18. Chasing Ghosts
It was a promising day for traveling, on March 29, 2009. There was no precipitation in the forecast for anywhere along the route from Havre de Grace to as far as Chicago. Average temperature was expected around 50 degrees.
Cassie merged onto I-95 South, heading toward Baltimore. She was leaving Havre de Grace for what she hoped would be a successful effort to retrieve her niece. Little did Cassie know that she would never again be back in this loving town of her childhood.
Meticulously, Cassie had planned her trip down to the day. Forever the pragmatist, she set a reasonable distance to be covered per day; not too slow, but not overly aggressive.
Appeasing her heart, Cassie decided to treat herself to one indulgence along the way. She had always wanted to see Las Vegas, so her route went north, across I-70 to I-15, rather than the slightly more direct southern route through New Mexico.
Cassie was still driving her dad’s 1987 Ford Escort. She worried about a twenty-year-old car crossing the Rocky Mountains and the wide-open desert. She had it checked out by the same mechanic her dad had used. Gil Gerard assured Cassie that it would be fine.
“Just take it easy going up the Rockies. Put on your flashers, stay to the right, and put her in second gear. And don’t let it get away from you on the downsides. Don’t want to burn up your brakes.” Cassie looked stressed. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.”
Driving time to Lakewood would be six days at roughly eight hours a day. Add one extra day to hang out in Vegas, and she should be there by nightfall, on April 4th. Her itinerary was well mapped, hotels reserved, and plenty of cash and credit cards.
Sun Mar 29 Havre de Grace to Dayton OH 512 miles
Mon Mar 30 Reach Columbia MO 475 miles
Tue Mar 31 Reach Goodland KS 532 miles
Wed Apr 1 Reach Grand Junction CO 440 miles
Thu Apr 2 Reach Las Vegas NV 508 miles
Fri Apr 3 Spend the day in Las Vegas
Sat Apr 4 Reach Lakewood CA 275 miles
Sunday was a good first day of driving. No mechanical issues. Light traffic. Familiar roads for the first couple hundred miles. She reached Dayton, Ohio, right on schedule.
On Day 2, Monday, however, the temperature gauge started drifting to the right. But it held okay, and Cassie was relieved to pull into the Hampton Inn at Columbia, Missouri. Rounding the front of the car, her suitcase in tow, she thought she smelled something hot.
On Tuesday morning, while the engine was still cold from overnight, she twisted off the radiator cap and inspected inside. It was down a little bit of water. So, as a precaution, before leaving the parking lot, she walked across the street to a 7-Eleven and bought a gallon of coolant. Just in case.
She topped off the radiator and headed out for Day 3 of her trip. But by the time she reached Kansas City, the arrow was pointing far to the right. She found her way to a Sears service center, where a mechanic diagnosed a radiator leak. He thought he could repair it with a sealant, saving Cassie the time and money of a complete replacement.
She lost 90 minutes on the affair but was back on her way mid-afternoon. Unfortunately, she only covered another 175 miles before the engine light started flashing and dinging, just outside of Salina, Kansas. Best laid plans, she mumbled to herself. She coaxed the Escort into the small town and came to a crackling stop in front of a Holiday Inn. She’d address the problem in the morning. For now, she just hoped they had a vacancy and a warm bath.
After enjoying a delightful Wednesday breakfast special in the dining area downstairs, Day 4 got underway. She asked the front desk about reliable mechanics and soon thereafter a tow truck she had ordered from AAA pulled under the canopy. The day was entirely lost to a complete replacement of the radiator.
But on Thursday, Cassie was once again on her way, heading west. She hoped to make it to Denver, an easy six-hour drive, on this fifth day of her trip. She figured, if the car was behaving well, she’d begin the slow climb up to the continental divide. Her destination for the night would be Idaho Springs which, from hotel pamphlets, was founded by prospectors during the Pike’s Peak Gold Rush, and was now dripping with history and quaintness.
Cassie was just east of Denver, south of the airport on I-70 when the temperature gauge began pointing upward again. A sudden feeling of fear and desperation began settling in her stomach. She slowed her pace and continued to watch the gauge as she negotiated the heaviest traffic she had encountered since St. Louis.
The idea of crossing the Rockies seemed imprudent to her. Until that is, she could get this latest problem diagnosed and fixed. As she approached the interchange of I-70 and I-25, she decided that she had best not go any farther west. She took the I-25 South exit ramp, hoping to take the first offramp she could find. Signs for Morrison/Red Rocks were just ahead.
She pondered whether this was the famous Red Rocks known for its renowned amphitheater where the Beatles and Frank Sinatra had once performed. The jagged rust-colored rocks protruded from the ground, resembling the immense wings of a downed jumbo jet, captivated her attention. Cassie’s primary concern, however, was locating a spot to stay for the night, somewhere she could have her car serviced.
Such a place Morrison was not. It was a quaint little town nestled on the shores of Bear Creek. Its narrow streets, quaint shops, and thick greenery instantly reminded her of Havre de Grace, of home. She pulled over to get advice from the locals.
She was given the name of one Irv Grimes, who ran an auto shop on Hwy 285, just south of Tiny Town. After calling ahead so he’d know she was coming, they gave her directions to his place. Mr. Grimes said that he would give her a ride to the Aspen Inn in Conifer. Cassie thanked the man and wife who had helped her and headed on her way.
She checked her notes and sure enough on her left was The Fort, a local restaurant featuring “wild game meats and other exotic regional American specialties,” per its website.
She pulled onto Highway 285 and headed west. She became instantly concerned when she saw the steep climb in elevation. The temperature indicator was now pointing to the right, but the engine warning system hadn’t kicked in. So, she ventured on – looking for the Tiny Town exit. It should have been only two miles ahead. But it seemed like she had gone quite a bit further than that, and still no Tiny Town.
