*click*
Well, that was quick. Reminder to self . . . look at the gas gauge before starting a long trip. I made it to the station with probably about four ounces of fumes in the tank. This truck has a thirty-five gallon gas tank . . . getting pricey to fill it up. So I’m sitting here in the truck waiting for the tank to fill. I’ve got one of those slow pumps—figures. Anyway, I’m in the truck listening to the radio . . . I know, I know . . . you’re not supposed to get in and out of the vehicle while it’s fueling. Anyhow, some news report came on . . . something about a problem along the border between North and South Korea. I didn’t catch most of it, but it said something about sporadic exchanges of gunfire along the DMZ. Now I wasn’t a political science major, but from what I remember reading, North Korea’s main problem is being able to feed its people. And what does their tin pot dictator do, he starts his troops shooting across the border or kicks out the latest nuclear weapons inspectors, and then the U.S. tries to reason with him by giving him money and food. It’s an endless cycle. It kind of feels like we’re enabling him . . . that we’re teaching him that all he has to do to get food and money is to be a dick to us. Heck with it. That’s just one more thing that I don’t have to listen to or care about for the next forty-odd days.
*click*
All right, I’m about 120 miles into my trip now; about another 70 to go. Of course the last few miles of that will be very slow going. I do have the new winch installed on the front of the truck in case I have to pull any trees out of the way, or pull myself out of the mud. There’s been the normal amount of rain lately, and I imagine that the road up to Uncle Andy’s is going to be a bit soupy. I think I’m going to hit some tunes for awhile. Later.
*click*
OK, this is weird. There’s not many radio stations that I can pick up right now. Nothing out of the ordinary there, I’m just in the middle of nowhere in North Dakota about fifty miles from the Canadian border. What’s weird is that of the three that I know I can get most of the way up to Uncle Andy’s, two of them are playing that repeated carrier tone and a recorded message saying to stay tuned for an important news bulletin. The third one is just static. My station search will lock on to it, but it’s nothing but white noise. I hit scan again and managed to find a station that was still broadcasting, but it was playing country music . . . old country music, real old. Well they say ignorance is bliss, so off the radio goes. I want to stop and top off the tank before I hit the dirt road, maybe grab a snack.
*click*
There’s nothing quite like powdered doughnuts. I just stuffed two packs of them into my face. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to read the ingredients label—probably about five days worth of saturated fat, but you know what, I don’t care, I’m on vacation. Max got a Slim Jim, although they didn’t have the regular kind and I had to get him a spicy one. I just left the last gas station on my way up to Uncle Andy’s—the one at Sheldon’s Marina and Bait Shop. There were probably about thirty to forty cars, pickups and SUV’s in the gravel parking lot across the road. Most of them had empty boat trailers—probably out on the lake already—although there was a group of five guys just backing down the ramp to put their pontoon in the water. I kinda felt like I should stop and check their license info, but hey, I’m off the clock. I didn’t see Walter at the bait store either. I would’ve liked to say hi, but there was some young kid whose name tag read “Marty” behind the counter. Another five miles and I’ll hit the turnoff, and then about three and a half miles along the gravel road before I come to—drum roll please—the dirt road. I’m going to have to creep along that slower than normal. I’ve got 150 gallons of fuel divided between three barrels . . . 50 of diesel and 100 of gas. It’ll cause a major mess if it spills, but I know that Uncle Andy can really use it.
