Solar Storm: Homeward Bound

by Vincent Keith

  “Coatings,” said Eugene, “but you can always use hot dip or fume bluing if all else fails. I’ve got a guy who does other types, but he’s slow and maybe not the best around.”

  Jack sipped at his beer while considering the possibilities.

  “Right, well, it sounds doable. The average income is about what I made in photography in a good year. I’d think it might be more consistent too.”

  “Could be,” said Eugene. “Don’t think my income varied by more than about twenty percent, and that was because I took a month off to go fish’n. This kinda work will dig into your hunt’n and fish’n time sure enough.”

  It wasn’t just the money, although that didn’t hurt, it was the knowledge that his skill would be useful no matter what happens. Jack sighed and rolled his shoulders, stretching out the knotted muscles. His head rolled one direction then the other. From inside his head, it sounded like a tire crunching over a gravel driveway. After a few minutes of motion, the muscles relaxed, and the crunching sound went away. Jack sat back and took a deep sip from his beer and felt the worry slowly dissolve.

  “I think this is going to work.”

  He felt a calmness he hadn’t felt in years. He hadn’t realized how much stress the dwindling photography market was causing him. His own business, and a growing market with reasonable demand, that according to Eugene, was only increasing. It was a job he could do from home, reducing his dependence on travel. The deadlines were negotiable, and that would be a huge improvement.

  Jack spent a month helping Eugene in his shop just to get a feel for the kinds of work involved. He discovered he loved working with machine tools, the attention to detail matching his disposition. The milling machine wasn’t as forgiving as Photoshop. If you went too far by removing too much metal, there was no backing up. Unlike photographic arts, there was no need to take things too far just to see if you’d gone far enough. By the end of the month, Jack had no doubt he could do this kind of work for a living and be happy doing it.

  Eugene introduced Jack to a man running an intensive two-year program at a trade college in Arizona. Once he knew what his next two years looked like, he sold his old Mac and bought a new MacBook Pro to save space, and it had more power than his older desktop machine. The hardest part was switching cameras. The majority of his photographs were made with the Phase One medium format camera, but he sold that system and recovered over fifty-thousand dollars. He was down to just the Nikon, but it would suffice for hobby work.

  ROAD TRIP

  As part of Jack’s minimalist lifestyle, he’d replaced his big truck with a Triumph Thunderbird motorcycle. He’d looked at lots of bikes and had all but decided on a Harley Davidson when he stumbled upon the low mileage Triumph Thunderbird. He’d had his heart set on the Harley, but the price was really too good to pass up. Jack called Steve to see what he thought.

  “Hey dude, how’s the bike search going?”

  “That’s why I called. I’ve been looking for a Harley, but the bike I want is almost as expensive used as it is new.”

  “So get an older one.”

  “I thought about that. I found a Triumph—”

  “Sweet! Triumph is good. So you bought it?”

  “Ah, no not yet.”

  “Dude. It’s used, right? In good shape?”

  “Yep, a year old, only 5,500 miles. And the price is good. But it’s not a Harley...”

  “So? Go buy it. If it doesn’t work for you, sell it and find a Harley. It’s not like you’ll lose money on it.”

  “Okay. I suppose if I don’t like it I could even sell it for more than I paid...”

  “And we’re still talking about this why? You need to stop over-thinking everything.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you later. I’m going to go buy a motorcycle.”

  Once a week Jack would pack up the bike with enough supplies for a weekend on the road. At a nearby park, he would set up the camp and spend the night. Each trip Jack got faster. Often he would try a new piece of equipment, and if it worked, he would add it to the kit. After two months of experimenting, Jack was happy with the equipment and proficient at setup and packing. His goal had been to get camp set up in twenty minutes. Torrential rains or darkness added another ten minutes. Good enough, he thought.

  Restless and looking forward to seeing his old friends, Jack still had three months before classes started, but he was ready to go now. He hadn’t taken the bike on anything longer than a three-day trip to Seattle, and a week-long tour of the San Juan Islands.

