Chiwawa River Road was not a sixty miles per hour kind of thoroughfare. In fact, eight miles in, it turned from a twisty asphalt ribbon to a lumpy dirt strip that zigged and zagged around monstrous potholes and even sported the remains of a fallen tree that some kind soul had cut into firewood and stacked off to one side.
Lilly crept down the dirt road, slower and slower, giving each towering fir and pine the once-over as her car slid past. How often did trees just up and fall over? Would anyone find them if her little car was squashed and pinned beneath a towering bit of greenery? She hadn’t passed another car for ages.
Strudel zipped around the car, bouncing up to one window after another and giving fierce little yips whenever a gray jay or squirrel made an appearance. Perhaps it was time for some “Good Doggy.” Lilly eased the car to a stop next to the battered sign for Phelps Creek Trailhead. She had mixed the “Good Doggy” into Strudel’s water bottle and labeled it accordingly. Lilly pulled a low box full of bottled water out from under the passenger seat. Church Water, Park Water, Vet Water (that one had extra electrolytes and a bit of sardine oil for Strudel’s coat), Road Trip water. Was that it?
The drive to the trail head had certainly required a road trip. Lilly thought back to her hurried hour of packing. She pictured herself pouring the “Good Doggy” into a bottle and uncapping a black permanent pen. What had she written?
Strudel launched over the seat and landed smack in the middle of the rows of bottles growling and chasing his tail. Bottles rolled everywhere. Under the seat, into her purple dog purse, one even ricocheted off the gear shift and sailed right past Lilly’s nose before it hit the dash and thumped to the floor. Ah, there it was. Hiking water.
Lilly filled Strudel’s dish and searched for her own carefully labeled bottle. A bold letter “H” caught her eye. That was it, “Lilly’s Hiking Water” was an important distinction from “Strudel’s Hiking Water” or the carefully avoided bottle of “Gran’s Hiking Water” which was for long shopping trips to wholesale yarn stores and contained an alarming mixture of strong laxatives and vitamin C. Shopping always caused havoc with Gran’s system. Lilly uncapped the bottle and raised it to her lips.
A fierce and haunting cry broke the late afternoon stillness.
Lilly jumped, sloshing a massive amount of “Hiking Water” down her throat and triggering a lengthy coughing fit. She ducked and glanced around trying to catch her breath. The sound had been wild and predatory. It brought to mind blockbuster dinosaur movies featuring foolish tourists fleeing rabid packs of velociraptors. Lilly set the bottle down, it tipped, emptying its contents into Strudel’s now dry bowl.
A large hawk took to the sky, rending the air with another piercing cry. Oh, a hawk, which was, in fact, a raptor. Perhaps the moviemakers had taken their inspiration from actual living raptors when they’d designed the cries of their hunting lizards.
Dear Lord, please help this hiking trip not to descend to dinosaur theme park chaos.
Due to her coughing and the chilling hawk noises, Strudel was on high alert, plunging around the car in a tornado of activity. Strange, the “Good Doggy” should have taken effect by now.
Lilly rested a hand against her chest as she caught her breath.
Strudel climbed up her shirt and slurped her chin and ears.
“Yes, yes. You’re such a help. Thank you but I’m fine. Just too much water.” She glanced at the floor where the now empty bottle had settle on top of Strudel’s scattered mess. At least most of it had spilled into the dog dish. Wait a minute. Lilly snatched up “Lilly’s Hiking Water.” She swallowed slowly, noticing a strange aftertaste that clung to her throat. The bottle did not say “Lilly’s Hiking Water.” It certainly said “Hiking” in bold, black letters. But that innocuous label was also joined by the words “Hyperactivity” and “Excessive Barking.”
Lilly flung the car door open and spit onto the dusty road. Her mouth was dry and a great heaviness stole across her limbs. No, this couldn’t be right. Strudel only weighed six pounds. How on earth could his “Good Doggy” have such a strong affect? Unless she had been overdosing him all these years. He did fall asleep whenever she administered the medicine. Was he actually supposed to sleep, or just settle down? A wave of nausea gripped her stomach. Poor thing, this stuff was terrible.