*click*
I’m about halfway up the dirt road. I just pulled over on a solid spot to make sure that the ratchet straps around the barrels were still secure; seemed good to me. Reminder to self . . . never give Max spicy Slim Jims. Oh man, my stomach is churning. I don’t understand how he can eat something that is spicy barbeque flavored and pass gas that smells like fermented oranges. It might be OK if I had some warning, but these are the “silent giant” version. Wow! Anyway, the dirt road seems drier than it has been. Maybe they got less rain up here than we did at home. Dry is good. I’m gonna take a few minutes to get out and stretch . . . maybe look around too. This dirt road always brings back a lot of memories . . . some of them not too fond. I remember leaving the cabin to run my trap line every day at 4:00 AM, and walking all the way to where this road hits the gravel—almost four miles—and then back to the cabin. Uncle Andy went with me the first few times, but after that I was on my own. I learned a lot on those eight mile hikes in the dark, a lot about me and my intestinal fortitude (or lack thereof when I was younger) but I also learned a lot about the wilderness, which is probably why I do what I do today. There are several moss covered boulders near a little wet weather spring about one hundred yards from where I am. I caught a lot of raccoons over the years in traps I set there, and those boulders are still one of my favorite places to take a quick break. If you put your feet on one particular rock and line up your back along another section, it conforms to the shape of your body like you were sitting in a recliner, pretty comfortable actually. I’m going to go pay them a visit.
*click*
Holy crap and LMAO . . . So I walked over to where the little spring crosses the road, followed it upstream to the boulders . . . and sitting there on my “recliner” was a hard plastic cooler filled with ice and several longneck beers. Taped to the cooler was a note from Uncle Andy that said; “You’re so predictable Eric. But since you’re here, you might as well enjoy a few cold ones. I would have left a manly beer for you, but I know you’re a candy ass, so I left you light beer.” Well, candy ass or not, I sat there and enjoyed three of the four beers in the cooler. Max chewed on the ice cubes.
*click*
Only about a half mile left until I get to the cabin. The road really hasn’t been that bad, most of the trouble spots have been filled in by me and Uncle Andy with softball sized rocks over the years—nothing a semi-decent four wheel drive can’t handle. It also looks like some type of tractor or backhoe has been used recently. I haven’t been up here for almost . . . ten months I guess, and this is the most passable the road has been that I can ever remember. Anyway, I know Uncle Andy is going to appreciate the fuel I’m bringing—he only asked for three empty barrels that he could use to help transport fuel back to the cabin since the delivery truck won’t come this far out. I imagine between his truck and mine we’ll be able to top off all of his fuel tanks in just two or three trips. As much as he’s going to like the gas and diesel I’m bringing with me, I’m pretty sure he is going to go ballistic about his big surprise. Since his cabin is so remote, off the grid as they say, his main source of power through the years has been generators. A few years ago he invested in a small solar array with a battery bank, charge controller, and inverter. It’s a 400 total watt system, but in the back of my truck I have additional panels that will double his total wattage. I also have several more high quality batteries to add to the battery bank. Well I’m almost there so I’m going to stop recording for now.
*click*
I was right. Uncle Andy was floored when I showed him the full barrels of fuel, and the solar panels made him grin from ear to ear. He’s been without power for about five days now; well that’s not exactly true. He thinks that there’s something wrong in the inverter or charge controller, but he hasn’t had time to mess with it. Besides, he’d have plenty of power if he just ran the generators, but he’s been working in his garden and around the cabin and hasn’t spent any time on the computer lately, so no need for power he says. It’s about 11:00 PM right now, and I’m sitting by the edge of the small lake near his cabin. He went to bed a few hours ago, after we made plans to try and find out what’s wrong with his solar system tomorrow, and assuming w
e can do that, then we’ll hook up the new panels and batteries. The day after that we’re gonna spend transporting fuel to top off his storage tanks. He’s got a 400 gallon diesel tank and two 300 gallon gas tanks. He’s also got four of the one hundred pound propane tanks that we’ll have to take in to get filled, although he thinks two of them are still full. While I’m in a talkative mood, I should mention that the mystery of the tire tracks on the dirt road, as well as the upgraded condition that the road seemed to be in has been solved. When I pulled in here, I immediately noticed that Uncle Andy has been a busy beaver since the last time I saw him. He had put up a new metal outbuilding, one of those prefab pole barns. I’m guessing it’s about twenty-five by forty. Sitting next to it was one of those little termite backhoes. I say little, but he told me it was the largest diesel engine one they make. I’ve never been on one, but it looks like fun. I think they’re actually called Terramite, not termite. Hmmm . . . I like termite better. He’s also got the supports in place . . . what do you call them—pillars or pylons or something—for the dock he’s building. I think he's most proud of his garden, though. This year he has lots of raised beds and a huge area (probably almost an acre) that he has “moose-fenced” in, as he calls it. Basically it means that he has it field-fenced in with an additional hot wire six feet off the ground that runs off of a solar fence charger. Well, I’m getting tired, so later.