  With perfect weather for riding, Jack was anxious to hit the road. Steve and Ash lived in Mountain View, California, not on the way, but close enough. Marty and Annie lived in Colorado, and he planned to visit them over the summer break.

  With the bike packed, Jack swung his leg over the saddle. He slipped the buff over his head to cover the ear buds and pulled on the half helmet. The ear buds connected to the intercom that allowed him to listen to music and the GPS. It would have let him use his phone as well, but Jack had no desire to be chatting with anyone. The ear buds also had the advantage of protecting his hearing.

  Jack waved goodbye to Henry, put the big bike into gear and rolled out of the gravel driveway. The sun was up and the frost, unusual for this time of year, had not yet melted off the grass. Things would warm up quickly as he moved south, at least until he got to the Columbia River Gorge.

  The extra weight from the big yellow dry-bag caused the rear suspension to feel a little soggy. This was the first time he’d tried to carry so much gear, which in hindsight was probably a mistake. Jack figured he could wait until he got to the Triumph dealer to get that adjusted. He was sure he knew how, but it would save time to have the mechanic walk him through it. This would be a much longer trip than any previous outing, having someone with more experience look things over would boost his confidence.

  Jack took the old river road south, even though SR-97 was faster. He knew he’d see enough highway on the trip as it was. The old road was empty this early in the morning. Omak came into view, and Jack headed to the Corner Bistro for breakfast. For Jack, breakfast was not only the most important meal of the day, but it was also the only meal he could have any time of day. Lunch or dinner foods for breakfast had never appealed to him. Breakfast, on the other hand, was excellent for breakfast, lunch, dinner or as a midnight snack. It was one of those inexplicable things in life.

  Back on the bike, Jack followed SR-97 down to Kennewick and the Triumph dealer. He explained his concern with the suspension and Hal took him back outside and walked him through the process of tightening up the rear suspension. Back on the road, Jack continued his way south. The temperature dropped as he crossed the Columbia, warming again as he climbed out of the gorge.

  He stopped in Pendleton for the night and found a cheap motel, rather than trying to camp. In the morning he headed south again, up through the mountains. It was slow going, but the twisty road was a lot of fun. He got to the town of John Day in the early afternoon and spent the night. Jack found a park with overnight camping and got the bike unpacked. With camp set up, he headed off for a late lunch and took his camera with him.

  Jack found several subjects to photograph, which kept him occupied until dinner. He spent the rest of the evening reading. In the morning Jack took the bike and wandered out to the Malheur Wildlife Refuge where he spent the remainder of the day hiking and shooting photographs. It was the first time in months Jack had kicked back with his camera and let all his concerns drift away.

  He spent three more days in the Steens Mountain Wilderness Resort using the camp as a base and riding out with his camera to explore.

  After checking the maps for his next stop on his trip south, Jack picked the Goose Lake campground on a whim. This was his first time in the area without a schedule to follow. The first time he wasn’t driving though on the way to somewhere else. He hoped the lakeshore would provide an opportunity for more images. The high desert was beautiful, and the elevation was high
enough to keep it from getting too hot during the days.

  Morning came with the sound of birds singing. Jack flipped off the woobie, stretched and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He dressed, packed up the sleeping bag and pad before stepping out of the tent. He’d rolled in after dark and viewing the park in the daylight was disappointing. It was a small, dreary campground. Aside from himself, there was only one other occupant. It was too close to the highway. Close enough to feel every truck rumble by. Live and learn, he thought.

  Jack sat at the park table and lit the little camp stove to heat water. While the water was warming, Jack took down the tent and packed the saddlebags. He checked over his supplies and decided it was time to go shopping. He needed food, coffee, bottled water, and a gas canister for the stove. He also needed to do laundry. Jack poured about half the boiling water into the pouch of eggs and bacon before refilling the pot to make coffee.

  The little camp stove had a pot that also functioned as a French press for coffee. It took willpower to let the coffee sit for the required four minutes. The aromas of fresh coffee, a hint of bacon from the other camp, and the faint trace of pine combined, triggering fond memories of other camping trips. He wished he still had the big old truck and could carry a big cooler for fresh eggs, and bacon, and— Enough, he thought. I’ll be packed up and on the road before they even get cleaned up from breakfast. Everything is a trade-off.

