In the second installment of The Adventures of Tex and Fed, our unlikely heroes enter the Land of the Murdertrees, though they know it not. They are led, by geographical trickery, away from the safety of less murder-filled trees, and herded toward Cooper Lake, home to the murderiest trees in the Great Northwest…

PART THREE:

Saturday Afternoon- The Way Is Shut

We drove back toward Cooper Lake, and were able to pull all the way into the parking lot above the campsite. We negotiated the trail down, hanging onto trees and posts to maintain our balance. Fed made it okay, and I fell only once. Once at the bottom, we realized that we had found our spot. In the way of all wooded campsites, there were wonderfully spacious clearings amidst the stands of trees, with picnic tabled benches just to the side. Just beyond was a trail leading down to the lake, and another, leading deeper into the woods. On all sides, the trees stood in silent watch over the land, their boughs weighed low by massive loads of snow. A light breeze carried in more, dusting the already prodigious shag carpeting of snow in another fine and powdery layer. We set our things down by the bench, and decided to try the trail down to Cooper Lake.

The lake sat not quite frozen, still and silent in the muffled atmosphere which always accompanies a snowfall. We paused for a moment, allowing the scene to take us in, take us away. In that moment, the lake seemed to lose all scale, and the opposite bank seemed just a quick stroll away. Fed must have read my mind, because he looked back at me and said, “Yeah, I don’t know how frozen that lake is. I don’t think I’m going to try it,” and turned to walk back to our camp. “Come on,” he said, “we better get the tent up.” I lingered for just a moment longer, inching down to the (frozen) water’s edge. I felt as though I’d fallen into a snow globe, and was witnessing the moment just after the shaking had let up. I headed back up the path toward our campsite, looking back once more across the lake.

Saturday Evening- Treebeard’s Revenge

We began preparing our site by tamping down the snow in the roughly the shape of the base of our tent. Once we had a uniform surface upon which to lay our foundation, we unpacked the tent, and got to work assembling it. It had been awhile since my last outdoor adventure, so I wasn’t entirely stunned, but I have to say that what we put together was easily the most complicated yurt with which I’d been involved. We set out the base, and then the tent itself. There were stakes and parachutes, and hooks and latches, and an umbrella-like hood to rest upon the top. Within the first zippered door on either side was a vestibule to house our remaining gear, and behind zippered door number two, the sleeping chamber. When I’d gone camping before, there was just the one room, and one zippered door at the front of the tent. If you were lucky, you might have a window. This was not your average outdoors sleeping experience. This was a tank.

We laid out our bedrolls and sleeping bags, setting up for the night, that we might finish in time for dinner before the day succumbed to darkness just as evening set in shortly after four o’clock. We’d decided that we were going to spend the night, and head back the next day, as the conditions could easily worsen, and it might be nigh impossible to get back if we waited too long. I had just pulled out my supply of granola bars and jerky when Fed announced we’d be eating presently, and that he needed my bottled water. I’d been trying to conserve it throughout the day, having only drunk a .75 liters, and was concerned about running out, but I was assured we’d replenish my supply with melted snowpack, and brought it out to Fed.

His setup appeared better suited to the cooking of questionably legal chemicals than of food, but a chill had begun to set into my bones, and I was happy enough to have something hot to eat and drink. He boiled us each up a pouch of Mediterranean flavored Wild Salmon, and prepared some Coffee Flavored coffee for us to drink. The food and drink did their jobs, and I began to feel something other than the freezing cold for the first time in hours. It was a manly sort of moment, having tamed a small part of nature, and enjoying the spoils of a modern approach to an age old diversion. As we were finishing up our dinner, we noticed that the trees had begun to subtly encroach upon us, and that the beauty which we’d beheld in daylight had become something entirely more sinister.

I mentioned this, and Fed responded that there was a character in DOTA 2 called Rizzrack the Timbersaw, who was terrified of trees. He went on to tell me some of his best responses in the game, usually in reference to his mixed hatred and fear of anything arboreal. I laughed, but secretly believed that Fed was tempting fate. Little did either of us know how true that was.

