Tailwinds Past Florence Page 3

  Edward and Kara pedaled along the tranquil, forest-lined entrance road, past snowbound cabins tucked amongst conifers. Glacier National Park was on both their bucket lists, but March was no time to explore the park by bike; they needed a place to camp, nothing more.

  The pay station’s gates were raised, the ticket booth empty. Edward coasted past the self-pay kiosks.

  “You forgot to pay.”

  Edward sighed and looped back in Kara’s direction, unsurprised to see she had stopped. “Ignore it. Ranger will probably wonder who the sucker was that paid to enter a closed park.”

  “The park’s not closed,” Kara said, palm up, motioning at the gates.

  “We pay taxes.”

  “Don’t be like that. You know I hate it when people say things like that.”

  “What? We do. A lot of money, I might add.” Experience taught Edward to expect a lecture, but Kara merely shook her head and opened her wallet.

  “Do you have a five?”

  “No,” he said without checking.

  “Then I’ll leave a twenty.” Kara wrote the word BIKES across the fee envelope and slid it into the iron ranger.

  “You sure you don’t want to shovel the walk or clean some bathrooms too?” He kept his tone light, but knew they were spending nearly eighty dollars a day. A rate that would quickly challenge his ability to meet the monthly minimums on their credit cards.

  “Don’t mock me when I’m hungry.” She punched his arm as she pushed past with her bike. “Wise-ass.”

  Edward rubbed his arm, feigning injury, then cycled after her.

  Neither was surprised to find Apgar Campground gated, the loop buried. Pushing their ninety-pound touring bikes around the barrier through hub-deep snow held little appeal. “Let’s search for a clear spot by the lake,” Edward suggested.

  They soon arrived at a picnic area on Lake McDonald’s southern shore. Thanks to the peculiarities of the wind and a grouping of trees, there was a patch of clear ground large enough to fit their tent. Edward jumped off his bike, thrilled at their luck. “We can set the tent up right here,” he said, swinging his arms to illustrate the orientation, “and put our heads at this end, where it’s a little higher.”

  “Next to the NO CAMPING sign?” Kara asked, her eyebrows raised.

  “Golly Ranger, we got here after dark and didn’t see the sign,” he said, affecting his best aw-shucks drawl.

  “And if the Ranger comes before sunset?”

  “Then we’ll ask him where he’d like us to go. Geez. The park’s covered in snow and we’re the only ones here. Nobody’s gonna care where we camp.”

  Kara shifted her gaze and bit her lower lip in silent protest.

  Edward was normally a stickler for rules, but even he knew when to put common sense above blind obedience. He turned to his bike, unhooked the duffel bag that rode behind the seat, and slammed it onto a picnic table. Grabbing it by the sides, he shoved it back and forth, plowing snow off the table and launching crystalline clouds into the air. He turned his attention to the bench nearest him just as Kara grabbed his wrist. He turned to face her, his jaw set.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Really. This is a great site.”

  His glare persisted.

  “I should have listened to you about the stores. I screwed up.”

  His stomach rumbled, but he held quiet. Did she have any idea the seriousness of their situation? Did it ever occur to her what would happen if a storm rolled in, trapping them for days without food?

  He swallowed his thoughts as her hazel eyes stared upward at him, glistening, melting his anger. She leaned forward, inviting a kiss.

  “We forgot something,” she said, wrapping her arms around him.

  Edward and Kara embraced, his helmeted head tilted atop hers, her cheek nuzzled against his frost-covered jacket. They held one another, motionless, silent, as they had done every afternoon since leaving home. The ritual was borne from the joy and excitement of heading out to see the world, at least for Kara. For Edward, it was grounding, a tether to the life they left behind.

  “You rode great today,” he said, holding her by the arms.

  “I learned from the best.” She kissed him again. They smiled, eyes locked, and nodded gently in unison. The nod was the truth. Their nod was the mutual understanding that things would be hard and they’d disagree and they’d get angry and curse, but all would be forgiven. Always.

