Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey Read Free Page A

Shop.
There were probably about thirty to forty cars, pickups and SUV’s in the gravel
parking lot across the road. Most of them had empty boat trailers—probably out
on the lake already—although there was a group of five guys just backing down
the ramp to put their pontoon in the water. I kinda felt like I should stop and
check their license info, but hey, I’m off the clock. I didn’t see Walter at the
bait store either. I would’ve liked to say hi, but there was some young kid
whose name tag read “Marty” behind the counter. Another five miles and I’ll hit
the turnoff, and then about three and a half miles along the gravel road before
I come to—drum roll please—the dirt road. I’m going to have to creep along that
slower than normal. I’ve got 150 gallons of fuel divided between three barrels
. . . 50 of diesel and 100 of gas. It’ll cause a major mess if it spills, but I
know that Uncle Andy can really use it.
     
    *click*
    I’m about halfway up the dirt road. I just pulled over on a
solid spot to make sure that the ratchet straps around the barrels were still
secure; seemed good to me. Reminder to self . . . never give Max spicy Slim Jims.
Oh man, my stomach is churning. I don’t understand how he can eat something
that is spicy barbeque flavored and pass gas that smells like fermented oranges.
It might be OK if I had some warning, but these are the “silent giant” version.
Wow!  Anyway, the dirt road seems drier than it has been. Maybe they got less
rain up here than we did at home. Dry is good. I’m gonna take a few minutes to get
out and stretch . . . maybe look around too. This dirt road always brings back
a lot of memories . . . some of them not too fond. I remember leaving the cabin
to run my trap line every day at 4:00 AM, and walking all the way to where this
road hits the gravel—almost four miles—and then back to the cabin. Uncle Andy
went with me the first few times, but after that I was on my own. I learned a
lot on those eight mile hikes in the dark, a lot about me and my intestinal fortitude
(or lack thereof when I was younger) but I also learned a lot about the
wilderness, which is probably why I do what I do today. There are several moss
covered boulders near a little wet weather spring about one hundred yards from
where I am. I caught a lot of raccoons over the years in traps I set there, and
those boulders are still one of my favorite places to take a quick break. If
you put your feet on one particular rock and line up your back along another
section, it conforms to the shape of your body like you were sitting in a
recliner, pretty comfortable actually. I’m going to go pay them a visit.
     
    *click*
    Holy crap and LMAO . . . So I walked over to where the little
spring crosses the road, followed it upstream to the boulders . . . and sitting
there on my “recliner” was a hard plastic cooler filled with ice and several
longneck beers. Taped to the cooler was a note from Uncle Andy that said; “You’re
so predictable Eric. But since you’re here, you might as well enjoy a few cold
ones. I would have left a manly beer for you, but I know you’re a candy ass, so
I left you light beer.” Well, candy ass or not, I sat there and enjoyed
three of the four beers in the cooler. Max chewed on the ice cubes.
     
    *click*
    Only about a half mile left until I get to the cabin. The
road really hasn’t been that bad, most of the trouble spots have been filled in
by me and Uncle Andy with softball sized rocks over the years—nothing a semi-decent
four wheel drive can’t handle. It also looks like some type of tractor or
backhoe has been used recently. I haven’t been up here for almost . . . ten
months I guess, and this is the most passable the road has been that I can ever
remember. Anyway, I know Uncle Andy is going to appreciate the fuel I’m
bringing—he only asked for three empty barrels that he could use to help
transport fuel back to the cabin since the delivery truck