The plan for retirement was to sail as far as she could while she still wanted to live the physically demanding lifestyle. Though she had lived aboard Robin for years at the dock this trip south, with Robin set up as a cruising boat, represented a first for her and Robin. Local sailing, while living solo on Robin in a marina slip, had given her confidence she could do a single-handed southern migration. If she stayed in the Intracoastal Waterway it was basically no more than a three-month string of day sails, had been her uninformed opinion at the outset.
During the four years of preparing for the voyage Tess acquired skills that her research suggested she would need; and most of those required breaking a fingernail or two. In the end she could change engine oil or bleed the diesel engine's injectors with the best of them. She left Maine convinced she was fully prepared, ready for anything.
Now that the first month of migration had passed she knew it was much more difficult than she'd imagined. Sometimes just getting to the head to relieve herself required extensive planning, quick execution under pressure, and dealing with the fear of dying with her pants around her ankles for the duration of the exercise. Her agility had improved the most, followed closely by improved flexibility from engine room maintenance, roughly equivalent to hot yoga without a mat.
Communication improvements available to the nautical community were key to Tess's plan on the way south, by staying abreast of developing weather systems the worst conditions could be avoided. Coastal sailing, as she planned to do, usually offered connection to the Internet by a cellphone data connection, making available constant updates on developing weather. Those updates, combined with her meteorology knowledge, should allow her ample warning, so she could be tucked into a secure anchorage in advance.
In addition to forecasts and atmospheric discussions, several of the weather and climate-change related radio networks she listened to regularly discussed how to best save the future human race from the present one; and lately the plans sounded more radical than just cutting the size of our individual carbon footprints. One plan currently getting the most airtime involved using extreme-weather events as diversions, and potential allies, in attacking unsustainable, resource-wasting lifestyles dependent on cheap electrical power, fuel, and food.
The electrical grid, Internet, and the nation's just-in-time supply distribution networks would be the prime targets of these radical environmentalists. The various proposals centered on depriving a large portion of the nation food, fuel, power, and the Internet for three consecutive days to instigate widespread anarchy. Proponents theorized that the reduction of greenhouse gas emissions, caused by the abrupt human depopulation scenario, would be enough to mitigate the worst of global warming for the near future.
Around the world ham radio operators broadcast local and regional news and opinion to those set up to receive it, bypassing major media organizations. Tess continuously worked to improve her radio's reception ability, with antenna design and hardware, to stay in touch with a growing network of sailing contacts worldwide. She communicated with as many of them as possible on a regular basis for first-hand weather observations, local, national, and worldwide news and opinions on climate change solution—radical or otherwise.
All of Robin's state-of-the-art systems required ongoing maintenance to keep ahead of saltwater corrosion and structural fatigue from the constant flexing of a sailboat at sea. To that end Tess checked her main "to-do" list twice each day, once in the morning and then again in the evening, to keep on top of things.
Most boats afloat have a similar list. It’s usually lengthy on the day the Captain first steps aboard, and remains unfinished the day he or she takes the last step ashore. It’s an essential, daily guide of things that need to be done in order to remain on the water’s surface—ignoring the list can sink you.
Andy & Jennifer - East Texas
All they'll find of me will be a puddle of sweat on the pavement if I don’t get out of this heat, Andy thought and coasted into the roadside convenience store's parking lot, weaving around a couple of gas pumps. A neon sign glowing in the window read "Ice Cold," the brand of beer that went with it had lost its fluorescence, evidently. "Doesn’t matter, they had me at Ice. Cold is redundant when the thermometer reads 99ºF," Andy mumbled to himself as he stepped off the bike.
Andy locked the bike to an empty newspaper box by the door and went in. He didn’t get in far enough to keep the door from pushing him the last two inches. Refrigerated air reacted with the waves of sweat cascading down his body, instantly chilling his skin to goose-bump territory, and he shivered in ecstasy. Dim interior lights welcomed him, and his reality flipped like a light switch, from being under a heat lamp to the shaded comfort of an air-conditioned oasis.