  Edward and Kara unloaded the bicycles in silence, each stacking their four panniers, duffel bags, and handlebar bags at opposite ends of the picnic table. Twelve bags in total: six yellow, six red. The tent went up in a flash of practiced choreography, with the granite-on-titanium hammering of the tent stakes providing accompaniment. Kara emptied her duffel, tossing the sleeping bags, air mattresses, and inflatable pillows willy-nilly into the tent. The stuffed Sasquatch she acquired halfway across Washington went in last.

  They each grabbed a water bottle (the temperature had mercifully stayed above freezing) and stripped down alongside the picnic table. Edward shed his jacket, wool jersey, and base layer and braced for the assault to come. Armed with a few drops of eucalyptus soap and a washcloth no softer than a pumice stone, he scrubbed the sweat from his reddening gooseflesh as fast he could. With his upper body clean enough, he tugged on a reasonably fresh shirt and a blue fleece sweater. His spiky brown hair would have to wait for a shower.

  He stripped off his rain pants and tights while standing barefoot atop a pair of sneakers, then held his breath as he peeled the chamois undershorts from his saddle sores. The pain was brief, but excruciating. It was their sixteenth day on the road, and judging by the high-pitched ow-ow-ow coming from Kara, he wasn’t alone in his suffering. Kara, wearing only the bra she sometimes slept in, offered him a compassionate look and a packet of disposable wet wipes.

  He finished getting dressed and assured Kara they would be fine; they’d callous over eventually. Besides, they had more pressing concerns. “Why don’t you find us more water while I check the bags for food? There’s gotta be at least a packet of instant soup or hot cocoa mix in there somewhere.”

  Kara, clad in yoga pants and a pink puffy jacket, pulled a paisley Buff over her head. Edward watched her leave, appreciating the effect two weeks of cycling had on her figure.

  Solitude was a rarity on the trip, and he cherished this part of the day, when he was alone to focus on dinner. He had always enjoyed cooking—it was the one trait he inherited from his mother. And, after so many nights stuck working long hours, he was happy to be able to cook for Kara again. But this was nothing like home.

  He emptied the pannier containing their kitchen. Pickings were slim. There was a bag of spices, condiment packets, a pouch of dried fruit that felt as hard as the rock he used on the tent stakes, and a bag of Twizzlers with only two pieces left. He grabbed the cookware and felt something shift inside. Puzzled, he undid the clasp and was happy to find a small bag of instant rice. “Well, hello, Uncle Ben, what are you doing in there?”

  Kara returned as he finished laying out their foldable dinner bowls and sporks. “Good news! The bathroom down the road is open. Flushing toilets and all the tap water we can use,” she said, setting a full dromedary bag and unused water filter on the table.

  “Now I don’t feel so bad about the twenty bucks,” he said with a wink. “Dinner’s about ready.”

  “You found food?”

  “Better.”

  Kara shot him a curious glance, then tilted her head. “Do I smell chicken?”

  “Please sit, madam,” he said, ushering her to the other side of the picnic table. “Tonight you shall enjoy a private waterside dining experience guaranteed to warm your senses. Close your eyes and imagine the islands. Smell the salt breeze and envision a heaping plate of jerk chicken, rice, and the sweetest plantains this side of the Caribbean.”

  “That sounds lovely—”

  “Don’t speak. Just embrace the image and savor the aroma.” Edward spooned the food using
a measuring cup as a ladle. It plopped into the bowls in a crude fashion. “Ready?”

  Kara nodded, her lips a playful smile.

  “Voila!”

  She stared in disgust.

  “Oh, come on,” Edward said. “Try it.”

  Kara dipped her spork into the bowl. She swallowed without chewing and looked as though gagging was inevitable.

  “I told you to use your imagination. I found some instant rice and mixed it with bouillon and the dried bananas from your trail mix.”

  Kara eyed the meal, her face twisted in disgust.

  “I also added some jerk seasoning—I think it was from that spice set your boss gave us before we left.”

  “It’s positively awful, but thanks?” she said, her voice rising with incredulity.

