Ride to Redemption (18 page)

Chapter
29

L
eaving
Hwy.2, we turned north on Route 1, following Lake McDonald on our left. Ten
minutes into our ride, I felt a tapping on my shoulder. “Yes?”

“D,
why is this lake so ice blue? It’s surreal.”

“Its
Glacier melt, baby,” I answered, slowing almost to a crawl. “Want me to pull
off so you can have a photo op?”

“No,
baby. I can do it from here as long as you’re driving slowly.”

“Just
tap me on the shoulder again when you want to get a picture and I’ll slow
down.” Reaching the upper side of the lake after about 10 miles, I found a
scenic view pull off. “Let’s stop here. I want a picture of you with the lake
in the background. You are hot in your leathers, baby. Add the ice blue lake,
some whipped cream,” I offered with a wink, “and we’ve got a masterpiece.”

“Thank
you, D. Now we need one of you.”

“Good
thought, baby. But, the least footprint I leave behind, the better off we are,
at least for now. Why do you think I’m always paying with cash and why I’m
constantly using a burner phone?”

“Really,
D, I never thought about it. It’s sad, isn’t it? For all the good you’re doing,
you’re always going to have to watch your back.”

“Sad,
but true Candi. It is what it is. At least until all the potential threats are
gone or neutralized,” I replied somberly, while looking straight into her eyes.
I don't think she got it.

Back
on the highway, we left the low country and started into the cedar and hemlock
forests before we broke out into nothing but sky. Absolutely, stunning
landscape, no matter how many times I pass this way. Panoramic views of snow
capped mountains and stream filled valleys as far as the eye can see.

“It’s
so beautiful, D. Thank you for sharing Glacier with me. Never in a million
years would I have ever imagined anything so beautiful.”

Feeling
the temp drop almost immediately, I knew we were nearing the pass. Stopping at
the Visitor Center, I persuaded Candi to hike to Hidden Lake, just a short
10-minute walk from the parking area.

“Look,
Candi, over there, just to the left of the water. See the big horn sheep
grazing. Oh,” I said excitedly, while adjusting my gaze, “look up on the hill
on the right — mountain goats. Do you see them? Here, take the camera and
zoom in.”

“Incredible,
D! I’ve never seen either before. Even in pictures. They’re beautiful. Have you
ever caught ... uh, hunted for any of these?”

“Nope.
Not that I haven’t wanted to, but these types of hunts are hit and miss and far
too expensive. Furthermore, as I’ve grown older, I’d much rather shoot them
with a camera.”

“Good
for you! I’m all for that,” she said as she snapped multiple pictures.

“This,
alone, was worth the trip. Thank you again. Thank you, D. I mean it.”

Back
on the road with an appreciative, yet secretive woman behind me, we made our
way down the mountain, before stopping at the Jackson Glacier turnout.

“Hop
off and join me. I want to show you something,” I said, as I climbed off the
bike. “Way off in the distance is the Jackson Glacier. I read somewhere that
it’s only one quarter the size it was in the 1800s. Scientists are projecting
that in the next ten years it, as well as, the other 25 glaciers in the park
will be gone. I
 
wanted you to see
and remember this one before it goes away. The good news is, once we get north
of Banff, I’ll take you to a Glacier you can walk on. The Icefields Parkway
still has numerous healthy glaciers, many more than there are here in the
park.”

Heading
east, we made our way to St. Mary’s Falls, where we parked and hiked the almost
one mile trek to the falls. The air was clean, the skies were clear, and the
scent of pine lingered in the air.

“Photo
op, baby,” I announced. “Walk down to the footbridge right below the third
waterfall. I’ll capture you in your element, wrapped in the great
out-of-doors.”

“It’s
cold standing here!” exclaimed Candi, as I watched the mist from the falls
envelope her in a silvery fog.

“I
got a wonderful picture of you, Candi. We may need to Photoshop it to frame it,
but it will make for good memories.”

“D,
I’m glad we stopped and walked to these awe-inspiring places. My family always
just drove by anything that required any form of physical exertion. I can only
imagine all the beautiful places I missed growing up.”

“You’re
not alone. I don’t think I ever walked anywhere off the road with my mom and
dad, either. You and I have a lot of making up to do, don’t we?”

The
temperature leveled out in the 50s as we made our way through the valley along
St. Mary Lake. Reaching the visitor center, I remembered from my last adventure
that this would be the last best place to stop before the border.

“It’s
potty break time, Candi. This is our last stop in Montana. Give me your
passport when you come back, please. Let’s hope we can get across the border
with our clothes on.”

