Adam's Journey

I continued on down the trail, thinking about Harley and Dana. I was very happy and even a little excited for them, and found myself hoping that everything would shape up the way it looked like it would. I couldn't help but be a little envious, wishing my life and my future looked as promising today as theirs did.

It was almost seven thirty, the sun low on the western horizon by the time I hit the paved road, and at that point I knew I still had over five hundred miles ahead of me to get to the lake and our designated meeting place. I had run a MapQuest map which had recommended a route that would drop me off I-80 just east of Green River, Wyoming, then south past Flaming Gorge (so named because of the colorful surroundings, I assume, and not because of any particular sexual proclivity) then on south through Utah and across the Uintah/Ouray Indian Reservation on what I thought was a somewhat inefficient route with multiple highway changes.

I had looked at the maps in my glove compartment and decided instead to backtrack just slightly to a route which would take me south through western Colorado, and so jumped off I-80 onto WY 789, which changed to CO 13 at the state border. It was full dark by the time I hit Craig, Colorado at U.S. Highway 40. I stopped for gas and a burger, and took along a large cup of coffee to help battle my fatigue.

Any problem with sleepiness behind the wheel was resolved about forty miles or so south of Craig when I crested a small rise to discover a herd of elk scattered across the roadway directly ahead of me, with others grazing the neighboring shoulders and ditches. There must have been close to thirty of them! The adrenaline rush accompanying the ensuing panic stop would keep me alert for quite some time, but I thankfully managed to avoid any dead or injured animals or crumpled sheet metal, or embarrassing soiled underwear. A huge bull, his impressive rack by now almost entirely free of velvet, gave me the evil eye as I worked around and through them and continued my trip.

My loud and dramatic stop had scared some of the animals off the highway, but I flashed my headlights at the next couple of cars I met to warn them. Fortunately traffic was extremely light and deer sightings had been frequent, so most drivers would be watching closely. Hitting a deer would be bad enough; colliding with one of the enormous elk could be catastrophic!

It was a half hour shy of midnight when I picked up I-70 westbound at the town of Rifle, and less than two hours later I was through Grand Junction and entering Utah. I stopped at a rest area for awhile to stretch my legs and unstretch my bladder before turning south onto Highway 24 at mile marker 147.

I figured this was probably a beautiful ride during the day, and I could see the shapes of rock formations and bluffs rising around me in the darkness as I worked my way south between Canyonlands and Capitol Reef National Parks, a million stars burning brightly overhead.

I passed exactly one vehicle, a large RV, in the forty plus miles between Interstate 70 and the small town of Hanksville, and there was amazed to see a small gas station and cafe all lit up and open at this ungodly hour of the morning. I knew there were virtually no signs of civilization in the sixty or so miles remaining between Hanksville and the marina except a very tiny town called Ticaboo, and I was not confident of finding any services there so I turned in, filled my gas tank, and walked into the cafe.

It was a traditional small town cafe, with a dozen seats at the counter and maybe another dozen or so four-seat tables, half of then set up as booths. It smelled great, of fresh cooked bacon and coffee, but appeared to be completely deserted. A disembodied female voice called out "Sit anywhere you want, I'll be with you in a minute!"

True to her word, a woman appeared soon after I sat down in one of the small booths. She was carrying a glass of water, and as she walked toward me, even in my worn out state I was struck by several things about her.

The first thing I noticed was a sense of strength; though she was not a large woman, perhaps five foot seven or so and slender, she had wide shoulders and a flare at her hips that gave her an aura of confidence and power, and her purposeful, almost masculine stride did nothing to dispel that feeling.

Her face, though not classicly beautiful, or perhaps even pretty, was striking, and memorable. Her mouth was maybe a little too wide, her cheekbones high, and there was a small offset in her nose, as if it had once maybe been broken and not set absolutely perfectly. A tiny white scar on her strong, rounded chin, full lips, and brilliant kelly green eyes beneath delicately arched brows completed a face that was unique and fascinating, and hard not to stare at.

As she got closer I could see that her hair, which I had thought was brown, was really a very dark auburn red and quite lustrous, and that she had it pulled back into a long, thick ponytail which I soon discovered reached below the middle of her back. I guessed her age at about twentyfive, although she could have easily been as much as five years either side of that.