  “I know it is. I tasted it before you got back. I almost retched.”

  Kara made a show of chewing it fully, not unlike a cow with its cud, and burst into laughter as soon as she swallowed.

  Edward returned her gaze as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “This is fun,” she said.

  “The dinner?”

  “No. The food is awful. I mean all of this,” she said, sweeping her hand at the mountain-ringed lakeside. “I love being out here. I love that this is our life.”

  Edward took a deep breath and shifted in his seat. “A lot of people would say we’re crazy.”

  “Let ‘em.”

  “What if I was one of them?”

  “You think this is crazy?” she asked, her smile fading.

  Edward twirled his utensil in the mush, wishing he hadn’t said anything. The trip wasn’t just crazy, it was stupid. They sold their clothes and furniture, she quit her job, and their credit cards were going to be maxed out by the time they got home, wherever that would be. Worse still, he’d be lucky to find another job in venture capital anywhere, let alone in Seattle, after what he pulled.

  “Earth to Ed,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I’m serious. Do you think we’re being crazy?”

  Edward blinked to. He wanted to deflect. To tell her she was the crazy one, for leaving him alone with the bag of Twizzlers. But he didn’t have it in him to fake an attempt at humor. He turned his attention back to the rice, not wanting to ruin her moment.

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday, March 31 — Glacier National Park, Montana, USA

  Edward was jolted awake as a bough-full of melting snow bombarded the rainfly. The one-two assault continued as the tent’s sunlit yellow interior irradiated his freshly opened eyes. Edward moaned and squeezed them shut in defense.

  “Rise and shine, sleepy head.”

  He rolled over and saw Kara lying on her side, arm bent, head resting on her hand. She’d been watching him sleep. “It’s beautiful out today. Not a cloud in the sky.”

  “You up long?”

  “Since sunrise. I had to pee.”

  “I didn’t hear you get up.”

  “You were out cold. I got dressed and boiled water for coffee. We can heap some sugar in for calories.”

  Edward’s stomach growled. She giggled then leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips. “Get changed. We should break camp early in case the ranger comes.”

  His reluctance to leave the warmth of his sleeping bag was no match for Kara’s insistence on getting the day started. She unzipped the inner and outer tent doors and bounded from her sleeping bag and through the vestibule in a single move, leaving the doors open to the frigid air. Edward watched in awe, wondering when—or if—her excitement would ever wane.

  Not much later, with the gear packed and the panniers strapped to the bikes, Edward spread the map on the picnic table as Kara placed her travel mug on a corner, weighting it against a rising breeze.

  “Here’s where that convenience store outside the park is.” He pointed to an intersection on the map then traced his finger southward along the highway. “And here’s the Continental Divide. It’s about forty miles and three thousand feet of climbing to the top of Marias Pass—”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” Kara interrupted.

  “No, except that it’s mostly flat for the first twenty miles.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’ll get a nice warm-up before the climbing begins, but it gets steep near the top. Good news is, it’s all downhill from there.”

  Kara dragged her finger along a different route, one that switchbacked across the park to the northeast. “And no chance of going through the park?” she asked, with a pinch of disappointment.

  “Not without a snowmobile and a death wish.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  “We’ll come back,” he assured her.

  Ten miles down the road, Kara still seemed disappointed. She knew Glacier’s famous Going-to-the-Sun Road would be snowbound until June, but the reality must not have settled in until that morning, while they were packing to leave barely fourteen hours after arriving.

  Edward pedaled on, thinking about the other places she was looking forward to visiting: New York City, Spain, and New Zealand, to name a few. He would have loved to have seen more of the park too, but what could he do? It was still March, if only for a day. No matter how many lines they drew across a map, they couldn’t see everything.

  He shrugged it off. One minute you’re in a funk, the next you’re on top of the world. That’s bicycle travel in a nutshell, he thought: The highs were higher and the lows were lower.

  Three years was too long to be traveling if they were going to beat themselves up every time things didn’t go to plan. But were they really going to be on the road that long? That was longer than it took to earn his MBA, longer than he dated Kara.