And then the snow began to fall. Not the light, enjoyable drifting flakes that we’d seen for most of the day, but giant bombs launched down toward the ground, having broken free of their branches’ hold. Closer and closer they came. Suddenly the Timbersaw joke didn’t seem as ludicrous after all.

We finished up and washed out our utensils, making it to the tent just as the light caress of snow fully transmuted into freezing rain. Our trips to opposite ends of the clearing to mark out respective territories were like a tightrope walk on cannon range. Back inside the tent, I attempted to wring out some of my garments that had been dampened in our travels, while Fed set up a marathon of Friends on his iPad for us to enjoy. The light of day had now completely failed, and the Battle For Fed’s Tent had just begun.

To Be Continued….

….. in Part Four. Available now! 

In our last installment, Tex and Fed had just begun their Journey eastward… toward the Murdertrees…

Our Story now continues in:

PART TWO: 

Saturday Morning- Into The Misty Mountains

Not too far out of Issaquah, we began our ascent into the mountains and forestal terrain, and were treated to the sights of snow-laden trees shrouded in silken mist. The Interstate was plowed, but there were patchy areas of slush within the lanes, and long shoulders of crystallized precipitation framing the roadway. Fed glanced over and, noting the concern on my face, said that he didn’t know why the hell I looked stressed out, he was the one who was driving in these conditions. I tried to reassure him that his driving was fine, and that the expression which I wore upon my face was merely that which I wore by default. He turned his attention back to the road, while I tried to appear slightly less terrified.

Were my life or freedom to depend upon apparent sincerity or joyous anticipation, I would soon be left without either. I’ve spent my entire adult life in the Mastery of Snark, and my tone now drips sarcasm no matter what the message. Countless times I’ve been forced into confrontation when uttering something contextually sensitive, and missing it by errant tonal intonations. It’s really hard to convince someone that you’re not mocking them, when the only tone of voice with which you are left is that of biting mockery. Combine that with a face of furrowed brow and permascowl, and everyone simply assumes that you’d rather nothing to do with them, and that you’d prefer that they would leave. At least now, as I get older, I am given the benefit of doubt in that people sometimes assume that they may, in fact, actually be on my lawn.

The freeway soon cleared as we descended, and it was then that Fed laid out his Master Plan: we would drive in to the Salmon La Sac Trailhead, and and hike the trail, setting up camp in the sublime witchery of the Pacific Northwest, and spending two nights in the wilderness that had long been missing during my stay in California. I hoped that I would appear to be excited, but I’m sure only trepidation was conveyed. I was a little nervous about a miles-long slog up a mountainside, as it had been years since I’d done any physical recreation regularly, but I was looking forward to spending some quality time with my best friend, brother by choice, the best man at my wedding. We stopped off for some gas and rocket fuel (an entirely too large can of Monster, purchased primarily for its potential as a resealable ashtray), and a few short minutes later, were back on our way.

Past Rosalyn, we drove, and then on through the town of Ronald (home of The Last Resort, a reportedly underwhelming dining experience). The roads were snowy here, but dry, and our Hybrid Chariot handled had no problem making it past the Sno-Park and onto the Forest Roads.

The driving became more difficult as we departed from paved roadways, and we were grateful to see that snowmobilers had paved grooves into the powdery snow that Fed’s car could more easily traverse. Deeper into the forest we drove, ascending and descending elevations more of an obstacle now, as we attempted the deepest trailhead in. But we were finally stopped by wrong turn and an inability to execute a three-point turn in virgin snow. Stalled sideways in the road, we soon were past by roaming bands of snowmobilers, who offered us assistance and a minimum of taunting. With the strength of three kind-hearted strangers (and the leaning mass of Tex Batmart), we got the Subaru turned around, and headed back toward the Salmon La Sac Campground, where we could park and hit one of three trails at the end of which we would pitch the tent and get ready for the falling night.

Saturday Afternoon- Lost In Mirkwood

Fed parked the car, and I set about to combine the contents of the backpack I’d brought with those in the larger hiking-framed pack that Fed had brought for me. After donning the cold weather gear contained within, I shoved, squeezed, and manhandled my foodstuffs, Moleskine journals, and Digital SLR into the empty spaces of the larger pack, and we set off to see which of the hikes seemed more realistic to attempt. We discounted the more advanced route, as neither of us believed that a man of my advanced eld could manage it, but settled on the intermediary trail as a more viable alternative. I could already feel the increased pressure on my legs and back, but decided that it was probably something that I would just have to deal with and get over. Fed popped on his snowshoes and up the trail we headed.

