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 “You, got it?”
“Yeah.” I put my stove under the seat and grabbed the steering wheel, steering the station
wagon from the passenger side while Dave worked at getting the top off the thermos.
We were barreling up Highway 395 near sunset. He had picked me up, in the late afternoon, in Lone Pine.
* * *
“Beep, beep.”
I raised my head from the bench to look.
Dave's unshaven face was looking at me out the car window. His dark glasses reminded me of,
“The Man With No Eyes,” from Cool Hand Luke. A grin split his face.
BBAARRAAAAAAA!! ripped through the air.
I jumped, he laughed. I remembered my misgivings when he had first suggested that he pick me up.
* * *
“I'm going to be in Death Valley in three weeks. I can stay a day and collect you from Whitney Portal on the twenty third.”
“Lone Pine,” I corrected. “I'll be in Lone Pine.”
“No problem.”
“I'll be in the park. Nine AM?”
“See you there,” Dave said - he was almost a day and a half late.
* * *
I stood, shouldered my pack. “That was your horn?” I said as I approached the car. I tried to act
casual walking over, but gave up trying to put my hands in my pockets, with the pack I couldn't balance.
“Makes you sit up and take notice, eh?” He grinned.
Then his expression became serious. “Diesel air horn,” he volunteered. “This one don't work so good,”
he said pounding the steering wheel. “This horn,” he reached by the radio, “does.” He flipped a switch.
BBAARRAAAAAAA!!
I jerked against my pack - he grinned again.
“That works.” I was annoyed with myself for jumping again. I looked at Dave.
“What happened to you?” I snapped. “I thought I was going to have to hitch-hike out of here.”
“This damn car,” he said angrily. “It’s a long story, but I'm here now. Toulumne Meadows is calling . . . Listen.” He
cupped his hand to his ear and whispered, “Dave, John, I've got ice, wine, beer. . .”
“Okay, okay,” I said. It promised to be a wild ride.
I dumped my pack in the back seat of the dirty station wagon. There was no handle on the passenger door.
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