  Jack was pouring coffee when a girl who couldn’t be older than ten or twelve wandered over.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  “Mom was wondering if, since you’re packing up, do you have any extra coffee? We ran out.” She looked at his little stove and his packaged breakfast. “I brought bacon,” she said smiling. She held out a paper towel wrapped around a handful of crisp bacon strips.

  “Well, in that case,” said Jack, “I guess we can work something out.” He reached into the left saddle bag and pulled out a bag with about a third of a pound of ground coffee. “I’ll trade you what’s in my hand for what’s in yours.”

  “Deal,” she said as he handed over the bacon.

  Jack gave her the coffee and held the grease soaked paper towel under his nose and sighed. “Man. that smells good.”

  “Um. If you have time before you leave, could you help mom with the gas bottle? She needs to change it but can’t figure out how. Cooking on the fire grill is too hard. Besides, we don’t have enough wood.”

  “Sure. I’ll be over right after I finish eating all this bacon.”

  The girl spun around and skipped off toward their camp.

  “Huh.”

  It took about fifteen minutes to finish breakfast and pack up everything but his coffee cup and the map book. Jack left the maps, his wallet, sunglasses, and keys on the table, but took the coffee.

  As he got closer, he could tell something wasn’t right.

  “Ma’am?”

  The woman who turned toward Jack didn’t seem happy to see him. She wouldn’t face him. Instead, she was looking toward the ground with her shoulders hunched. Is she afraid? Jack wondered.

  “If you want your coffee back it’s right here,” she said.

  Jack’s eyes traveled between the woman and the girl. Something was wrong. The happy little girl seemed miserable at the moment.

  “No, but thanks, it was a fair trade. If you don’t have a French press, I’d be happy to make you a pot of coffee, or I can pay for the bacon.”

  The woman looked at Jack, waiting for some sign, something to tell her how to react. Finally, her shoulders sagged. Jack watched as the tension drained away. “No, but Sara shouldn’t have been bothering you,” she said while she avoided looking at her daughter or Jack.

  Jack smiled, “Ma’am, someone with bacon is never a bother.”

  Jack wasn’t sure the girl had spoken out loud or just mouthed the words. “Told you.” Jack’s eyes darted to the girl, his mouth drawn tight he wrapped his hands around his mug. He wanted to just walk away, but he’d made a deal with the girl, and he’d keep it.

  “My name is Jack. Sara said you needed a hand with the gas bottle on your stove?” When the woman moved out of the shadow of the tree, Jack noticed the bruises on her face. Oh shit, no wonder she’s nervous. Jack glanced at her hands, no ring, so either she tossed it, or it was a boyfriend. Or an accident, but he didn’t think so.

  Jack drifted to the far side of the big camp table and sat on the bench furthest from the woman and her daughter. He glanced at the girl. She caught the look and shrugged.

  “He was an asshole.”

  “Sara!”

  “Mom, not everyone is an ass. You,” she jabbed a finger at her mother, “just keep picking loud, beer-swilling jerks. I told you he was bad news! You never listen to me.”

  The woman sat and began to cry. Jack glanced at Sara and decided she was the stronger of the two. He motioned her over.

  “Is that why it’s just the two of you here?”

  “He was here. He got drunk and hit her… again. He took off with the truck. That was like two days ago. I hope he’s gone for good. I’d rather be stuck out here than have him come back.”

  “I guess I can stick around but, I really don’t want to get in the middle of this. If your mom isn’t ready to call the cops and file charges, I’m not sure what I can do. Has he ever hit you?”

  “He shoved me into a wall once, when I was between him and the door. Asshole.” Sara turned toward her mother. “You’re both assholes. If you let him come back, I’m—” Sara stood up and spun away, taking three quick steps. She halted and spun back. “I’m going to call the cops. Even if they take me away. Just because you don’t care what happens to you—I’m not doing this anymore!”

  She turned to Jack, jaw jutting, lips pressed tight.