Then all hell broke loose. The engine failure light started flashing, and that annoying, scary dinging sound punctuated the air. She saw steam coming from under the hood. Cassie pulled onto the shoulder as soon as she could safely do so. Before she could turn the key, the engine shut itself off.
For a good minute or two, she just sat there. Suddenly, a flood of tears welled up from somewhere deep inside. Her hands squeezed the steering wheel, with her forehead burrowed in her hands. The smell of burning rubber was nauseating. She heard a tractor-trailer’s air brakes screaming past, in the opposite direction. She looked up to see a small herd of elk grazing in the distance.
She was suddenly startled by a knock on her driver’s side window. She looked at the man, in his dusty overalls, his mouth moving without sound. He motioned for her to power down the window. With the engine dead, she had no choice but to open the door and get out.
“Well, looks like you have a bit of a problem here,” he said, in a light-hearted voice meant to comfort her. He then recognized her apprehension … about him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Name is Jake Leiverson. Live right up there,” pointing to a large log house on the side of the mountain.”
“Uh, I’m Cassie Gilmore.” She watched him fiddle with the front grill.
“Pop the hood! Cassie, is it?”
By the time she nodded her approval, he was doing those silly things that men do under a hood. Craning his neck. Tugging on hoses. Pushing in wires at their connections.
Without asking, Jake bent down, pushed the seat back as far as it would go, and lowered himself into the cockpit.
He turned the key and listened with a tilted ear. “Yep,” he said, as he unfolded out of the car. “I think your cooling fan is shot. My uneducated guess,” he said. Cassie stood there, once again feeling lost, alone, scared, and hopeless. “Irv can fix you up. We’ll give him a call in the morning.”
“Is that Irv Grimes? Some nice folks in Morrison gave me his name. He’s expecting me. But I missed the turnoff, or something.”
Jake pulled his cell phone from his hip pocket. “Irv? Jake. Got that girl here with me with steaming car. Go home. We’ll call you in the morning for a tow.”
He turned to Cassie. “How we do things here in the mountains. Not sure where you’re from. But, around here, everybody knows everyone’s business,” he muttered, wiping his hands on a cloth he had pulled from under a compartment on his ATV. “And then some!”
Cassie still stood frozen on the shoulder of the road.
“Hungry?” Jake asked. “There’s a nice restaurant up in Conifer. Make a great turkey plate. Oh – and as for staying anywhere, you’re welcome to stay at my place. I have a guesthouse with its own private entrance.”
“I don’t know …” Cassie began.
“Oh, of course,” Jake muttered, appreciating the situation. “Where’s my manners? This crazy guy suddenly confronts you on a highway. I get it. Listen, see there?” he said, pointing to a building no more than 100 yards away.
“This is a fire station, and I’m a volunteer firefighter. Come with me. I’ll introduce you to the guys. They’ll vouch for me.” It was occasionally difficult for Cassie to hear Jake, with cars and trucks deafeningly careening by within feet of where they stood.
After accepting assurances, Cassie grabbed her suitcase from the trunk and locked the car, taking one last look behind as she climbed aboard Jake’s ATV. The engine roared to life as Jake shouted, “Hang on!” Cassie found herself enthralled by their short journey up the mountainside. To her right, she looked down on the roof of the firehouse, beyond which structure stood her vehicle on the shoulder of the road, still steaming.
The quarter-mile dirt lane wound through switchbacks that added a sense of anticipation to the air. The thick foliage of towering trees on either side momentarily engulfed her, triggering a fleeting sense of claustrophobia. But that feeling was just as quickly replaced by sentimental emotions as the crisp mountain breeze made her hair dance. For a transitory moment, Cassie was back on her bike, peddling down Strawberry Lane.
Jake turned the ignition key and there was sudden silence. The sound of whining tires from the highway below melded with the reverberating waves of wind that cut through the proud pines towering over Cassie’s head. She thought she heard wind chimes playing in the distance.
As Jake retrieved her suitcase from the ATV’s small trailer, Cassie took an unhurried look around. All apprehension dissipated as the panorama unfolded before her. She marveled at the splendor of the main house, how its log-style grandeur was only magnified by the surrounding nature.
Then there was the front yard with its picturesque water feature – a manmade stream that began at a goldfish pond, meandered under quaint footbridges, and eventually cascaded down the western flank of the house as a stunning and noisy waterfall. The vastness and beauty of the scene swept away any lingering discomfort. Cassie was left in awe of this tranquil paradise to which fate had serendipitously delivered her.
“Well, it ain’t much, but it’s home. This’ll be your crib,” he said, as he stepped onto the redwood porch of the guesthouse.
Opening the door with one arm, he invited her in with the other. “Madame!” Cassie was eager to inspect the interior, wondering whether it was well-appointed or only sparsely furnished.
“Bedroom here. Bathroom here. Bathrobe on the door. Towels in the linen closet. There are heavy blankets in the bed bench. It gets a tad cool here at night. The thermostat’s in the hallway. Feel free to adjust.” She stood there not knowing what to say. “I’ll be in the main house. Just come in when you’re done. No need to knock. I’ll be in the living room shooting pool.”
True to his word, Cassie found him in the living room. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, she peered across five acres and recognized her car in the distance. “Will it be safe there? Overnight?” “Probably. But I’d rather pull it to the side of the station. Irv can get it from there. We can do that on our way to dinner. Jake grabbed his wallet and keys and headed for the barn. He pulled a chain from a wall hook, threw it in the back of his pickup, and they headed down the hill.