Crimson Highway by David Wickenhauser (brene brown rising strong TXT) 📗

was the circumstances. I just flat out didn’t have time,” Hugh said. “But, you did real good. I’m very proud of you.”

Hugh could tell that this turn of the conversation had gone a long way toward softening the hard feelings that he had caused when he accused her of setting up yet one more hijacking. He knew now that his accusation was misplaced, and showed a lack of consideration and trust on his part.

“Jenny, I’m sorry I jumped so quickly to accuse you back there. I really am,” he said.

“It’s OK, Hugh. I’m OK now. Thanks,” she replied. Then, smiling shyly, she added, “And you did call me honey.”

“Yes, I guess I did,” he admitted.

They were silent then, for awhile, as they motored through some of the most interesting and beautiful scenery that California has to offer, for they had long ago crossed over into the Golden State at Topaz Lake.

He pointed out features as they drove past, such as the Walker River, which is a favorite destination for fly-fishermen. They actually travelled alongside the river for quite a few miles. Hugh told her he always enjoyed this section of the road.

He pointed out the turnoff to Sonora Pass that takes one up over the Sierras. It is strictly prohibited for big-rig trucks to take that route, he told her, as there is a short stretch of 12-percent grade on the pass, and very sharp curves.

Then they drove through the quaint little Sierra eastside town of Bridgeport, followed shortly by the turnoff to Bodie ghost town, which is one of the West’s best-preserved old-time mining towns.

When they came upon Mono Lake he told her about some of the features of that unique lake—its Tufa Mounds, especially, and the fact of how inhospitable the highly alkaline water is, providing habitat for only algae, brine shrimp and sand flies. He told her it does, however, teem with bird life, especially serving as a migratory-bird nesting area.

 “Someone told me once that this is where every seagull along the Western coast comes to lay their eggs. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s interesting,” he told Jenny.

They went through the quaint little tourist town of Lee Vining, which serves as the exit port for travelers coming from the west over the sierras through Tioga Pass. That’s another road prohibited to truckers, he explained, because it goes through Yosemite National Park, which is a “no-truck” zone.

Then they went past Lake Crowley, and down a long, long grade to the Owens Valley where they cruised into the town of Bishop.

“And this, Jen, is almost where I met you. We’ve gone almost full circle,” he concluded as they drove past the turnoff to Highway 6, near where his adventure with Jenny had begun—how many days ago?

“That was a lifetime ago,” Jenny answered quietly, as if reading Hugh’s mind. “I’m not that Jenny anymore.”

Driving through Bishop, and seeing all the tourist cafes and such, reminded Hugh that it was lunch time. There was no place to stop in town, no rest area outside of town, and no truck stops in the area. But, Hugh knew of a couple of wide spots on the shoulder just outside of town where they could pull over and make sandwiches.

A few minutes later, he came up on one of the pullouts. It was unoccupied at the moment, so he pulled in and shut down the engine.

“We’re just going to stop here for a few minutes and grab a bite to eat,” he told Jenny. “Plus, I need to take a jug break.”

When he looked over at Jenny, and saw the worried look on her face he realized he had a problem. After all, it had been more than four hours for her, just as it had been for him.

“You need to take a jug break too, huh,” he said.

She nodded.

Hugh thought about it for a minute, then said, “Well, about the only choice you have right now until we get you set up with your own jug is to go outside.”

He expected to see her react sharply to that idea, but was surprised when she didn’t.

“Don’t worry, Hugh, girls sometimes have to just make do,” she assured him. “And, I’ve been camping before. Just tell me where’s the best place,” she said to him, looking around outside through her window.

“Behind the tractor tandems, between them and the landing gear, is the usual place. You’ll have some privacy there.”

She opened her door and started to get out.

“I’ll take care of my business in here while you go out there, and then we’ll meet back here for a bite to eat,” he said.

When she climbed back into the cab, he handed her a wet wipe, and they both washed their hands for lunch.

Hugh reached for his knife to cut open a fresh package of lunchmeat. But, his knife wasn’t in his pocket. It was still on the floor where it had dropped after his fight with the attacker on Jenny’s side of the truck.

“Holy cow! I forgot about this mess,” Hugh exclaimed, retrieving his bloody knife.

He put the knife into a baggie and sealed it shut, planning to stop at the next rest area to clean it properly. Then he grabbed a couple of wet wipes and wiped down the top edge of the window on his side where it had mangled and bloodied the guy’s fingers.

“It looks like we fought a war here,” he remarked.

“It sure felt like it,” Jenny responded.

“Well, hey, Jen, you sure are a trooper … about everything,” Hugh told her.

 While they ate their sandwiches and chips, and drank their cold bottled waters from the fridge, Hugh thought about the timing for the rest of the day. They were a little less than two hours from their pickup at the water place, and a couple