An automatic arm movement removed his helmet and fogged sunglasses, which instantly brought two people at the checkout counter into view. A young woman behind the counter, and a man in front of it were both staring at him. She had a surprised look, but a look of irritation was on the man's face. Not "unfriendly" exactly, but irritation at being interrupted was evident as he studied Andy.
The shock of his tingling sensory-experience, mixed with a little embarrassment, provoked a flight response. Andy quickly turned toward the back of the shop where glass doors promised ice-cold delights. The original green Gatorade drew his eye and he grabbed it, and a blue one. The first one went down quickly. He relished the sensations of cool energy as it hit his blood stream, revitalizing him. The hollow feeling slowly subsided as he pressed his forehead against the refrigerator door’s glass, using it as an ice pack for his overheated brain. Andy stood there realizing how closely he had cut it to the point of passing out . . .wrecking . . . becoming just another piece of dehydrated Texan road kill.
Wondering if his actions were causing concern, Andy turned toward the counter with both the empty and full jug of Gatorade. The man was just leaving as Andy approached the counter and he held Andy’s attention until he was out the door for reasons Andy didn’t understand at the time. Through the front window Andy continued to watch as the man climbed into a lifted pickup with knobby, over-sized mud tires; the kind he disliked because of the banshee howl they made going past him at highway speeds.
The smile that greeted him was a pleasant surprise when he looked back toward the cash register. "Hi," greeted the attractive young woman as he sat the drinks on the counter. Then her smile faded and she asked, "You okay?"
Looking at her closely, Andy saw the concern on her face after she had taken in his appearance. He knew his clothes were wet to the point of dripping; he self-consciously looked down at himself and then back at her. "Yeah, I think so, why do you ask?"
"Well, you’re soaked for one, sort of peaked-looking for another, and you’ve been acting goofy to top it all off," she said with enough conviction in her voice that he didn’t think she was kidding around, so he answered in kind.
"Sorry, I’m a biker and it is killer hot out there. I was probably suffering the first stages of heat exhaustion when I walked in here. Then the air conditioning hit me, saved my bacon actually, and I had to take a moment to mentally record how good it felt. Thank you for your AC." He offered his hand. "Hi, I’m Andy."
They shook hands with a quick one-shake-and-release type. "I’m Jennifer. You don’t look like any bikers we have around here, not in those shorts and slippers you’re wearing."
Andy laughed, "I'm a bicyclist that has pedaled every inch of the way here from Seattle just to make your acquaintance, and to sample your extreme heat outside and inviting coolness inside." Andy gave her a slight bow and continued, "What did you notice about my shorts?"
A mischievous smile crept across Jennifer’s lips, "Truthfully, has that line ever worked?"
"Which one?" he asked with his best smile.
Jennifer walked to the door and looked out at his bike, then turned back toward Andy and just shook her head. "What would possess a person to ride a bicycle from Seattle to Texas is beyond me. Are you lost?"<
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"Key West is my destination and I’m closer than when I left. Now I’ll just find the Gulf of Mexico, turn left at the beach, and follow it. Simple," Andy said with a shrug.
"You ride all day, what happens at night?" Jennifer asked, mentally noting the lateness of the day. "You’re a long way from the nearest motel."
"I don’t usually ride all day, only to midafternoon, then I camp for the night. There’s a tent and enough stuff on the bike for me to go for a couple of days without civilization or buying food," Andy answered. "Do you like to camp?"
"Only with AC in this weather! How do you stand it?" she asked.
"This heat is a new thing, most of the way it has been cool or even cold at night. Last night it didn’t cool a bit, and today has been pretty brutal. I’m going through my water bottles fast. They’re empty now, which comes to my second reason for stopping in to visit, the need to find a watering hole. I believe that's the term you all use?" Andy asked.
