Part One

The Detour

Mist was developing and thickening rapidly as Rick's light blue four-on-the-floor Mustang followed the mountain road upwards. A strange kind of twilight was coming on and he was beginning to think that maybe his decision, made an hour ago, was not such a good one after all.

Everything had appeared to be going well: the autumn brought out amazing colors, which could be seen every fall in that part of the country and wherever there were broad-leaved deciduous trees. The firs and pines were still the green or grey-green displayed all through the year, but the yellows, oranges and reds and all the shades of the colors between, were a truly spectacular sight, and at least there was no traffic on the road to prevent Rick from spending time enjoying the views from the higher slopes. However, a strange feeling started invading his mind and body as he drove further along the road through the now-densely wooded area on the mountainside.

* * *

Rick thought back a few weeks to when the small engineering company, for which he worked as a salesman, had folded. The president had grown too old to run a business in today's world, and he had lost control and, more importantly, the firm's finances. Rick had been let go along with the rest of the staff. He had many debts of his own and badly needed a job – money did not grow on trees and he had a mortgage to pay, as well as a car to run, - to say nothing of the alimony. The divorce had been acrimonious – to say the least.

In the good days, when he and his wife had both been very young, the marriage had been a happy one, but as he made more money, his wife, now of course, his ex, had become more and more demanding. He had run up more debts than he could handle, and of course, when the money ran out, so did his wife. She wanted just about everything from the divorce settlement, and he had become ill with worry and depression, and this lead to something he had never experienced before – panic attacks. However, if you asked him after he had managed to get his life together again how he was getting along he would have told you that things were definitely on the up. He was a stoic, pragmatic kind of guy which, although he did not know it, would prove to be of immense value.

However, what happened was in the past and now he was employed once more – lucky really, he thought. He was a good salesman, perhaps too good for the small manufacturing engineer's business for whom he found himself working, but needs must, he thought. The problem with the post was that the territory was more widespread and diverse than any he had covered before. It took in farms and lumber companies way out in the country and backwoods, as well as engineering works in the small towns.

He did not mind that, it gave him a chance to visit places new to him, particularly the mountain area. He was a footloose type of guy who loved to experience and see the open country and mountains – they were so majestic he thought.

Most of the places on his itinerary were located in the lowlands or the valleys, but there were a few logging bases that could possibly need new equipment or spares, and being a go-ahead type, he would seek them out.

* * *

Around lunchtime on a pleasant, sunny day in mid-October, he stopped for a snack in a small restaurant in a town hitherto only known to him as a place on a map, miles from anywhere, it seemed. The town itself nestled in a valley with mountains rising on either side: their steep slopes clothed in trees. To Rick, it felt as if he were in the back of beyond and somehow back in the past. He scanned the slopes as he drove along Main Street and wondered how many bootleg stills there might be operating up there even today. It has to be moonshine country.

He had seen the surprisingly large parking lot at the side of a timber-built restaurant. It must be popular to need such a large lot as that.

He parked up, went inside, and ordered a beef burger and fries. The coffee from the ubiquitous bottomless coffee pot was excellent and the staff, he found, were the helpful, friendly types, typical of the country people in most other places where he had been. Whilst there, he fell into conversation with a man who appeared to be one of the locals. Rick was also the gregarious type who enjoyed meeting and talking to strangers.

The man's Southern accent and clothing seemed to fit in quite naturally with the surroundings. A typical hillbilly, Rick thought. He looked rather old and a considerable time past his best-by date, but he was friendly enough, not off-hand like so many local people he had come across in his travels.

The man admitted to being sixty-something; and then some, Rick thought. His tanned, deeply lined face, suggested he had spent the vast majority of his life outdoors He had a prominent chin, and when he grinned, displayed not only a distinct lack of teeth but inevitably lot of gums. Gray hair protruded from under an old, brown broad-brimmed felt hat and he wore a black and white check shirt under his blue faded bib overalls.

"Where ya'll headed then, young fellah?" the hillbilly wanted to know.

"Charlesburgh – is it far from here?"

"No siree. It ain't that far, 'bout forty miles, but did ya'll know there are two ways to get to it from here?"

"No. So what's the difference and what's the advantage?"

"Well, one way is by this road outside here, and th' other is up along the ridge."

"So what are you telling me?"

"Well," the hillbilly said, "They's a whole lot of road works between this place and Charlesburgh on the road outside. They's blasting the rocks close to the road and you can't use CB radios or the like. You can get caught up in long traffic holdups about twenty miles from here, in one of the places, so you gotta wait 'till they're good and ready to let ya'll by. Sometimes it can be a long time, a real long time."

"And what's the other way? The ridge?"

"Yep."

Rick could see in his mind's eye the advantage of bypassing the holdups.

"What's that road like?"

"It ain't bad. It was used a lot by logging companies when lumber was big business around here. It ain't used very much at all these days. There are some small logging sites up there but they's few and far between. Ya'll see some clear-cutting if ya'll decide to go that way. The road's got a good enough surface and it's wide too, on account of a lot of big trucks that used it back then."

"So it could be quicker that way, then?"

"A lot quicker, yes siree. A lot quicker!"

"How do I find this ridge road?"

"Well, siree, ya'll drive along this road here for about ten miles. When ya'll see a road on your right, with an area of clear cutting on the mountainside way up on your right and three real big pines on the left – take that road. Ya'll pass through a little place called Spiller. It gives great views. If that's the sort of thing...