Lost Chance (1) On Friday night, a little after sunset, Chris and Laura drove along the freeway climbing the Sierra Nevada’s Donner’s Pass. There was scant soil for trees on the exposed high mountain bed rock and their little car struggled valiantly up the steep grade. After they reached the summit they drove some miles before Chris turned right onto highway 20 before reaching Emigrants Gap. They were going northwest for a short cut on their way back home to Seattle. Highway 20 led them down into a valley and then the road began to climb again. His hands gripped the wheel as he drove the red car on the blacktop between the green trees. He was getting dizzy from the constantly passing scenery. With all of the driving he had done that day he felt as if he had been in this position behind the wheel for most of his life. Under the music of the classic rock and roll radio station they could hear the noise of the engine and the hum of the tires. It was one of the few radio stations that they could get in this isolated area that was so high in elevation as to be uninhabitable for most people. Chris would have preferred to listen to more modern and unfamiliar music but that was the least of his worries right now. Chris passed his hand through his short black wavy hair. "I don't think the car's going to make it girl," he said to his wife trying to break the bad news gently. “Looks like we’re gonna run out of gas.” Laura’s old Ford Fiesta, being a small four cylinder car, usually got good gas mileage but they had waited to long too refill it. Originally he had wanted to take his classic Cadillac on this trip but he was having trouble with the radiator and did not want to chance overheating the car and have a breakdown. Besides, with the high price of gas, the Fiesta seemed like the better choice for the long trip to Reno and back. The two lane highway leveled out and they drove across a mountain ridge meandering along the natural contours. For miles they saw nothing but the dark outlines of tall pine trees on the side of the mountain road. "Well what are we going to do?” Laura demanded. Chris looked over at her, even her straight long blonde hair seemed to quiver in anger. “It’s more than twenty miles to the nearest town!” She looked out into the dark and could still make out trees on the sides of the road. Once in a while she could see a disconcerting view of blackness between the trees as if the earth had disappeared which gave her the impression that they were driving right on the edge of a huge bluff. She continued sullenly, “We should have gotten gas in Truckee like I said.” He hated the feeling that he could do nothing right. “I didn’t know that there wouldn’t be any more gas stations between there and Nevada City, I’ve never been this way before,” he answered defensively. “All of this driving up and down mountains used more gas than I thought it would.” He could tell she was getting tired and cranky. She did not like car trips that much and she did not like driving at night. "I don't know what we're going to do but I don’t think the car is gonna make it for another twenty miles and its getting late." "Well... look, there's a sign on that side road. Lost Chance, historic gold mining town, food, gas and lodging, six miles. Wanna try it?" she asked. "Might as well," he answered feeling desperate. He slowed down and cautiously turned onto the side road which started out gently enough, twisting around the forested area as they passed an occasional cabin. Then the road started to go downhill. "What's that sign say up ahead Laura?" "Steep grade ahead, use low gear. Chris, maybe we shouldn't..." "Oh, we have brakes, if nothing else." They could see the road ahead of them going steeply down the ridge until it disappeared from view around a sharp turn. The music on the radio began to fade and turn into static. Chris said, "I don't think this grade's too long. It'll probably end round the next corner." “I don’t know,” she answered looking out into the blackness. She did not seeing a light or hint of a town. The grade did not end around the next corner or the next or the next ten for that matter. The sheer drop off on one side and the rock wall on the other made the going one way, down. The radio broadcast only static and Chris irritatedly punched the off button. The engine made a loud whining sound as if it was overstressed. "Chris, please slow down a little." "It's not me, it's the car Laura." “Just slow down!” He trod heavily on the brake peddle and jammed the transmission into first gear. Even so the transmission kept winding out at top speed and he had to brake again and again. His worrying was palpable as he kept involuntarily looking down at the gas gage that read empty. “There better be something down here,” he said sounding angry. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a giant quartz boulder perched on the right side of the road. They continued down the steep gradient and soon they saw a little white cement bridge crossing a creek in the middle of the sharpest curve yet. They whipped around the hairpin corner and then the road was not so inclined and the curves were not as sharp as they paralleled a creek. Chris shifted into a higher gear and they drove a few more miles. "Look, there's the town,” she said excitedly pointing at the lights down the street. "Yeah, we might be able to make it." Even as he said it the engine died and they coasted in neutral for awhile. At the edge of town he pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped and engaged the emergency brake. They breathed a sigh of relief and then took their first look at Lost Chance. They had parked on the right side of the road next to a small grassy triangle with a picnic table in the middle. Beyond that was a field and then an old wooden rooming house. Across the street on their left they could see a tiny cemetery and down the street a little house, then a small red store. Farther down the street there was an old fashioned two story wood hotel with a corrugated metal roof and a few other smaller buildings. Chris realized that his hands were still griping the steering wheel and his fingers were tightly bent. He forced his arms to leave the steering position that they had been holding for hours and he opened and closed his hands trying to loosen up his fingers. They got out of the car, Chris slammed the door shut and thought it sounded crisper in the mountain air. It was dark and hot, they could hear rushing water in the distance and the crickets that were nearby. There was a kind