Jennifer rolled her eyes, "A watering hole is a lot more fun than this place. This is just a pit stop between watering holes. Once in a while our customers leave money instead of secondhand beer, not enough to be habit-forming though," she said with another smile, different, but charming.
Andy pulled up his best question; asking for simple directions. "So, Jennifer . . . have you lived around here long? Care to give me local knowledge about the roads east of here? South maybe?"
"That’s cute! A man asking a woman for directions," she said, firing her biggest smile yet. "Do you want campgrounds or places to camp?"
Smart Girl, Andy thought. Somehow he felt she knew what he wanted, but wanted to play it out, so he asked, "You know of any land I could camp on that isn’t a public campground?"
"I do indeed. But you’d need to get permission. I’m curious if you’ve found public campgrounds and/or gotten permission from the landowner every night, all the way from Seattle? How long have you been on the road anyhow?" Jennifer asked.
Chugging a few gulps from the blue Gatorade helped Andy’s wandering mind find traction and stay on subject. "Well . . . I left Seattle the first of June, but I’ve stopped and stayed with friends a few times. Then, the Rockies tempted me to stay camped enjoying their beauty for more than a few nights," Andy answered vaguely, but then he grabbed some backbone, since it sounded like she had it figured anyway. "But you’re right, I guerilla camp and trespass to do it. I don’t have a campfire, use a light, or leave trash. The only evidence I leave behind is a flat spot where my tent was."
"You know you’re in Texas?" Jennifer asked, with no smile.
"I know I’m in Texas, land of capital punishment. Don’t tell me trespassing is a hanging offense?" he asked.
"Depends on the county, and the landowner that catches you," Jennifer said with the unmistakable air of a landowner’s authority.
With a serious look on his face, Andy looked her in the eye, "Jennifer, I’ve been pedaling since 6A.M. this morning, and I’m beat. Been looking at these hills and that grove of trees behind the store for miles, hoping I could find a shady place to camp. What are my chances?"
"You planning on paying for both of those drinks first?" she asked.
"Of course! Plus maybe a burrito and an ice cream bar, I’m a pretty big spender," Andy answered with a smile.
Jennifer laughed, "Since you’re a paying customer please feel free to camp. Are you really going to eat a burrito in this weather?"
"Maybe two, if you have any hot sauce?"
Gus - Uncompahgre Plateau, CO
He spent much of what remained of the afternoon setting up a comfortable camp in the brisk mountain air at the camp’s altitude of 8500 feet. The 3500 feet of additional altitude from where he lived in Grand Junction made the air noticeably thinner, requiring more breaths to get the same amount of oxygen. When a cloud’s passing shadow caused a distinct drop in temperature he reminded himself to keep a coat close at hand for when the sun went behind a cloud or a mountain, he looked forward to needing a campfire's warmth this evening. Fall camping at its best.
Not far from where the main tent had been set up was his next project, the stand of aspen that marked the edge of the seep that Oley found. Gus got a folding e-tool shovel and cleaned out a spot near the uphill end of the wet area and watched as clear water filled in. The hole he had dug, about a foot or so deep, in a two-foot circle, created a pool with a current that slowly washed the muddy water out. Soon a clear pool of spring water over a gravel-and-sand bottom would provide a clean water source only fifty yards from camp. And almost as valuable, it did double duty as a cooler for at least a six-pack at a time. In his opinion, a campfire and a cold beer to celebrate the day’s hunt topped the list of morale boosters.
Gathering enough firewood for the first couple of nights, building a fire pit, hoisting provisions fifteen feet, or so, up in the tree branches for bear proofing, and organizing the equipment they had offloaded from the pack horses and piled in front of the main tent took up most of the remaining daylight. Included in the gear was a lightweight one-man tent, so he would have the option of staying away from base camp for a night or two during the heat of a hunt, though he hoped it wouldn't be needed.
