...I should probably get a rag. The story continues, unless you just started reading - in which case the story started elsewhere and you need to catch up.
They traveled back down the pass, more slowly now that the
road was thoroughly covered with snow. The sign for Canyon Creek was
miraculously not hidden by snow as he feared it would be, so they were able to
turn up the narrow road leading off into the hillside.
The single lane track that meandered its way alongside
Canyon Creek the creek to Canyon Creek the town was covered by a layer of snow
that looked to have been freshly plowed yet tree boughs hung low and dropped
their snowy payloads as the van brushed against them. Jan’s teeth were on edge
anytime they scrapped past another branch that’s wooden finger scratched the
length of their silver van.
“You’re scratching the car,” she offered after a
multi-fingered attack had no doubt peeled all the paint from the left side.
He was about to retort when the lights of Canyon Creek (the
town) came into view. It was a mixture of single story buildings of either
cinderblocks or logs lining the left-hand side; while the right-hand side was
two or three chalet style homes built around an open field with baseball
backstop. The lights were on in most of the buildings, but they shone the
brightest in what the signed heralded as The
Dambuster. He parked and the three got out, stretching sore legs. He led
them inside and they were instantly greeted with a loud “CLOSE THE DOOR!” from
the entirety of the room’s occupants who were intently transfixed on the screen
against the far wall. Dave Kreig was taking a snap from the center in what
looked like the first quarter of the game. They were already trailing.
“Lola! Guest,” barked a voice from the back, only a white
hat, dark eyes, and moustache visible through the window to the kitchen. Lola,
a skinny young girl in her twenties got up from the table where the occupants
were clearly saddened to lose her company.
“Welcome to The Dambuster, sit wherever you like.”
“Where’s the restroom,” Jan asked and was directed to a dark
hallway past the kitchen.
“I’m guessing you tried going over the pass.”
“You’d guess right.” He smiled and took the offered menu.
“The officer at the roadblock said we might be able to find a place to stay the
night here.”
“I’ll have Stu come over and give you the rates. You might
not want to stay after hearing how much it’ll cost you.” She laughed and it
filled that little corner of the room with some much needed light.
“I’m sure.” He looked at the game and cocked his brow.
“Didn't they already play this game?”
“Oh sure, but we don’t get reception up here so Pete has to
record it and then drive it up. You’re not going to spoil the score are
you,” she said with a mischievous smile and twinkle in her eye.
“No ma’am.” He raised his hands in false surrender.
“You let me know when you’re ready to order, o.k.?”
The girl turned and walked slowly back to the gathered
throng. He watched her go, appreciating her “uniform” and the way it
accentuated her figure, and then turned back; his son’s eyes were watching him
closely. He cleared his throat and looked down at his menu.
Jan returned and the three ordered their dinner, which they
then ate in silence. Lola’s reception was much more tepid now so she didn’t
come by often. Instead the man named Stu came over during the second quarter
and offered them one of the vacation Hauser
he owned and operated. He took them across the street to the second haus from the main street, mentioning it
would be quieter for them to be away from The
Dambuster – Jan agreed as she eyed
the faux Bavarian façade in the dim moonlight. The three settled in, prepared
their sleeping areas, and went through their nightly routines.
I'd like to dedicate the Seahawks reference to my mother. whose long suffering was finally rewarded last year. As always I'd love feedback and if you would share with your friends - they might like a story about some people going to a bar.
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