Had to go into the city today for a doctor’s
appointment. Because it’s Thursday and
printing day for the paper I decided to drive so that I could bring the
finished edition back with me, and save a couple of bucks on shipping charges.
Day went pretty much as usual, starting with almost two
hours on gravel road where every hill has been turned into a washboard by
overuse. Then there was the usual
delightful experience of cresting that last big ridge on the coast road and
plunging down into the haze of pollution that defines the boundaries of
civilization. Funny how I can feel that
urban environment in my body. Every
muscle tenses up, and my stress level, normally at zero, jumps
dramatically. Just as amazing is how all
this automatically reverses itself when I leave the city and am driving
home. Suddenly I’m relaxed and
energized, and even breathing seems easier.
Got away from the printers earlier than planned so had time
to stop at the truck stop that sits just where the gravel road from The Harbour
intersects with the paved highway. That
was where my day got interesting.
I should describe
this place for you because if you’re thinking of “Truck Stop” as a place on a
freeway with food franchises and stores and acres of paved parking lot filled
with 18 wheelers, you’ve got the wrong idea.
In fact, you’ve got the wrong era.
Think more of a 1950s kind of truckers’ restaurant with a name like Dot’s
Diner—this one really is called Dot’s after the original owner, the great aunt
of the current operator.
This place, like it’s modern counterparts, also has acres of
parking, but the surface is gravel and dust/mud (depending on the
weather). The vehicles are different
too. Instead of big rigs carrying
shipping containers, this lot is full of logging trucks and dumpers with pup trailers.
And while the new operator isn’t Dot, neither is she an 18
year old high school dropout with an attitude.
Oh, there’s plenty of attitude all right, but it’s dished out by a
middle age charmer by the name of Marla.
Marla told me an interesting story today. We were chatting about this and that and I
happened to mention Evolene and her bicycle odyssey. Marla took more interest in this bit of information
than I expected, and wondered if Evolene was in her early 20s, about 5 foot
six, with red hair. When I said yes, she
laughed and launched into her encounter with Ev.
Note: My reporter
instinct kicked in when I realized Marla was going to give me a full account,
so I whipped out my notebook and took it down, word for word. The following is verbatim from those notes.
“Well,” said Marla settling in across from me in the
booth. “I saw her ride up on that bike,
and didn’t think much of it. We get
fitness freaks and trekkers riding by here all the time on their way up the
coast. Can’t see the sense of it myself,
but to each her own. But this one was
different, she stopped and came in and even ordered a normal meal—the meatloaf
lunch special.
She seemed nice enough, so after I’d taken her order I did
what I like to do and tried to strike up a conversation. But she wasn’t interested. She just got this
look on her face, sort of a forced smile, and said she was in a hurry and would
I mind hurrying up with her food. That
was the end of that. Brought her food
then took her money after she’d wolfed it down.
Didn’t see her leave, and didn’t know she was going to take the Midden Harbour
road. Every fool knows not to go on that
road between 6 in the morning and 4 in the afternoon, but obviously she’s no
ordinary fool, Dunc. Even though she
pulled a bit of a princess act, I still would have warned her. She’s damn lucky that she wasn’t squished.”
I thanked Marla, and drove all the way back to The Harbour
with a huge smile stretching my face.
Can’t wait for a chance to use this little tidbit.
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