Alan Cook - Honeymoon for Three

A few other campers were up and headed in the same direction. He attempted to unfreeze his frozen facial muscles enough to smile at them and say good morning. Of course, there was no hot water, so his hands remained ice cold when he washed them. He stumbled out of the restroom and realized that he had no place to go. Along with no food and no transportation. He could walk to the restaurant and eat breakfast. But then what?

He strolled at random along one of the primitive roads of the campground, trying to warm up and observing the early risers as they heated coffee on their Coleman stoves. He could use a cup of hot coffee right now. The hotter the better.

A white Volkswagen camper with a customized bubble-top was parked at one of the campsites. It had a California license plate. A middle-aged woman tended a stove, which was set on the wooden picnic table. She was cooking bacon in a frying pan. Alfred’s taste buds started to work overtime. He’d better get to the restaurant.

As he passed the camper, he saw a man crouched in front of the rear-mounted engine. The engine door was open, and he was fiddling with something on the engine itself. From his look of puzzlement, Alfred concluded that he probably didn’t know what he was doing.

“Having a problem?” Alfred asked in what he hoped was a friendly voice. His vocal cords had thawed to the point where he could speak almost normally.

“God damn engine has lost all its power,” the man said. “Never should have bought a Volkswagen. I had some work done a couple of days ago, before we came into the park. Haven’t been able to climb a hill at over twenty miles per hour since.”

“I might be able to help you. Want me to have a look at it?”

“Might as well. I sure as hell don’t know what the problem is.”

The man got out of the way, and Alfred crouched in front of the engine. He actually did know a little about engines, because his father was a decent amateur mechanic and had taught him how to change the oil and do other simple tasks. He had never looked at a VW engine before.

He didn’t want the man to notice his ineptness, so he said to him, “Why don’t you start ‘er up.”

The man, who had a two-day growth of beard and was wearing a cap with some sort of naval insignia on it, looked glad that he had something to do. He wasn’t big, but his movements exuded power through his jeans and flannel shirt. He strode to the cab, climbed in, and in a few seconds the engine was running.

Running, but not running very well. It sounded rough, as if it were under duress. Alfred peered at it, wishing he actually knew what he was doing. When the man stuck his head out of the doorway and looked back at Alfred in a questioning manner, Alfred yelled at him, “Rev it up.”

As the engine sped up, Alfred noticed something. There was a metal piece that moved and had a sort of hook on a spring attached to it, but the other end wasn’t attached to anything. Then he saw the eye it must go into. The problem might be a very simple one to resolve. He yelled at the man to shut off the engine. After the quiet returned, Alfred asked him whether he had a pair of pliers.

The man produced them from the vehicle’s toolkit. An idea was forming in Alfred’s mind. He couldn’t let the man see what he was doing. He took the pliers and said to him, “Be ready to start it up again when I give you the signal.”

The man returned to the cab. Alfred gripped the loose end of the spring with the pliers and fed it into the eye. Then he called for the man to start the engine. The difference was instantly noticeable. It sounded smoother. When it was revved up, it sounded even better. Alfred was sure that the problem was fixed. He was equally sure that he didn’t want to show the man what he had done.

When the man shut off the engine and returned to the rear of the VW, Alfred said, “I think that fixed your problem. Do you want to take it for a test run?”

“We’ll be leaving after breakfast. That will give us plenty of time to test it. Gotta be heading back home. Thanks for your help.”

Alfred was glad he didn’t ask what the problem was. “You live in California?”

“Northern California. Crescent City, near the Oregon border.”

The woman who had been cooking breakfast had come over to stand beside her husband. She heard the part about the engine being fixed. She was plump, but she didn’t have a bad figure. A kindly face and short, nondescript hair of an uncertain drab color. Probably in her forties. She wore a sweatshirt that said, “I survived the big one.”

Now she said, “Bless you if you’ve fixed the problem. Don is so mechanically inept, he couldn’t tie his shoes if instructions didn’t come with the laces. He thinks the solution to the world’s problems is duct tape.”

“Now, Mattie, don’t start in.” The man frowned and spoke sharply.

“Where’s your campsite?” Mattie asked Alfred.

“Uh, it’s funny you should mention that. I guess…I guess I no longer have a campsite.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Don asked.

“Well, my wife and I were camped down the road a bit. Last night we had a fight. This morning I went to the restroom. When I returned, she was gone. Lock, stock, camping equipment, everything. Just took the truck and drove off.”

“You poor thing,” Mattie said. “How long have you been married?”

“About a year. The first few months were fun, but it’s gone downhill from there.”

“Well, come and have breakfast with us. It’s the least we can do since you fixed our engine. Don’t just stand there, Don, give-”

“Alfred.”

“Give Alfred a cup of coffee.”

“Hell yes,” Don said. “Mattie makes the strongest coffee you ever tasted. Do you take it black or do you adulterate it?”

“Black.”

“Good. We’re going to get along fine.”

Although Gary had done some writing in his time, it had been mostly journalistic reporting, when he was in school, and technical writing, both for school and his job with IBM. Thus he had a hard time finding words to describe the beauty of the Tetons while writing in the log.

Words like beautiful and gorgeous didn’t fill the bill. He needed a new vocabulary to tell about the soaring, snow-covered peaks that rose above the meadows and lakes and were reflected in the mirror-like surface of blue water. Gently waving grasses and the ubiquitous pine trees completed the picture.

Grand Teton Mountain, at a little under 14,000 feet, was just one of a number of peaks that lined the horizon. Gary had climbed some mountains, including a 14,000 footer in Colorado, but you needed training and a guide to climb Grand Teton. It was dangerous, otherwise. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

“Wow,” was all he could say to Penny as they drove the loop road, stopping often to drink in the view.

“This is the way I picture a paradise like that described in Lost Horizon,” Penny said. “A place where you would be perfectly happy and where the cares of the world couldn’t penetrate.”

“That sounds good to me. May I quote you in the log?”

“Only if you give me attribution.”

Mattie knew how to cook. Bacon, eggs, and coffee had never tasted so good to Alfred. It beat his own cooking all to heck. He gathered from what they said during breakfast that they were outdoorsy people who actually enjoyed roughing it in a campground. Don worked in a lumber mill, and Mattie was a nurse in Crescent City. They didn’t have any children.

“Where do you call home?” Mattie finally asked Alfred.

He had been working on an answer to that question. “Los Angeles. We’ve got an apartment not far from the beach. Of course, I don’t know whether I’ll be welcome there when I get back. First I have to get back.”