We walked around and up and down, following a barely visible path alongside moss-hung trees with snow-laden branches, and punctuated by boulders that had seemingly been frozen in their eruptions up from within the very earth, and been blanketed as well, as if to lull them back to sleep and peace. Up and around, a twisting trail through mountain forest glory did we travel. I needed more rest stops than I had earlier anticipated, but the fact is that I was out of shape, with shorter legs, and Fed was fit and healthy, wearing snowshoes. Eventually the trail opened up, and we realized that we had crossed a road. While I took a moment to catch my breath and have a smoke, Fed consulted his iPad, trying to discover if we’s somehow lost the trail, and had crossed onto another.

We decided to continue on, finding a trail just a short distance from the road. It crossed over a small creek, which we forded by judiciously stepping on a stone in the center of the flow. And up the other bank we continued until, from about twenty feet in front of me, I heard, “Son of a bitch. I don’t believe it.”

I scrambled up the remaining distance (more like old man shuffling), and then I saw it as well. We’d walked for couple of hours, trudging (well, I was trudging; Fed was gliding like Legolas o’er Caradhras) through the elements, only to arrive right back to where we’d parked the car. We consulted the trail map again, and couldn’t figure how we lost the trail, but decided that it was now too late to give it another go. Luckily for us, Fed had been prepared with contingency plan in place, should we be unable to attain this route. We would head to Cooper Lake, further back toward Ronald, but still nearly six miles into the wilderness. It didn’t appear that anyone had gone out there, so it looked like we have the whole place to ourselves. We loaded the backpacks into the Subaru, and then ourselves, and drove around the Cul-de-Salmon La Sac, on the way to Cooper Lake.

To Be Continued….

The Adventure Continues tommorrow in Part Three! I know I promised you Murdertrees today, so here is a sneak peek at tomorrow’s terror-inspiring antagonist, The Murdertree:

-Tex

PART ONE:

Sunday Afternoon- Simply Walking To Mordor

I sat alone in the car, watching the sun begin to set around 3 o’clock, and wondered if Fed would return that night. He’d been gone for four hours already, and all I could imagine were the fates which may have befallen him along the 5.6 miles of snowed-in forest road until he could reach the nearest outpost of civilization. I took another sip out of the bottle in which I’d been melting snow, and glanced back the hundred yards toward the bathroom. I decided that if I was going to dare its usage, I would need to go now, as the light would be all but completely gone in another fifteen minutes. Jacket wrapped tightly about me, and scarf nestled snugly around my neck, I climbed out of the car and trudged along the tracks of our failed escape from Cooper Lake. How did we get into this mess? I mused, eyes darting along the treeline for signs of a lupine presence. It seemed like such a good idea on Friday…

Friday Night- An Unexpected Journey

Flor, David, and I had taken the ferry back across the Puget Sound to meet up with my brother and sister-in-law in Seattle to catch up before they took off on their holiday road trip. After a harrowing adventure in the stairwell of their building (which eerily foreshadowed the weekend to come), we decided to grab a bite to eat at the BRGR Bar and talk about the minutiae of our everyday lives, as families separated by time and space are wont to do. It was a short walk to the restaurant, a nice little hole-in-the-wall with amazing hamburgers and laid-back atmosphere. We were seated, placed our orders, and began chatting about our upcoming holiday plans and travels. The last time I had spoken to them, they had intended to leave the following day on their interstate adventure, but had since pushed it back a week. Instead, my brother Fed was heading off into the mountains for a weekend of camping in the breathtaking beauty of the snow-laden Northern Cascades.