“Really,
D? They could strip search us?” asked Candi, somewhat surprised.

“They
could and would, given probable cause,” I told her. “Having everything ready at
the crossing might make it easier than it was on my last trip north. Don’t even
ask,” I said, shaking my head as if to say, you would not believe it.

Making
our way north on Highway 89, we made it to the border within an hour and
crossed without a hitch. Riding across prairie much like Montana, my desire was
to make Lethbridge, Alberta for a very late lunch.

“Canada
is beautiful this time of year, D,” announced Candi, as we made our way into
downtown. “Where are you taking me to eat? I’m starving.”

“Of
course you are. We’re going to the Backstreet Pub. It’s a hole-in-the-wall
restaurant and bar if I remember correctly. I had their famous Jamie Sandwich
and French onion soup the last time I was through here, and both were
outstanding.”

“Yum,”
bellowed Candi, over the engine’s roar. “That sounds good to me. Of course,
right now shoe leather sounds good to me.”

Fortunately,
my GPS led us right to the door. Candi followed my lead and ordered the same
thing I did. We were not disappointed. Everything was as I remembered it,
though the place showed signs of age.

Who
doesn’t
after all we’ve been through?

“Come
on, baby. We need to make Calgary before dark.”

“Can’t
we stay here?” pleaded Candi. “This town seems like a beautiful place to
explore.”

“Maybe
next time through. I made reservations for us at an Irish bed and breakfast
where the innkeeper makes you feel like royalty. I even remember her name
— Josie — though I doubt she’ll remember me after all these years.”

“She
would if you had slept with her, D,” said Candi. “Remember, no matter how many
redeeming qualities others may see in you, myself included, when it comes to
beautiful women, I still think you’re a slut.”

“Who,
me?” I asked innocently, as I brought the bike to life and headed northwest. On
the outskirts of town, after passing a Canadian Mountie in the median, I
realized we should be using kilometers per hour, not miles per hour.
The
U.S. is so far behind the times,
I mused.
We’re only one of three
countries that has yet to covert to the metric system. Go figure, if I get
caught speeding blindly through Canada, I wonder if I can blame it on that?

Candi
and I arrived at the familiar-looking B&B shortly before 7 p.m. and were
warmly greeted by Josie, our host and the long time owner of the Inn.

“Welcome,”
announced Josie, whose youthful appearance reminded me that the years could be
ever so kind to some of us. “You, sir, look familiar. Have you stayed with me
before?”

“I
have,” I said, briefly looking away from her gaze, “but it was a lifetime ago.
Everything seems to have aged extremely well, including you, I might add. “

“Thank
you,” replied Josie, genuinely appreciative that I remembered her inn, whoever
I was.

“Josie,
may I present my friend, Candi. I’ve briefed her on your royal pampering, so
please keep it to a minimum or I may never get her to leave here,” I conveyed
in all honesty.

“Nice
to meet you, Candi,” Josie said, extending her hand. “Ice-cold Molson's are
available in the guest lounge, Mr. D. Please make yourself at home, while I
show your lovely young lady friend to your room.”

Not
one to turn down free beer, I made my way to the lounge. The entire exterior
wall of the lounge was composed of glass panels that looking out onto the
well-maintained gardens and golf course.
Josie’s a woman after my own heart,
I thought, realizing I might have influenced her about these windows on my
last visit.

Drawn
by the view, I made my way outside to Josie’s luxurious gardens. They were
filled with flowers, shrubs and trees, offering a vast array of textures and
colors. “I could stay here all day,” I said aloud.

Candi,
a glass of Pink Merlot in hand, found me sitting on a teakwood bench by the Koi
pond, one beer down and one to go. “This place is amazing!” Candy gushed.
“Josie has thought of every conceivable thing one could ever want or need.”

“I
told you, didn’t I? It was worth the drive. Sit with me in the garden and sip
your wine. I’m already one up on you and winding down fast. We could camp out
right here without a care in the world,” I reflected, all the while trying to
erase her gut-wrenching confessions, continuously doing cartwheels in my mind.

Filling
up on Josie’s freshly made hot hors d’oeuvres, Candi and I were content to just
hang out and rest our weary bones. Well, my old bones and her sore, rather
beautiful behind. We’d covered almost 300 miles in 12 hours. That might not
sound like a lot, but when you are on a bike it's enough. Driving through so
many temperature and elevation extremes in one day is taxing on anyone’s body
— especially mine.

“D,
come see our room. Josie let me pick from the rooms she had available,” said an
excited and certainly pampered Candi.