A loud slurping noise met her ears.
Lilly snapped the door shut and glanced around for her little dog.
Strudel sat atop the pile of water bottles with his furry snout buried in the water bowl. He lapped up the “Good Doggy” as though it were homemade lemonade and not the mind-numbing elixir that sent Lilly’s stomach churning like a speed boat ride across shark-infested waters.
Lilly dumped the “Good Doggy” out the window and snatched up her pet. She stroked Strudel’s silky coat, silently promising him that she would employ the dog purse from here on out and never purchase another bottle of “Good Doggy” the rest of her days.
Lilly put the car in gear and took a right up the mountainside. She squinted at the narrow road, blinking slowly and raising her eyebrows as high as they would go to keep her lids from drooping closed. They were almost there. Surely she could navigate just a few more turns. Two more miles of incredibly rough road later, Lilly pulled into a small gravel parking lot next to a dented church van surrounded by impatient tweens wearing backpacks.
A single leader walked among them, stopping stick fights, and confiscating a lighter after one child lit a small wad of lichen that he had wrapped around the end of a branch like a torch. The leader was tall, probably over six feet.
Lilly groaned. Of course he was. Lilly was surrounded by giants.
He looked to be in his twenties and wore an unlikely assortment of khaki shorts with weird blue long johns underneath, hiking boots, and a purple paisley handkerchief on his head. The most annoying thing about all of this was that he managed to look relaxed and handsome in the unlikely ensemble. A shadow of stubble and a sweep of brown hair had escaped the hanky, and lent him a pleasing Mountain-Man-Mystique.
Lilly glanced down at her designer jeans with the sequins spattered across the pockets and wonder if she were properly dressed for their adventure. She glanced back at the youth leader. He looked strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Wait a minute. Lilly squinted through her “Good Doggy” haze at the bit of hair that showed beneath the horrible purple bandana. Coffee, his hair was exactly the color of coffee. With creamer and spices and honey of course.
Mr. Man-Bun! Great, their lives were in the hands of some guy who clambered up dangerous rock formations trusting only a few flimsy straps to keep him from plunging to his doom. Did he preform this terrifying activity for king and country? No, it was all just for fun.
Mr. Man-Bun was busy lecturing his young pyromaniac.
Lilly took the opportunity to stash Strudel in his dog purse and secure the handbag to the packboard, just above her sleeping bag. After three tries, she finally hoisted the pack onto her back, locked the car, and staggered over to the rest of the group.
Lilly bent, attempting to double knot her favorite step aerobics sneakers. They provided the best arch support of all the options in her closet and had sparkle laces which matched the pockets on her jeans so nicely that she had declined Gran’s offer of a faded pair of leather hiking boots. What could ratty old boots accomplish that sparkle-laced tennis shoes could not?
“Hey there kiddo, I think your pack is too—”
Lilly stumbled at the voice behind her. She glanced up as calloused hands steadied her shoulders.
“Hold on there, I don’t want any twisted ankles or…” Their leader stared at her. “…Beautiful. I mean, Kiddo. I mean you’re not a student. Um…what a day! Did you see that sky? Blue as a, um, blueberry muffin.” He ended the rambling sentence with a short laugh before he began rummaging in his pockets.
Lilly stared up at him. Their leader wasn’t exactly articulate was he? Their gazes held for a moment until a familiar sound interrupted her r
everie.
Juan and Logan hummed their imitation of an angelic choir and made jazz hands in her general direction. Mason took the lead. “Oh, my gosh! The Virgin Mary is our female chaperone. Quick, everyone get out your cameras. Don’t miss this blessed moment. Who knows when she shall descend upon another hiking trip? We must be the luckiest hikers in—”
Mr. Man-Bun gave Mason a single stern look, and the boy snapped his mouth shut and turned to punch Logan and then Juan in the shoulder, giving each a reproving glance as though he would never dream of mocking her lack of sexual experience on social media or within homemade videos featuring a choir of singing mice.
Lilly ground her lip between her teeth and imagined using a giant dump truck full of concrete to cap the raging volcano of anger that gurgled to the surface whenever that boy opened his mouth. For goodness sakes, he was twelve. What did he think he knew about life and love?
