Lovers and Losers, Pt. 1 of 7.

         In the early afternoon of the next day, Scott did the obliging honors of picking Wendy up at her place and taking her to the Birchwood Dells in return for her satisfying cooperation.  In a way, she was also helping him fill out a missing piece of his life, for he had always wanted but never was able to find out exactly what happened to Celeste while he was unconscious on the distant fateful day of her disappearance.  Swiftly passing time and a hectic schedule in his life always prevented such measures.

         Wendy added a new wonderful facet to his life last night as well but still felt vulnerable for having shared such unusual intimacies so deeply with him.  On the way to Ironstone Road, she recalled from more subtle past experiences about how much men bragged about their conquests, however small, of women and explained to him in turn that she had never went so far with anyone else in those ways.  To cover up her feelings of uneasiness thus, she cleverly made up an excuse of guilt for having lured him into the situation for more information and hoped he did not merely feel used or exploited.  The crafty ploy worked, and he assured her with a gentle stroke to the side of her pretty face that showed concern that he would never cause offense by spreading details of their mutual event to others ostensibly.  His firm promise convinced her that there was good binding chemistry between them at last, as long-desired.  

         Most of their drive to the Birchwood Dells was actually along Ironstone Road, and old narrow artery of long-gone commerce and the second-most direct way into the rugged terrain now, aside only by air.  It was built long before the advent of powerful bulldozers and caterpillars in the construction industry and as such, the discarded land dictated the general path it took.  Curves were common, like the steep grades that rose and fell frequently, as their overall elevation increased.  Almost a century ago, miners hauled coal and useful mineral ores out of the area on wagons along the winding route; it was maintained only on occasion to various extents afterward as state budget plans allowed.  Erosion had taken its toll, and moving along even slowly often required much care and concentration.  

         Patches of overgrown grass and weeds in the center and along the shoulders of the road frequently obscured rocks, small gullies, and old ruts to a considerable degree, and Scott had Wendy often lean her head out of the window on her side of the vehicle to alert him of such hazards.  Even with good shock absorbers, the ride was bumpy and rather adventurous, but he was not looking for trouble.  One wrong move or overlooked obstacle could mean bottoming out and getting stuck or rupturing an oil pan, to leave them finding a way out or to others the hard way -- on foot.  

         While almost all of their attention was focused on the rough road ahead and on their immediate surroundings, the primary species of trees on each side of them gradually shifted from elm and dwarf oak to birch and alder and finally, to more cold-tolerant evergreens -- pine and spruce.  The very name of the dells area was due to the fact that the birch and alder tree varieties surrounded it and laced lower more soggy parts of its interior.  However, abundances of insects, beavers, or even tall tales of another subject over the past hundred years, and more of human infiltration, could easily have given the mysterious place worse notoriety, much worse.  

         After they navigated the pickup truck into the last looping curve in front of their destination, Scott looked at her tight purple T-shirt briefly, before glancing at his timepiece as she turned to face him.  "Christ almighty!  It's nearly two o'clock, Wendy.  I never thought it would take this long to get just this far into here," he said, losing patience.  "Are you sure we aren't going to be lost?"

         "Pretty sure.  So, stop your whining.  You were the one that wanted to come way out here.  Remember?"  

         "Yeah.  Great.  How could I forget that raw deal?"  

         "You won't.  Be quiet and . . . watch out for that rock!"

         He did and turned sharply to narrowly miss the jagged broken object.  It was almost a meter across, and other smaller rocks were beside it and more hidden by thick tall weeds as they went by.  The truck nearly veered off the other side of the treacherous road during the fast maneuver, and both breathed distinct sighs of relief afterward.  The worst part of the long curve was passed; they merely slowed to a crawl and made a careful turn at its sharp middle.  Then, the remainder of the visible road onward was less steep and widened to their favor.  

         Their good feelings of success from completing the tricky drive were only temporary.  When they began to come into view of their stopping point on the other side of an irregular wooded hill, two other parked vehicles appeared in sight.  "Can you believe THIS?" Scott said and stopped abruptly.  "I thought this was supposed to be next to the middle of nowhere, and who the hell do we find?"  

         "Friends of yours?"

         "Sure, almost pests.  The one on the left belongs to Richard and Arlene Doberson, and the other to George and Patrice Wallers, old classmates.  I wonder who else they brought along yet," he said, while patting the steering wheel with his fingers.  

         "Too old, I presume.  You know, we don't have to run into them just now."  

         "What do you have in mind?"  

         "Back the pickup out of their line of sight beside the trees next to the edge of this . . . buffalo trail.  Then, we'll get out and hike our way to where that place is before any of them return.  I doubt if they heard anything of us."  

         "Hope not.  I wouldn't want those narrow-minded idiots to come running up to me and ask something like how many miles per gal I got or how well you rode in here.  They're not bad overall, but they can be disgusting at times.  So, here goes nothing."  


Continued to Pt. 2.