  The sound of tires peeling off the wet asphalt intensified as Edward’s mind swam in a whirlpool of dizzying thoughts, sending his legs on spin-cycle. Ever faster round and round, the pedals turned the wheels, grabbing the meltwater sheeting across the road, and flinging it against his fenders. It was the nature of cycling to have your emotions dictate the pace.

  The road curved away, revealing a driveway. Hidden behind the snow bank halfway up the mountain was a bar and grill. A neon sign signaled it was open. He brought the bike to a stop and pumped his arms in Kara’s direction. “Food,” he yelled, ringing the bicycle bell. She leaped from the saddle and closed the gap in no time.

  The two hurried down the stairs to the basement tavern, their handlebar bags clutched tightly with their passports and other valuables inside. The place was empty except for the lone server who met them at the counter with a pair of menus and an offer of coffee. “I’ll take one of everything,” Edward said, scanning the menu.

  “I need something to warm me up,” Kara said. “If only we didn’t have another two-thousand feet to climb.”

  They ordered grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and tomato soup as another couple took a pair of stools at the far end of the counter.

  “Hiya, Bill,” the man said, waving to the server. The diner was a big guy in blue jeans, a flannel shirt, a navy quilted vest, and a face nearly as puffy. He turned to Edward and Kara and asked if they owned the bikes outside. “Well, one of them knocked over the fence out there.”

  Edward pulled on his jacket and ran outside to see the damage. The fence, little more than cinder blocks with some wooden beams run through the holes, was no match for the weight of their touring equipment. He moved both bikes to a snow bank closer to the door and took a moment to lock them together.

  Back inside, the man chuckled as Edward apologized. “Ah, Billy don’t mind. He’s just happy to see some folks in here this time of year—ain’t that right, Bill?” The thin-faced server grunted his acknowledgment as he ladled the steaming soup. The man continued: “We see a lot of cyclists up here during summer. Mainly the ones too scared to climb the road in the park, but I’ve never seen any this time of year.” He turned to the woman next to him. “They’ve got to be two or three months early, right?”

  “Yeah, June at the earliest,” the
woman said, peering around her companion as her stringy hair brushed the counter.

  “So we’ve heard,” Kara said under her breath.

  Edward was slurping his third spoonful of soup when the man spoke again. “So, you two headed across the country with all that gear?”

  Hesitating, Edward hoped Kara would field the man’s question, but she stayed mum. So much for a hot lunch. “We’re actually headed around the world,” Edward admitted, hoping an avalanche of questions wouldn’t soon follow.

  Bill placed a pair of Bloody Marys in front of the couple and asked if they wanted the usual. “It’s why we’re here. Best prime rib in Montana,” the man shouted in Edward’s direction.

  “Don’t tease me like that. We still got another forty miles to ride today. I can’t have that sitting in my stomach.” Edward turned to Kara. “Unless you want to split one.”

  “We shouldn’t. We’ll get a big meal tomorrow night in Cut Bank.”

  “Cut Bank, you say?” the man asked.

  “Yep. East Glacier tonight and then up through Browning tomorrow. We’re gonna follow the High Line across Montana to North Dakota.”

  “You two better be careful going through Browning. That’s Blackfoot rez.” He turned to the woman. “What day is today?”

  Edward couldn’t hear her response.

  “Good,” the man said. “You don’t want to be anywhere near Browning on payday. Every week they’re staggering all over the street, drunk as hell after getting their checks. Nah, you won’t catch me up there. I fuel up in East Glacier if I’m headed that way, and I don’t stop till I’m at least to Cut Bank.”

  The server approached with their sandwiches. Edward reached for his before the plate hit the counter and promptly took a bite.

  “You don’t ride at night, do you?”

  Edward made a show of chewing his food while holding a finger up until he swallowed. “No, we stick to daylight whenever possible.”

  “That’s good. Those Indians get real rowdy after dark. Don’t matter what day of the week it is. Drinking and fighting every night. Would hate to see you two get caught up in that.”