Her tight, worn jeans and plaid western style shirt gave her the look of a rancher, or perhaps a rancher's wife, in spite of the new-looking Asics Gels on her feet instead of boots, and I thought she looked very out of place working in a restaurant when she should be out rounding up cattle or breaking horses. I kept my thoughts to myself as she set the water on my table.

She reeled off her mantra, unsmiling and apparently unfeeling. "Hi, I'm Tiffany and I'll be your server. Would you like anything else to drink?"

I was a little put off by her coldness, but made a bid at getting her to smile. "Hi Tiffany, I'm Adam, and I'll be your customer, and I'll kiss your feet if you tell me you have fresh, hot coffee back there."

My attempt was a spectacular failure, and she looked down at me, still frozen. "So you want coffee?"

"Please."

"Cream?"

"No thanks."

She turned and left, ponytail swinging, and I admired the way her stride made her firm ass and slightly wide hips move, the dancing back pockets of her jeans doing an admirable job of holding my eye. The only surprise was that there was not a thick layer of frost across the taut denim.

She soon returned, carrying a steaming mug which she set down in front of me. "That it, or do you want any food?"

Even though my normal breakfast time was still a couple of hours away, the great cooking smells in the cafe had made me hungry. "Well, I could stand to eat. What's good?"

"If it's on the menu, it's good. What do you want?"

Still unsmiling, still cold. Her attitude was starting to bug me a little bit, even though I was trying hard not to let it. I decided to call her on it.

"Tiffany, did I do or say something to piss you off?"

"Not yet, but I have confidence in you."

I frowned up at her. "Give me a break, you don't even know me!"

"I know your type. It's not too hard to predict what comes next."

"Is that so? Why don't you sit down and tell me what I'm supposedly going to say to offend you?"

"Do you want to order first?"

"Don't you have to do the cooking?" I had assumed she was there all alone, which would have seemed like an incredibly bad idea until I had met her and gotten a taste of the attitude. She would have been perfectly safe all alone, I think.

"No, Pops is back there. It's his place."

"Oh. How about eggs, over easy, bacon - crispy please, hash browns, wheat toast. And an OJ."

"I'll be right back."

She left to place the order, and soon, to my immense surprise, returned and slid into the booth across the table from me. I guessed I was about to get a primer on how to treat, or not treat, a Utah woman.

She put her elbows on the table and interlaced her fingers, resting her chin on them and giving me a frank, open stare, still not smiling. Although captivated and attracted by her amazing face and incredible green eyes, I couldn't help but notice her hands. Her fingers were long and graceful, but her nails were cut very short, looking almost chewed off, and her hands appeared to be strong, the skin slightly rough and calloused.

These were definitely working hands, the type that knew how to change a tire or wield an axe, or perhaps quickly and comfortably turn a young bull into a steer. I doubted that these hands had ever experienced a manicure, or even seen the inside of a spa. They very much reinforced my first impressions of her.

I waited for her to speak but she just continued to regard me with her cool, appraising stare. I decided to take the initiative.

"So what was it that I was supposedly going to do, or say, that would offend you? Or would it be quicker and easier for you to tell me what I could say that wouldn't?"

She smiled grimly. There was no humor or warmth in it. "Well, that's a good start. Care to push that thought any further?"

My question had been a little passive-aggressive, I knew that, but it had been intentional. "No, you have the floor. By all means, enlighten me."

She leaned forward and began to tick things off on the fingers of her left hand. "First, you were going to make fun of my name, or spout some inane, half-assed comment or cliche`. Second, you were going to hit on me, because I'm obviously some lonely, love-starved woman, and as God's gift to women you're clearly obligated to help me out."

She paused, but she wasn't finished. "Let's see. Then you either try to get me to tell you my life's story so you can try to worm your way into it, or you force me to listen to your's and pretend that I'm even a little bit interested so I can get a tip. Oh, and my all time favorite, you figure it's OK to touch me, or even grab my ass or something. All women love that, of course, and because you're going to leave me a big two dollar tip you're definitely entitled to grope me!"