A decade ago, I would have jumped in and attempted my own invitation, but I’ve since matured… and married. Adventuresome whims were no longer an option. I voiced my manly consent at his woodsmasculine spirit, and took another sip of my Cider. His betrothed, Inuita, began discussing Christmas arrangements when Fed looked at me and asked, “So, you want to go camping in the mountains with me?” I turned to my wife to ask her permission to abandon her to the care of my family for the weekend while I took off to the deep wilderness for two and a half days of roughing it in freezing temperatures. I anticipated at least some objection, but before my eyes had even locked with hers, she’d said, “You can go.”

“Are you sure?” I asked her in Spanish, “I don’t want to drag you all the way up here, and then just leave, while you’re stuck at home with my family.”

“It’s fine,” she said, “Go. Have fun.”

I was now a little nervous at how easily I’d managed to secure for myself a vacation within in a vacation, and what it might cost me when I returned. “You’re really okay?” I asked again.

“If I wanted to go do something fun, I wouldn’t ask your permission, I’d just go and do it.”

“Really? I mean…”

“Go! Inuita and I will just go and do women things. Like look at men with muscles.”

“Whatever,” I sighed, and took another sip of my Cider. I turned back to Fed. “I’m in.”

We began discussing how woefully unprepared I was to undertake a winter expedition, as I’d only brought clothing appropriate for Seattle weather, not epic slogs through snowbanks to nights spent camping upon mountains. Inuita and Fed had extra gear, however, and as we finished up our meal, we finalized our plans for Saturday, with Tex Batmart being outfitted for survival by his benefactors. It had been a decade and a half since the last time I’d spent an evening out of doors on purpose, and about half that time since Fed and I had hung out for more than just an afternoon. I had permission (and encouragement) from my lovely wife of whom I am most definitely unworthy, and I believe Inuita was at least slightly relieved to send a Red Shirt along on the Away Mission. Fed and I made plans to meet up the following morning under the Viaduct, wished one another Good Evening, and parted company, he and Inuita to their apartment to begin packing for the morning, and myself, my wife, and the Minkey Man returning to the Ferry Terminal, and then on to The Island, where we’d pick up some food for the trip, and I’d attempt to overcome my excitement and get a good night’s sleep. That last part never really came to be.

Saturday Morning- Mist and Shadow

My morning began just shy of 6 a.m., as I gathered up my waterproof backpack filled with camping-appropriate consumables (granola, bottled water, and beef jerky), and willed myself to consciousness. I failed at the latter, but still managed to be ready to leave the house at the same time as my ride, and boarded the 7:05 ferry without incident. I texted Fed, as we’d agreed upon the night before, and let him know that I was on my way, to which he replied that he was running a little behind, and to just go ahead and walk up to his place. I confirmed, then sat back in my seat and sipped my vending machine coffee to watch the lights of Seattle slowly begin to appear through the murky dusk of the miserable predawn morning. It was actually heartachingly beautiful, watching the city of my birth appear in the interstices between the mysticism of magick and the majesty of science, languidly unfurling itself from behind the blinds of fog, and casually coming into existence from within the dream from whence it slumbered.

I could barely contain my excitement as I disembarked the vessel, and began hiking up the inclines of the Emerald City. Here was the adventure for which I’d been longing for years. This was the reason I left work: to live life and write of my survival. Having burned out and run on autopilot for a half-dozen years, I could feel the old me spring suddenly to life. I had no plan, aside from following Fed up a mountain. I remembered the sheer joy of spontaneity, of forgetting to overthink everything, and for a moment, finally living. Upon arriving, I picked up my pack, promised Inuita that we would come back in one piece (well, two…), and walked toward Fed’s car, ready for anything. We loaded up our gear, and headed East, toward the Snoqualmie Pass, leaving behind the worries of banality and facing head-on the promises and possibilities of Tomorrow.

To Be Continued….

In tomorrow’s exciting continuation, our Heroes arrive and the Adventure begins. Also, there are Murdertrees. Oh, so many Murdertrees.

-Tex

Note: This was written in the wee hours of 12/18/14 (with final notation added upon exiting train much later that evening)

After an eventful evening spent waiting for a train that I believed would never come, I find myself hurtling along the California countryside (somewhere near Modesto, if the aromatic bovine bouquet has not misled me), only one hundred and fifty minutes behind schedule. I thought about trying to get some kind of sleep, as it’s almost 2 a.m., and I’ve been awake the better part of today (yesterday, really), but here’s my chance to sit and write without interruption, and that’s a better deal than I’ve had all week at home. Like I mentioned before this vacation was nearly derailed, it has been quite nearly a dozen years since my last interstate journey riding the rails.