A deep cough signaled that their leader was ready to make another go at a dialogue exchange.
Lilly sincerely hoped he had recovered from her lack of stature and could manage a basic conversation. She looked up at him, way up, and waited.
“I’m Tristian Calvert, the guy leader. It looks as if you’ve packed a bit more than you should have. How much do you weigh?”
“Excuse me?” What man in his right mind would ask a lady to reveal her weight, in front of giggly twelve-year-olds, no less? Lilly took a step back, horror making her gape at the stranger.
“You should only pack about 20% if your total body weight and you are already listing to the side. I think you’ve over packed. In fact, where did you get this backpack?” Tristian’s eyes widened as he surveyed her gear. “This isn’t a backpack. How did you come across an army pack board?”
Lilly straightened, attempting to appear taller. “Of course it’s a backpack. It has straps and everything and my weight is none of your concern.” Lilly glanced around. All of the other backpacks did appear to contain more padding. None of them had an army-green metal frame covered in stretched canvas. “Where are the other leaders, the librarian, and that bowling league guy?”
“I’m afraid we’re it, Miss, um, Miss?”
“Park. My name is Lilly Park.”
“Ah yes, Lilly. Call me Tristian. And we are the only leaders this weekend. Mr. Blanchard is experiencing heart palpitations and Mr. Sutter made it onto the church’s bingo team and is traveling to the finals.”
Well, at least Gran might have a fun and flirtatious weekend with the fascinating Mr. Sutter while Lilly was trapped with a man wearing a hanky on his head and a pack of ferocious children. Lilly glanced across the parking lot at the students. Three lone girls clustered under the trailhead sign, taking pictures of her with their phones and giggling in such a way that made Lilly loath to imagine the terrible captions they were placing beneath her face on their social media pages. She tore her gaze away and met the mocking gaze of Mason. He grinned and hummed his angelic tune, making the slightest hint of jazz hands that Tristian was sure to miss since Logan and Juan strategically stood in their leader’s line of sight. Fabulous, just fabulous.
7
Trail mix Travails
Lilly refused Tristian’s offer to lighten her pack and with her head held high, she hoisted it to her shoulders. She might have staggered a bit, but couldn’t risk the misguided prince charming finding the doggy coats and brushes and treats. He might even come across Strudel himself, snoring within the confines of the dog purse that swayed gently against her back where she had tied it with a spare shoe lace. No, she would have to brave the “Glacier Peak Wilderness” on her own. Although, it appeared that the actual wilderness did not begin until they reached the 2.5 mile mark on the trail ahead. It looked sufficiently like a wilderness to Lilly. A plethora of trees and sky, with only a small parking lot and peaked wooden sign at the beginning of the Phelps Creek trailhead to hint at civilization.
A gentle snoring from her back reassured Lilly that Strudel had not smothered and would have a cushy journey up the trail to Spider Meadows. Lilly attempted to stretch out her leg muscles without dumping anything out of her pack. The dog purse swung forward with the movement, dragging her pack to the side. She heard a small yelp as Strudel slide down the purse’s silky fabric floor and bunched up at one end.
Tristian glanced her direction and shook his head. “This kind of pack was designed for combat situations, not recreational hiking.”
Lilly raised an eyebrow and ceased all stretching-related contortions. “Then it will be that much easier for me since I’m not running around with a gun and a table on my back.”
“A table?”
“It came with instructions and there was this soldier running around with a table and shooting, which I will not have to accomplish since I just wish to walk to the wilderness and take in the views.”
“It was probably a portable bunker. But my point is that this has virtually no padding. It’s built with a heavy metal frame and canvas straps, an accomplished hiker would find this pack a hindrance. An inexperienced hiker…”
“I would have you know that Strudel and I are regular hikers and I am not the least bit daunted. If you’re trying to scare me off, you haven’t’ succeeded. Those girls deserve a hike just as much as the boys do. I’ll see to it that they have equal opportunity!”
“Where exactly do you and your, um, breakfast pastry usually hike?” Tristian bent to zip up one of the many side pockets in his monstrous pack.
