Chapter 2: The Drive
The Humbling River
As Ryan headed down the driveway, he stopped by the woodpile and threw on a jag of wood. Maple, cherry, and beech would heat the cabin well. Probably to the point that the front door would need to be open. It was common for Ryan to have a fire roaring in the wood stove. The flames licking hungrily against the grain of the wood. Lindsey hated the heat. Supposedly, 80 degrees was too hot in the house. Ryan disagreed with her but did agree that 90 degrees was too much. It proved a valuable lesson in properly handling the wood stove he had installed in his house. Nothing could ever beat a wood fire, and Ryan looked forward to cooking on the wood stove at camp. The canned venison from last year would cook perfectly on the stove while Ryan walked through the brush behind camp.
After the wood was thrown onto the back of the truck, Ryan headed towards town. The town was slightly busy, but he was able to quickly get to the liquor store off the main street for the last provisions of his getaway. He bought a case of Dr. McGillicuddy’s Cherry. If the wood stove didn’t warm him, then the good doctor would. He had a friend who always said the good doctor had the cheapest copay in the county.
After his purchase, he set off on Route 812 and merged onto Route 3 after more than 30 minutes. Before making it to Route 3, he debated stopping at the local butcher for some ringed bologna. The truck was already full of food, and the well-known bologna was a luxury rather than a necessity.
Ryan faintly reflected on growing up and eating bologna sandwiches with butter. It was a mouth-watering experience that filled the ravenous void in his stomach during many days cutting wood or sawing lumber with his father and grandfather. There is a reason people label memories the good ole days, and those long-forgotten days definitely fell into that category. Needless to say, he stopped for some ringed bologna.
Before long Ryan was driving on dirt roads in the Adirondack backwoods. His hunting cabin was a couple of miles from a paved road off the main road. Getting lost in the area was easy as everything blended together after a while. However, Ryan could find his way with his eyes closed. It was as natural to him as playing an instrument after years of playing. All those early morning trips to hunt with his dad engrained the minute details of the trip into his mind. Each turn was instant recognition that fired across every synapse. A modest cabin with a front porch that sagged in the middle stood out of the mix of hardwoods and evergreens. This type of cabin was portrayed in hundreds of artworks alluding to the Adirondack region.
Ryan pulled up in front of the cabin and stepped out of the truck into the brisk autumn day. The silence was deafening, yet the ill feelings and stress left his body almost immediately. The air was crisp and tinged with the scent of pine and wet earth. He was instantly reminded of a thousand memories all tied together by that odor, and it was magnificent. True peace existed, and this was where it resided. Ryan hoped it would eventually raid his body, dispelling all negative thoughts and the darkness residing currently with him.