
“Yeah, that’s pretty close to what happened,” Hugh told him, laughing.
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He met Jenny back at the truck, and they got back onto the highway. They were headed for the Mojave bypass, then through Tehachapi, and then on to Bakersfield.
Just as they connected with 58 north of Mojave, a couple of guys on motorcycles charged up and began to pass them. They were typical biker types. Their cuts proclaimed them to be the “Bakers Town Bad Asses.”
They slowed a bit as they passed, took a good long look at Hugh’s truck, then roared on past, disappearing out of sight.
“Interesting name,” Hugh said. “Obviously from Bakersfield.”
Jenny didn’t say anything.
Once over Tehachapi it was a straight shot down to town. Hugh figured on getting fuel in Bakersfield before heading over to the company drop yard for the night.
Just before town, Hugh saw a whole lot of bikers coming up an onramp as his truck passed it. Instead of them all passing him, however, the lead rider stayed in the passing lane, and kept pace with the truck. The rider then raised his left arm and, with his fingerless, leather-gloved-hand used two fingers to point over to the shoulder.
“He’s wanting me to pull over,” Hugh said, incredulously. “There’s no way I’m doing that after everything else we’ve been through.” Hugh was beginning to wish that he did carry a firearm.
Hugh kept the truck pointed straight down in his lane. He figured on waiting out these guys, hoping that maybe they’d move on.
The lead rider gestured more adamantly for Hugh to pull over. All of the other motorcycles—there were maybe fifteen of them—crowded in beside and behind Hugh’s truck.
“No way!” Hugh mouthed through his closed window in an exaggerated expression at the lead motorcycle rider.
The lead rider just shrugged his shoulders, and began edging over closer to the truck’s left fender. All the other cycles did the same thing, crowding in ever closer to the truck.
Hugh knew that it would take only one swipe of his truck to wipe out the whole gang of bikers. But he couldn’t justify doing that without knowing why they wanted him to pull over. Maybe they just wanted to tell him he had a low tire.
Crimson Highway Page 12