  “Can you give me a ride into town on your bike? She’s going to sit here and cry until he comes back and I don’t want to be here.”

  “Whoa! Hey, I’m willing to help, but that would amount to kidnapping. A middle-aged man running off with an underage girl. No way, let’s find a plan that doesn’t involve me going to prison.”

  The woman was so immersed in her own troubles that the conversation was lost on her. Sara stared at her mom’s back with a mixture of anger and disgust Jack had never seen on a young girl.

  “Sara, what’s your mom’s name?”

  “Janet. Janet Conrad.”

  “What?” said Janet. Hearing her name pulled her from wallowing in her own misery, if only for a moment.

  “Janet,” said Jack. “You can’t—shit—you cannot subject your daughter to an abusive relationship. I’m calling the cops whether you want to or not. If you don’t file a complaint, I’ll have to see if cops will pick up Sara. This is nuts.”

  Damn, thought Jack. How the hell did a trade of coffee for bacon turn into such a royal mess?

  “Mom, if you do this to me, I will never speak to you again. I’m not the grown up here, and I’m tired of having to take care of both of us.”

  “Damn. Look, Sara, I’m sorry, but if I do anything other than ride away, or call the cops, I’m screwed. The last thing I want is for them to split you and your mom up. But, at this point, you’re in danger and…Janet! Goddamn, pull yourself together. I’m sorry you picked the wrong guy. I’m sorry that he hit you. But it’s time to grow the hell up and take care of your daughter. Stop thinking about yourself for a change.” Jack grabbed a handful of his hair in each hand and pulled. “God, I feel like such an ass.”

  Jack couldn’t remember the last time he was this pissed. He was pissed at Janet for playing the victim and leaving her daughter to clean up the mess. Part of him wanted to shoot the douche-bag of a boyfriend. Jack was even angry at Sara for getting him stuck in the middle of this mess. Jack didn’t blame her but he really didn’t want to be stuck in the middle. “Damn, all I wanted to do was get to Truckee, find a room, and work on my bike...”

  Janet looked at him, shocked. No one had ever blamed
her before, well, except Sara, but she was a kid. She burst into tears.

  Jack walked back toward his bike to get his phone when a vehicle approached the campsite. “Oh, crap.”

  The tension went out of Jacks shoulders as he recognized the Oregon State Parks markings on the truck. Jack changed directions and went to the road to flag him down. It turned out to be a woman, a beautiful twenty-something her. As Jack told his tale, her face clouded over and her jaw clenched tight. By the time Jack finished his story her hand was on her gun, and she was looking at him like this might be his fault.

  “Sir, I will need to see some ID.”

  “Sure, but before I move, I’d like to inform you I have a pistol in a holster on my right side—“

  Her gun was out faster than Jack had expected. “Put your hands on the hood of the truck. Now!”

  Jack said nothing. Eyes wide, he pivoted, leaned forward and put his hands on the hood.

  “Hey, lady.”

  The ranger turned to find a young girl watching her with her arms crossed.

  “He’s not the problem, my mom is over there, and the asshole left two days ago. He’s just trying to help.”

  “I do have a permit for the gun,” said Jack.

  The Park Ranger returned her focus on Jack. “You’re sure he didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Jeez, what is it with adults? Can’t you ever tell the good guys from the bad guys?”

  The Ranger’s head spun to look at the little girl who, at that moment, didn’t sound like a little girl. Looking back at Jack, she holstered the gun.

  “Right, sir, if you would show me that ID and the permit.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Jack tapped his pockets and shrugged. “Oh, it’s on the table.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Sara.

  “Just grab the whole wallet.”

  Sara was back in less than a minute and handed the wallet to Jack. Jack pulled the driver’s license, and the concealed weapons permit from the wallet and handed it to the Ranger.

  She glanced at the driver’s license and the permit. Jack Donovan, no middle name, five-foot eleven-inches, age thirty-one, 165 pounds, blue eyes, blond hair with a tinge of red. The full beard didn’t match the photo, and he looked heavier, but it was the same man.