*click*
Did you ever have that feeling in your stomach, kind of that sense of unease? Well, I’ve got it now. It’s a little after 2:00 AM and I’m slightly buzzed. It’s been awhile since I’ve had more than two or three beers in a night; but that’s not what’s making me uneasy in my stomach. I came out to my truck to get my poncho liner that I use for a blanket—I had it up front with me because it was a last minute addition and didn’t get packed in the duffel. Anyway, I don’t know why I did it, but I turned the key to accessory and turned the radio on. I hit scan and stopped at the first station that came in semi-clear. It was in the middle of a broadcast about danger in Korea, Japan, and Mexico. The report wasn’t very clear, almost as if they were reporting on something that they heard from somebody else who heard it from another person. What I was able to gather didn’t make sense to me. They talked about firefights along the DMZ in Korea and evacuations in Seoul, South Korea. The reporter also went on about outbreaks in Mexico and Japan, and something about air travel restrictions and quarantine zones. That’s about all I could pick out before the station faded. I almost want to go in and tell Uncle Andy to fire up the generator and turn on his computer. I’ve still got a couple beers on ice here in the cooler, I think I’m going to sit here for awhile and see if I can pick up any more stations.
*click*
Man, this is getting kind of spooky. They say the president is going to deliver a speech at 7:00 AM, D. C. time. I haven’t slept yet. It’s almost 4:00 AM. I was able to pull in a station on the AM band; I think it originates from Fargo. The signal strength kind of wafted in and out, but at least they sounded like they knew something. Apparently something started in North Korea, something to do with a South Korean special forces team assaulting a suspected top secret military complex near Pyongyang. Wait, they’re getting ready to rerun that broadcast—I’ll just record it.
“. . . to repeat our latest news update. Information is still sketchy and unconfirmed, but multiple sources are reporting that the recent Korean conflict has resulted in the use, or possibly the accidental release of some type of chemical warfare or biological agent. Neither the state department nor the military will confirm what type of hazard this represents for civilians in the affected area. The president is scheduled to brief the press in just a few hours. Casualties have already been reported on both sides of the DMZ. South Korean forces are on high alert after dozens of soldiers stationed along the DMZ became ill with what is being described as an unknown contagion. U.S. military personnel injured in the skirmishes have been evacuated to Seoul and Tokyo. Again, we have unconfirmed reports from contacts in South Korea that North Korean soldiers have crossed the DMZ. North Korean state radio has been repeatedly broadcasting accusations that South Korean special forces teams have assaulted several scientific installations. Air travel to Korea has been severely restricted by order of the CDC and riots have bro . . .” . . . . . . station fades . . . . . . . .
This doesn’t sound good. I’m gonna go wake up Uncle Andy.
*click*
It’s almost 7:00 AM, well, D.C. time anyway . . . earlier here . . . and things have taken a turn for the, um . . . “weirder” I guess is the right word. We’ve got the little Honda generator running and have the computer turned on. Uncle Andy has two different ways to get online up here in his cabin, satellite and cell phone. It used to be satellite only, which sucked. Last year they added a cell tower down by the main road, and with an antenna booster he’s been able to get much faster speeds. However for some reason the cell service isn’t working right now. Figures. So anyhow we’re back to the satellite, and the link to the Internet shows it’s powered up and active, but all we see on the screen is a message that says, “Please stand by for an important message from the President of United States.” It has a little digital countdown timer that’s reading about seven minutes left. Uncle Andy thinks that some type of Internet “kill switch” has been activated. I don’t think that’s legal, and I didn’t even know it was possible either. Six minutes left on the countdown. Here, say hi Uncle Andy . . .