When I moved down to California, I left behind a sorrow patterned on self-destruction in the hopes of something better beneath the promise of a sunny sky. I was running away from death, drugs, and my own inner demons into the safety of the unknown. It was the first time in my life that I made a positive investment in my future by rejecting the safety of the devil with which I was all-too-intimately familiar in favor of something which terrified me to my very core: any kind of change whatsoever. My best friend lured me down with palm trees and saved me from myself. I bought a one-way ticket and hoped that I could find happiness in a place called Emeryville.

As I was getting situated this evening, I took a look at the things which I’d brought with me: an iPod Classic, a laptop with a 17.9” HD screen (running Windows 7), a smartphone, a Nikon D40x, and 2 Kindles (one Fire, one regular). I realized that none of these things existed when I’d come to California. It’s sometimes hard to see how fantastic the world has become (probably more accurately: science fictional) over the years, as each advancement is only slightly better than what came before, and the giants leaps are soon buried beneath banality.

In January of 2003, I could not have imagined carrying my entire music library with me on a device smaller than a pack of smokes. Laptops existed, but HD screens (and Blu-Ray drives) did not. In 2004, I owned a Nokia Brick on MetroPCS’ Neighborhood Wide Network, and now I’ve got a tiny little box that works as an internet machine, stereo, V.C.R., camera (still and video), and Dreamcast. I used to have a Pentax in High School (something 5000), and took real photographs (usually in Black and White). Dear Gods, how I would have killed to have a machine like I have now, and it’s seven years old, and was the low-range model. And Kindles. I used to carry three or four books with me at any given time, so as to always have a fresh tale waiting for me should I finish one, or simply need a break. And my Fire is the stuff of Star Trek: The Next Generation.

I moved to California, and wound up living in the future.

Once again, I find I’m on a train running the length of the West Coast, running from where I’m at, on the back of a one-way ticket. My life is in flux. I’ve seen what I can do in the Golden State, and wonder how the Emerald City might treat me upon my return. I’m burned out on restaurants and Niners fans and the lack of rain, and with it, the camaraderie that a common enemy provides. I’m not sure Seattle is where I want to hang my hat forever, as Mexico still sweetly whispers me her promises of happiness and glory, but I’m fairly certain that my time in the San Francisco Bay Area has come, mercifully, to an end.

I want something better for my family than I am able to provide in Not-Quite Richmond, CA. I want my son to actually receive an education at an institution that hasn’t failed its students so profoundly for so very long, that its parents have the right to move their children to any other school AT NO COST TO THE PARENTS. Unfortunately, this problem is so endemic, that there is waiting list to transfer to even the marginally better schools. Meanwhile my son is languishing in a classroom where I have to beg his teacher to speak to me in Spanish because her accent is so thick I cannot otherwise understand her. And because my wife registered our son, they listed Spanish as his Primary Language, and popped in an ESL class faster than the District could throw money at them. Despite informing them that he’s been exposed to English since before his birth, and is as fluent as any 2^nd Grader might hope to be, they refuse to put him back in a standard Language Arts class, because that would mean they’d forfeit all that sweet, sweet money.

But the move would be yet another step further away from her family for my wife. She likes her in-laws, and they like her, but at least California is adjacent to Mexico, and Washington, however beautiful and majestic, is geographically in the entirely wrong direction. I think I could convince her, were I not so eager myself to explore a land unknown to me, to move up to my home state if she were able to vacation in Zumpango. The process is drawn out and I frequently feel that the lawyers are just messing with us and pocketing our cash. It’s frustrating at best. My wife has come to love my family like they were her own, but it’s still a poor substitute for laying eyes upon parents she’s not seen in over a decade.

When she came here it was to fix a family problem and then leave; she never had any intention of falling in love with some dirty gringo and having another child seventeen years after her first. But we found one another, both lost and looking for someone with whom we could argue. I look over at her sleeping form and smile. She is so beautiful when she sleeps.