Lilly noticed that it contained toilet paper. How uncouth. Any respectable toilet would have its own paper. Why on earth would anyone carry around their own? Perhaps, Tristian had a phobia of strange TP? Yes, that must be it. “Strudel’s not—anyway, that is beside the point. The children appear to be ready. Why don’t we proceed?”
“Aren’t you going to change into your hiking boots?”
“My footwear is none of your concern. These sneakers have transported me though two highly strenuous exercise classes and can face any difficulties that arise upon the trail.”
“I see.” Tristian grimaced in her general direction, but did not move to force her into hiking boots.
Lilly gave him a short, stern smile and lurched forward. Her pack teetered a bit but she remained upright, even with a small mountain of clothing, food, and dog accessories upon her back. There, that wasn’t too bad. As long as she didn’t tip to the side…Lilly caught her hand on the Phelps Creek trail sign, quickly righting herself after a sudden and unexpected shift in weight as the dog purse swung crazily and her whole pack followed. Had any of her students seen?
Three cell phones pointed in her direction. One pink, one purple, and one sparkle phone. Emily, from class C was still wearing her purple hoodie. Thankfully, she was not flipping over anything.
Lilly did not want to deal with any injuries on this trip. She stole a peek at their fearless leader. Apparently he was Emily’s uncle, but she didn’t think a man who would let a child dangle over a cliff from a harness would save her from the sudden barrage of clicking phones. If he could keep the girl from doing summersaults all the way to Holden Village that would be something. Lilly cautiously approached her charges. “Greetings, Emily, and ah, yes, Natasha and Cloe. Are you excited about pitting yourselves against the rigors of nature and coming forth triumphant?”
More clicks as the cameras recorded her abysmal attempts at camaraderie.
Lilly forced a smile and turned to the trail. It didn’t look too difficult. There was no pavement, but the dirt path appeared smooth and free of obstacles. Surely, Spider Meadows was no greater distance than a loop around the park in Bellevue.
Tristian gathered the six boys and three girls at the trailhead sign. “OK then. I will lead, Miss Park will bring up the rear, and you guys can arrange yourselves between us as you please. This trail is well-maintained but you will come across several creeks. Not too much trouble, in only five and a half miles we’ll be there. Probably well before sunset.”
Before sunset? Lil
ly glanced at the bright blue evening sky. Surely they would be at their campsite long before then. Mr. Calvert was probably adding a bit of time to his estimate in case of injury. What could possibly happen in five miles? No one would get blisters on the first day; they all knew how to walk. It would be fine. Perhaps he was the overly cautious type. He did carry his own toilet paper, after all. Smoke jumping, ski instructor, river raft guide, none of his many occupations pointed to a man easily floored by frivolous worries. Something was off here.
Without further ado, Tristian Calvert started down the trail and the children meandered behind. Once their nine charges were on their way, Lilly cautiously put foot to trail. It wasn’t so bad. Her sparkly shoes didn’t seem quite as steady on dirt as on the gym floor, but the towering pack on her back necessitated caution anyway. It wouldn’t matter at the pace they were keeping to.
Strudel gave a soft squeak, but after a tense moment waiting for further dog-like disturbances, his snoring resumed.
Lilly let out her breath and concentrated on hiking. The trail did not consist of only packed dirt. Lilly was alarmed to discover that roots snaked down the loamy banks, small creeks actually flowed directly through the trail, and even fallen trees were present. The half-decayed logs slumped to the side of the trail were covered in mossy growth and looked appealing at first with their moist, forest-y scent and pleasing green decorations. But upon closer inspection, Lilly discovered that they were rife with insect life.
Fat, black ants marched in columns through the logs and shiny beetles scurried hither and yon.
Lilly gulped and scrambled back, thankful she had not rested against the cushy, green seat. A smattering of brightly colored wild flowers, yellow, white, and occasionally the deep pinkish red of an Indian paintbrush, scattered the banks surrounding the path. Sunlight slanted through the lichen-covered tree trunks creating stripes of light and shadow in a soothing pattern. Lilly felt her tension ease as she breathed deeply of the highly oxygenated mountain air.
Spider Gap Page 4