She’d
chosen the Dublin room, which featured heirloom furniture, complimenting an
antique four-poster bed. “Excellent choice, my lady,” I declared. “You realize,
however, old beds squeak. There will be no hanky-panky tonight. Just sleep.”

“Agreed,”
Candi said without protest.

Innocence
lost,
those were the two words that came to mind as the bed’s plush linens enveloped
me.
Could all that we had going for us before the events of the last couple
of days somehow be reclaimed?
This was my question of the day. I tossed it
round and round in my head until sleep overcame my restless, weary mind.

Chapter
30

M
orning
came early, as I eased from the bed just as the beginning sunrise cast a sliver
of light, through our east-facing window. Gazing back at the bed, I continually
saw in Candi a sleeping princess. A woman, whose countenance and complexion,
continually enthralled me. How I wished we could make this fairy tale, twisted
and turned by a Jerry Springer episode, work.

Dressing
quietly, I picked up my “new” phone and made my way into the gardens, making
myself a black and green tea along the way. Two unheard voice mails, both from
Gio and three text messages, two from Vic and one from my shadow

Message #1 received
yesterday at 6 p.m.:

D, Candice, Gio here. We not go Glacier now. Later,
In Canada. Call me.

Message #2 received
today at 10 a.m.:

D, You no call. Mile, me in Calgary. See you hotel
tomorrow. We OK. U Ok?

Text Message 1:

D, how goes Ur trip? World abuzz, talking about
diamonds, the packages, whoz sending and why. Bet I could cash in on u, but
gonna have to hurry. Oh, u know anybody named Frank?

Text Message 2:

Call me

And
that I did, almost immediately.

Dialing
Vic’s number, thankfully on the second ring, she answered. “Good morning, Vic.
How is my most beautiful redhead?”

“I’m
good, D, especially now that you’ve called and I know you’re okay. Hey, have
you seen the news, CNN, FOX, anything lately? Silly me, let me answer that for
you…no. I know that how, because you rarely even turn your phone on. All I can
say is you must have one sore girl riding behind you.”

“Sore
butt maybe, is that what you’re talking about?”

“Nooo,
D, you must be wearing that thing of hers out every morning and night for you
to never turn on the news. Not that I’m jealous or anything, but you tell her
if she needs a break, I’m readily available.”

“Oh,
that would go over well, Vic. Is that why you called, you want to trade
places?”

“No
D, I called to ask you about some guy named Frank that has been spouting off on
the news from some Podunk city in Oregon, that he knows who has been sending
out all the diamonds. He says he will disclose his name to the highest bidder.
I really think he’s just looking for his sixty seconds of fame, that is unless
you know him personally?”

Nothing
but silence filled the air…

“Oh,
My God, you do know him, don’t you? You better fill me in fast, so I can figure
out if we need to be proactive, rather than defensive.”

“I
can’t believe it,” muttering, stumbling, stuttering trying to find the words.
“He was a down on his luck Marine, a hitchhiker too, to beat it all, Vic. I
picked him up on the way to Nashville and bought him a plane ticket home with
his dog.”

“That’s
it? There has to be more to the story than that. I know you; at least I think I
do. Now tell me, what else did you do for him, D?”

“I
gave him a small package, more than enough to start over. I felt sorry for him.
Damn, I can’t win. I give him a thousand bucks for airline tickets and food to
get home and a little something extra to help him get back on his feet. And
this is how I’m rewarded.”

“D,
it must have been the amount you gave him that’s pissed him off, especially,
when the word on the street is that people are receiving two to three million
dollars worth of diamonds each. Like me, come to think of it.

“How
many did you give him, D? Think about it, please.”

“More
than 100, I think. Just over a million four, I’m pretty sure about that. For a
guy who didn’t have a pot to piss in, I thought it was more than enough.”

“Evidently
not, D, You are right about one thing. You can’t win for losing, that is,
except when you’re with me. I’ll find out as much as I can and get back with
you. By the way, check your phone more often will ya? That is if you can keep
it in your pants........... long enough.”

“You
are jealous, Vic. I’m impressed, I guess. I’ve noticed that in Candi, too, when
I bring your name up, tit for tat.”

“Make
that tit for twat, in your case. Me, I’m just horny. Do you know how long it’s
been since I’ve been laid? Too long! Besides, you always want what you can’t
have. Right now, I want you … to finish what I started.”

“Thank
you Vic. I’ll keep it in mind. Bye.”

Text Message #3:

Volcano now active. Rumblings are real. Suggest U
cut trip short. Can dispatch and retrieve. Jim

I replied:

Jim, in Canada, taking the long way back. I know.
Didn’t ask. Will ride the long, long way back. Call soon.