We pulled into King Street Station in Seattle a little after 10pm. We’re only an hour and a half late. Time to walk down to the ferry in the pouring rain and head over to The Island for a couple of weeks.

-Tex

Stay tuned tomorrow for The Adventures of Tex and Fed in The Land of The Murdertrees

I am going on an Unexpected Journey. I will return in a couple of days, with my musings from the train, and a chronicle of my adventures over this weekend.

-Tex

We’ve got about an hour to kill, as we wait here in Martinez for the train up to Seattle. Both my wife and son are fast asleep, as it’s long past their bedtimes. I myself would love to take a little nap, but I really don’t want to have to wait until almost 11pm tomorrow night, should we miss our train. So I guess I need to think of something to keep my mind occupied, and do enough smoking to last me until the morning.

I wish I could board a train and find at least one car dedicated to tobacco usage. It would be nice. And you could deal with the issue of second-hand smoke by opening up the connections between cars. Just have some sort of ventilation in the (now accurately named) breezeway.

The last time I took a train along this line was two weeks shy of twelve years ago. I was on my way to move in with my best friend due to promises of palm trees. It was in the high 30’s and rainy when I left Seattle, and 60 or 70 and sunny when I arrived in Emeryville.

UPDATE: Our train has been delayed due to some nonsense further down the line. There’s no E.T.A. until the situation us resolved. This basically puts us in an uncomfortable position: The train either needs to get here by 2:45am tomorrow, or not get here until around 7am. Anything in between and we’re going to be stuck in downtown Seattle waiting for the ferries to start running again. Might be time for that nap, after all.

It started raining down here about an hour ago. Looks like the transition to the Great Northwest will be easier than anticipated. Looking outside, I am struck by how positively homesick I’ve become. Just another 27 and a half hours until I arrive in the Land of my Birth.

In about sixteen and a half hours, we’ll be getting on a train and heading up to Seattle for the holidays. My wife is on vacation, and we’re pulling David out of school a couple of days early. I can’t really ever sleep before traveling, so today is going to drag on a bit..

My laptop is packed already, so I won’t be able to do a proper post until about 11pm tonight. To make up for this, I’ll try and post a series of bite-sized morsels leading up to the beginning of our journey.

I, of course, am fully packed. My two companions have yet to do likewise. Probably it has more to do with exhaustion than a dearth of excitement. David is getting over his fever, and Flor had been working herself to death, trying to get everything perfect for our grandson’s 2nd Birthday Extravaganza (although, to be fair, compared to last year, his party is almost entirely reasonable).

I have to run out and do a couple things that I’ve been putting off, as I won’t be back until 2015. Still, I’m pretty sure I can take a nap, both at home this afternoon, and once again this evening after we change trains.

-Tex

…and the only prescription is a couple of aspirin and bed rest.

We were called by the school today to go get the Monkey because he wasn’t feeling well. When we got there, we was curled up in the Nurse’s Office, peeking toward the door, waiting for us to arrive. He was just a little ball of feelin’ icky: Fever, sore throat, nausea. We brought him home, and laid him down in bed to watch Phineas and Ferb as he drifted off to sleep, cuddling up and telling him that he would be okay. Of course, this evening, my wife and I are feeling just about the same, so now it’s about trying to get better before visiting my grandparents.

So we’ll be taking a couple sick days, here at The Vaults.

-Tex

Good morning, everybody!

I’m still working on something that I think is topical, possibly worth reading, and considering the subject matter, I’m trying to get it right. My hope is to have it up mid-week, which will allow me to finish writing it, and discuss it with my editor.

Today the Seattle Seahawks host the San Francisco 49ers for what promises to be an exciting match of Sportsball at 1:25 this afternoon (Pacific). If you are into that sort of thing, I recommend tuning into the broadcast, as it’s likely to be a prime example of sports-like things.

In other news: The Vaults Of Uncle Walt will be travelling to Seattle soon, so expect a clever travelogue as we make our way Up North. I can never sleep before I travel, so my ramblings will most likely be disjointed and sarcastic. So, you know, my usual stuff.

Have a great Sunday, and I’ll see all of you back here tomorrow!

-Tex