“Well,” says Jake, “we can at least stay at one of the trash pullouts. Can we have some tortellinis? I really want to play Risk” I can’t take the three thoughts at once. “Okay, a pullout,” I say. “But not a trash pullout. The next one.” Two against one.
Michael drives on. On the way down a long hill we see a giant semi hauled up with lights blaring and engine running. Probably for a nap? We roll in, trying to park so the lights don’t shine in. Directly facing a gravel heap. “Gravel anyone?” says Michael. “Do you think we could sleep here?” No. The next pullout, without a semi I say. Michael concedes. “But you guys! Its getting late. Are we going to play Risk?!” I feel bad for the little guy. I want him to have good memories. “Okay, next pullout. No trash bins or semis, k?”
Jake sighs. We press on. Lights glimmer a few km ahead and a sign, “RV Park.”
We draw up to an older white clapboard two-story structure. Towering carved creatures greet us. “Sasquatch Crossing” announced in Kelly green letters. Hmmm. Michael and Jake climb out to ask about parking. He’s gone for twenty minutes. “Crazy scene in there!” he grins, shaking his head. “That guy spoke five languages. He started speaking to me in Chinese,” he laughed. “But the best part was his accent. It was fantastic. And his conspicuous black comb-over. He said we could stay the night, no problem. Just come in for coffee in the morning. They open at five. He started on this religious thing. I told him I had faith. But he kept asking me if I believe in God. He said, ‘When things are tough you have to pray everyday.’ I told him I pray when things are good. He said, ‘Now that’s wise. Then he dropped the godthing. But I’m going back in, come morning.’
We eat totellinis. We play Risk. I read from My Family And Other Animals. In it, we have just met Spiro the Greek, and we are rolling with laughter. I’m so grateful to Bruce for sending Durrell’s entire collection with us. I confess already skipping to the second book because it called me so loudly from the depths of my childhood, to my father’s fireside readings. Suddenly Spiro and Mother are in the cabin with us again. I read aloud till I can’t keep my eyes open.
M and I wake to the rumble of a big semi pulling up next to us. (It takes a while to realize its not a generator.) We lay awake for a long time, then, sounds of screeching tires. A door slams. “Yeeeehaaaa!” Man Shouts. Revving engine, flying gravel, the car flies away. My heart thumps.
He’s back in ten minutes. More shouting, a crazy reverie of shouts. ‘I think he’s trying to wake people up,’ says Michael. My heart starts pounding wildly. Don’t go out there. I put in my contacts. More shouting – its close. I peel back the windowshade to see a black four-by, red lights, music blaring, pushing past us onto the road. Sasquatch?