While there was still enough light to shoot he retrieved a now well-chilled beer from the camp’s new cooler, his recurve bow, and an arrow with a rubber blunt-tip on it. Next he hung a pup tent-sized tarp over some brush, for a target and a method of stopping the arrow. After about twenty shots from varying distances and angles he felt ready for the shot if he could work in on a bull or, even better, if he could call a bull into range by blowing bugles or cow calls.
The appetite he'd worked up during the afternoon's activity motivated him to start preparing food for supper. While the meal heated in a Dutch oven, halfway buried in hot coals, he pulled the quadrangle topographical map out of his daypack and started matching the contours on the paper with the landmarks still visible in the fading light. He did this to orient himself since he intended to leave camp before daylight on the first day of hunting.
A meal of reheated, mediocre stew he had pre-cooked before leaving home tasted delicious as he ate it beside the campfire. Being outdoors seemed to always make his cooking more flavorful for some reason. With a full stomach, and considering his location on the map, the next day’s hunt began taking shape. That point above camp, on the map anyway, looked like it would offer a vantage point where he could glass a large area of prime elk habitat far enough from the ATV trails. Gus hoped that any noise made by road-hunting ATVers would move the elk in his direction.
Just as he got ready to crawl into the tent a distant elk bugle-sounded and Gus froze. A few seconds later an answer to the challenge came, this one closer than the first bugle. The hair on the back of his neck stood up; followed by a chill trickling down his spine. Once in the tent he positioned his cot with care, so he could see the star-filled sky out the tent entrance while being serenaded by the passionate lyrics of elk in rut.
An hour later he still lay there, lost in the sights and sounds of an ancient world, while shedding stresses caused by a modern one.
Con & Ela - Grand Junction, CO
Autumn treated Grand Junction well. As the high-country aspen lost their glory to the gusty winds of late September, the valley cottonwoods began turning rich yellows, and brilliantly festooned the streets of the city, holding off the drabness of approaching winter.
After eating a light lunch they took advantage of the warm afternoon to stroll a few blocks of Grand Junction's downtown area, to enjoy window-shopping at the boutiques and stores that made up the shopping district. Main Street with its corner artwork and park-like settings made getting some exercise after a meal inviting. Ela and Con leisurely walked the pleasant street and enjoyed catching up on the minutia of each other's lives.
"Okay, ready to see what I’ve done with the place in your absence?" Con asked as they got in the car. "Try to see it as your inheritance invested wisely."
"What? Are you ren
ting out my room to some college kid?"
"That’s an idea. You wouldn’t mind, huh?"
"You think I should just stand by and let you influence another young life?" Ela asked in mock seriousness. "Anyway, what’s going on at home?"
"Fertilization, cultivation, and preparation."
"Preparation sounds promising, but fertilization and cultivation I’m sure I don’t want to hear about. And I don’t want any snot-nosed baby brother or sister. What have you done this time, Mom?"
"No worries there. You fulfilled any and all wishes of motherhood for me, and then some. Of course, I am anxiously awaiting my first grandbaby. Do you think you will get married first?" Con asked sweetly.
"Oh, so now you’re a proponent of single-motherhood? That's not the way I remember my own single-mom during my formative years."
"With age comes wisdom. It hardly makes up for the things you lose though . . . " Con let that one fade as she made the final turn toward home.
As the home Ela grew up in came into view she was amazed at the transformation. "Wow, did you transplant a forest?"
"Those, my dear, are skyrocketing juniper trees. They are planted just inside the chain-link fence all the way around the backyard, about three feet apart. They are growing about two feet per year and will reach fifteen feet high, I hope. The backyard now feels very private and well protected," Con stated with obvious pride.
Ela replied, "So that’s where you practice fertilization and cultivation?"
"Yes, peace on earth, spelled differently than what you were trying to imply. It has become my sanctuary, my island away from the craziness of the world," Con said.
The garage door came up and Con pulled in with practiced ease. Ela busily checked both sides of the garage, "What’s with all these built-in cabinets with doors? You didn’t have any of this last time."
SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel Page 3