Wow! This woman was like nobody I'd ever met, and clearly had issues or experiences that had turned her into a real ball-buster. Whatever had been done to her had left her angry and bitter, and I thought maybe I should just eat and move on. Unfortunately my food wasn't there yet, and she was, and I had asked for the explanation. I decided to go forward carefully, wary of land mines.

"Huh! And here I was only going to leave you a one dollar tip." She didn't laugh, or even smile. "You don't have much use for men, do you Tiffany?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. They have their uses, I just don't like them very much."

I laughed. "Well, you're honest, I'll give you that! Let's see, that was an impressive list. OK, why would I make fun of your name? Tiffany seems like a perfectly good name, a lot of girls are named that."

She gave me a dubious look. "So you weren't going to say 'Tiffany, like the lamps?', or maybe 'Tiffany, that's a stripper's name. Are you a stripper?', or my all-time favorite brilliant comment 'Gosh, you don't look like a Tiffany.' Tell me, just what the hell is that supposed to mean? What does a Tiffany look like?"

I had thought that, that she looked more like a Kate, or a Rebecca, or maybe an Annie, but I was so glad I hadn't said it out loud! She was right, it is an inane and cliched comment.

"Well, I wasn't going to say any of those things Tiffany, and I don't know what a Tiffany is supposed to look like. Your name did get me musing a little bit though."

She visibly bristled.

I held up my hand, palm toward her. "Nothing like that! I was just thinking how strange it's going to seem, forty or fifty years on, to have thousands of little old white-haired ladies everywhere named Tiffany, or Amber, or Heather. Those just don't seem like old lady names, you know what I mean? Do you suppose us evil old men will still ask them if they're strippers?"

Her eyebrows went up, then she slowly smiled, then laughed out loud. She had a clear, bell-like laugh, and the smile transformed her face, turning her wide, full lips upwards and baring her sparkling white teeth, allowing her true beauty to shine through. I thought she should smile more, but I didn't say so.

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name is?"

"Adam."

"Well Adam, that was original. It's a very strange thought, but it is original, I'll give you that. Does your mind always work at such odd angles?"

I smiled at her. "My friends would probably tell you that you ain't seen nuthin' yet. Oh, and about me thinking I'm God's gift to women, let me give you my ex-wife's phone number, she can clarify that for you. I believe 'curse' was the word she used, rather than 'gift'. I'm sure she'd be happy to tell you all about it, she certainly never hesitated to set me straight."

She laughed again, a sound that could become addictive. "Ah, another soldier wounded in the love wars, huh? You poor baby!" She said it in a mocking tone, but at least the mean aggressiveness had left her voice. I didn't go into my other war wounds at that point, the ones that were still bleeding.

Totally focused on her, and on not putting my foot in it, I hadn't noticed the proprietor approaching carrying two plates, and when he spoke it startled me. His voice sounded like two granite boulders grinding together, and I looked up to see a very large, very black man dressed in an all-white chef's uniform nearing my table.

"You should laugh more Tiffy, I miss hearing that. I'm not sure what you said mister, but keep it up. Here's your breakfast, and I brought you a plate too, Tiff. You should eat something before it starts to get busy."

He set the plates on the table in front of us, and then rested an enormous hand possessively on Tiffany's shoulder. She leaned her head over and rested her cheek against the back of his thick fingers, her fair skin contrasting sharply to his huge ebony hand as she rubbed her face against it. Clearly there was some kind of bond there.

"Thanks Pops. This is Adam, we were just talking."

I stuck my hand out and he quickly enveloped it in his giant paw, giving me a bone-crushing handshake. He looked enormously fat, probably close to six feet in height he seemed nearly as broad, but the strength of his grip showed that there was a very powerful man behind those outer layers.

He raised his chin, indicating my plate, and growled "I brought you biscuits instead of toast. If you were from around here you would know better than to order toast when I've got fresh biscuits coming out of the oven. Everyone calls me Pops, Adam. Now what else can I get for you?"

I looked at my plate. Everything looked very good and smelled even better, the golden biscuits huge and hot. "It all looks great Pops. I did have an orange juice coming, I guess."

"You got it, and I'll heat up your coffee. How about you Tiff, coffee?"

She started to rise. "I'll get it Pops, it's my job."