“Get that thing out of my face and go check to see if the coffee is ready.”
“Well I guess that lack of coffee and old age combine to make some people into old grumpy geezers, but don’t worry old man, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you breaking a hip or falling and not being able to get back up, so I’m going to get the coffee for you.”
*click*
OK, I’m back recording. The countdown is showing forty-nine seconds. Uncle Andy has his coffee, Max has a deer bone that he dug up from somewhere and I’ve . . .
“Eric . . . shut up. You’re starting to get on my nerves talking into that little gadget all the time.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I would imagine that most dinosaurs were afraid of fire when it was first invented also. Don’t worry . . . fire . . . . our . . . friend.” I know you can’t see this since I’m only recording audio, but Uncle Andy just shot me the “You mess with the bull, you get the horns” look. Eight seconds, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, and . . . and . . . and . . . nothing.
“Well, that about figures,” said Uncle Andy.
“What do you suppose is going on? I mean, there’s gotta be millions of people getting the same blue screen and nothing else, assuming their Internet is in the same shape as ours,” I said.
“Yeah, I’d bet my ass that there’s a lot of people who are panicking right now. If you think about it like this, most people in the United States, well . . . the world really, are totally dependent on access to information 24/7. You take that away and they’re going to be like a bunch of rats in a big round room, all jumping over each other and looking for a way out that isn’t there,” Uncle Andy said. “I’d even venture a guess that . . .”
“Hey, the screen is changing,” I said.
OK, I’m gonna continue recording this and tell you what I’m seeing. The blue screen with the countdown timer has now been replaced with a shot of what I guess is the Oval Office. I don’t see anybody on the screen but I can see shadows moving like they’re just off camera. OK, here comes some guy in a suit, not the president though. He’s saying something; I can see his lips moving, but there’s no sound.
“Hey old man, you got the speakers turned on?” I said.
“Of course I do you moron,” Uncle Andy said. “If I didn’t that little green light wouldn’t be on.”
I looked but didn’t see any lights on the speakers. “What little green light?” I said.
“That one right th—oh fartbag. This is what happens when I don’t get enough coffee,” Uncle
Andy said as he turned a knob on the speaker that brought the little green light in question to life as well as giving audio to the speaker on the screen.
“ . . . . are awaiting the arrival of the president, who should be here momentarily. Again, if you’re just tuning in to television or Internet, the president, using provision 891 of the Patriot Act has declared a national emergency and has temporarily granted control of Internet traffic, radio and television signals, and overseas communications to the National Security Agency. Let me reassure you that civilian access to all normal media outlets will be restored shortly. I can see the president approaching now. Ladies and gentlemen of the press, please hold all questions until after the president has spoken . . .”
“Look at that guy,” said Uncle Andy. “He looks more nervous than a balloon salesman at a porcupine convention.”
“Who is he, the press secretary or something?” I said.
“Well, look at Eric with the big brain. I’m guessing that one of your weekly bimbos left your house this morning,” I cracked a grin as he assumed a Sherlock Holmes pose, faked holding a pipe, and blew imaginary smoke rings. “I further deduce that your ‘Miss right now’ has the cranial capacity of the average guinea pig and was no doubt stumped by the Wheel of Fortune puzzle with only one letter missing. And I conclude that since Jeopardy is on right after Wheel of Fortune, and no doubt both of you were somewhat occupied at that time, the answer to ‘Presidential appointments for 500 Alex’ somehow sunk into your brain through the alcohol and perfume laced fog that you spent the rest of the night in.”
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