He pushed her back down, like an adult with a child, and rumbled "Sit Tiffy, and eat your breakfast. I'll get it, you two just go on, don't let me interrupt." He turned and walked away, his massive bulk slowly receding.

I watched him walk away, then turned to her and found her watching me, waiting. "Pops is a pretty big guy. He seems real nice though, have you known him a long time?"

"Almost fifteen years, since he bought this place. He's a great guy if he likes you, not so much if he doesn't, and don't let his size fool you, that's not all fat. He's very quick, and strong as a horse." She paused momentarily, then "And yes, he's hung like one too."

Where the hell had that come from!? I hadn't asked, we barely knew each other, and she's pitching out that comment! I must have looked very shocked, because she laughed again, apparently at the look on my face.

"Too much information? Check it out when he comes back Adam, you can really tell in those white pants, you'll be impressed." She didn't even have the decency to blush as she said it, although I'm pretty sure I was, and I was a little at a loss for words.

"Damn, Tiffany, I didn't ask, did I? I can't believe you said that! And I really don't care to know any more about it."

She laughed again, and when he returned I couldn't help but glance down as he approached. Either she was telling the truth, or they had worked out an elaborate joke and he had stuffed a large salami or something down his pants, because the huge chunk of meat dangling down his left leg was quite obvious as his thick thigh pressed it against the thin white pants with his near-waddling stride. She was right, I was very impressed! Damn!

He set down my juice and her coffee, and put his hands on his wide hips. "There you go. You keep my Tiffy laughing like that Adam, and the meal is on me; it's like music to my ears."

"Thanks Pops. I'm not sure if she's laughing with me or at me, but you're right, it sounds beautiful."

He smiled, showing a row of teeth that were startlingly white against his black skin, then walked away, and I regarded Tiffany warily, wondering what she might say next. She was smiling and relaxed now, a huge improvement over her original attitude, and I smiled back at her.

"Truce, Adam. I was pretty unfair to you."

"You were. I assume you had your reasons." The food was delicious, and her company, now, in her new, lighter mood, made it even better.

"I do, but no excuses." She looked over at Pops, who was wiping down the counter. "He's the only black person in town, maybe in the whole valley, but he's the greatest. He helped me through some tough times. Everyone in town loves Pops, he's a legend."

She paused, then gave me a sly smile. "Well, not all the husbands love him, but among the wives he's most definitely a legend. And not just because of these biscuits, either." She smiled as she took a bite of her biscuit, and I shook my head, waiting for her to swallow and go on.

She looked over at Pops as he finished cleaning the counter, and a wistful smile played across her face. "You look at him and you see a big, fat, scary black guy with a big appetite, but what you don't see is how that appetite runs through his whole life. You don't know him."

"Tiffany, I don't find him scary. A little intimidating at first, I suppose, but he seems like a decent guy. I don't know anything about his appetites, but he sure seems to care about you."

"He does, but he cares about everyone. He has a need to help people, I guess you could say. If someone is in trouble, or needs a few bucks to get by, he's the first one there to help out. He supports all the kids' sports teams, picks up anyone that life has knocked down, hands out free meals like it's no big deal. I don't know what he did before he came here, but he must have made a lot of money, because he gives away far more than he could ever make running this place."

"He sounds like a pretty amazing guy. And yet you say he's banging half the women in town, including the married ones. That doesn't seem like it would endear him to a lot of people."

Her gaze snapped back to me, her green eyes flashing. "That's pretty crude, don't you think?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend, but you brought it up."

"Yeah, but that's not what I said. I said he was a legend among the ladies, and he is, but he's not 'banging half of them', as you so eloquently put it. It's not quite like that."

I noticed how quickly she flew to his defense, despite the fact that I really hadn't been trying to belittle him in any way, and realized that there was something serious between them.

"How about I just shut up and you tell me what you want me to know. And I ask not because I'm trying to worm my way into your life, like you said, but because I'm truly curious, because you both seem like great people, and because I've got almost five hours before I need to meet my friends at Bullfrog." I had intended to eat and move on as quickly as possible, planning to get a nap in before meeting Ron and Kori around nine o'clock, but now I had found a better use for those hours.