of overwhelming peacefulness like the town was near dead. They began ambling toward the store, stretching their legs and breathing in the mountain air. They quickly found that the store was closed and the gas pumps locked. “Well it is about nine pm,” said Chris. Laura examined a tree in front of the store. “Acacia I think,” she said. They walked down to the hotel and noticed that across the street there was an ancient looking blockhouse made of round river stones with huge metal shutters over the windows and a heavy metal door. They went in the front door of the hotel to inquire about a room. There was nothing but a hallway that led to a small empty dining room on the left. Trying to find the hotel lobby they turned right at the end of the hall and walked into a rustic bar from the rear entrance. Chris immediately noticed the noise of their foot steps on the wood floor and pictured gunfighters in the old west. The conversation in the saloon stopped and two of the three guys at the bar looked at them. The female bartender inquired, “Can I help you?” “Is it too late to get a room?” Laura asked apologetically. “Our car ran out of gas and it looks like we might need to spend the night here,” added Chris feeling awestruck by the bartender’s vitality. “Yeah, I can get you a room,” said the bartender cheerily. She reached down under the bar and got a key. She led them out of the bar and they followed her up the old stairs. Laura noticed the bartenders’ jeans, pastel shirt, brown hair and skin, a colorful belt and boots, a scarf around her neck and one around her head; she looked like a cross between a pirate and a gypsy. The bartender opened a room that was newly furnished in an old fashioned décor with a bordello like pink wall paper embossed with red velvet. “Will this do?” she asked hopefully. “Yes, it’s quite nice,” said Laura. “There is only one tub in the hotel but you can get a shower at the Never Rest campground if you want to do that. My name’s Cathy if you need anything.” Chris and Laura walked back to the car, picked up their suitcases and then walked back to the hotel. With the room secured and their luggage moved in they had a little time on their hands. “Let’s go to the bar and have a drink to celebrate not being stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere,” said Laura. They walked back downstairs and sat down at the old wooden bar that had a railing along the floor. The jukebox played a mixture of old rock and roll and country western music. The three guys at the bar all had that rugged mountain man appearance, looking older than their age or rightful time. Their clothes were practical and somewhat dirty. Their steel toed boots were heavy, unpolished and scuffed. Chris felt out of place in his city clothes. “What can I get you for?” asked Cathy. “I’d like a margarita,” said Laura. “I’ll have a daiquiri,” said Chris. “Coming right up. Let me introduce you to the guys. This here is Cal.” The guy on the first stool was rangy and thin with ragged long brown hair, a shaggy beard, just under six feet tall, wearing dusty denim pants and a plaid shirt and he was missing teeth. “Yeah hi,” Calvin said while laughing. “Moran.” Moran, over six feet tall, broad shoulders, squared nose, blue eyes, sincere smile, slouched with his back on the bar while he sat on the stool with his feet on the floor as if reclining. He had a rough ruddy red completion, a trimmed beard and mustache. He wore a bandana around his head and long unruly red hair hung down below his miner’s hard hat. His skinny arms were sticking out of a sleeveless tee shirt and he had thick dust on him and a dirty face like he had been working in a dirty environment. He nodded his head toward them. “Howdy,” he said perfunctorily and flashed a perfect smile. “Spike.” The guy with the toothless smile and brown eyes was six feet tall. He seemed to be the oldest person there. He had shiny graying long brown hair, no beard but a couple of day’s growth of graying whiskers, a lined forehead and he seemed to be standoffish. He was wearing black jeans, an old blue dress shirt unbuttoned at the top. He looked at them, waved his hand and then looked away and did not say anything as if he were uninterested. Cathy gave Chris and Laura their drinks. Just to make conversation Chris said, “I thought I saw a giant white boulder on the side of the road as we were coming down here.” “That’s Quartz rock,” said Cathy as if that explained everything. “What’s there to do here,” asked Chris. “Go swimming, walk down to fern cave,” said Cathy. She turned away and started washing glasses. Moran asked Laura, “Have you ever been here before?” “No,” Laura answered. “You might like it here it’s peaceful and quiet.” Chris left his drink on the bar and got up and looked around the room while Laura continued to make small talk with Moran. He saw a plaque on the wall and read it. Lost Chance is a town on the south fork of the Yuba River first settled during the gold rush of 1849 by men going over Donner’s Pass. In those days there was no road over the pass so horses and wagons were hoisted up the granite cliffs by rope. Most people took Emigrant Gap to San Francisco, but a few went northwest and never made it any farther then where you are now. At first Lost Chance wasn't a big place, just a few cabins and a long steep dirt road almost six miles long and dropping more than 2,000 feet. In 1850 gold was discovered! A man named John Bearly, better known for having a still, brought several large nuggets into town one day claiming that he had found a large vein of gold. While celebrating with a woman of easy virtues that night he died, apparently of a heart attack, and his gold nuggets disappeared. His strike, suspected to be near Poor Man’s Creek, was never found and was dubbed the Lost Chance Mine and that was how the town got its name. One half year later the town was occupied by over a thousand people, seven hotels, three bars, a livery stable and the other buildings that made a western town. In 1868 the gold petered out and so did the population. In 1869 a large forest fire wiped out all but a few stone buildings, the hotel, the store, the rooming house and a small schoolhouse. By 1870 Lost Chance almost became a ghost town and there were more Chinese in residence than whites. A lumber company came in1930 and they built a saw mill and a few houses for the workers. They bought the store, hotel and rooming house, built the bar and a cafe in the hotel and put gas pumps in front of the store. Then they paved the road going up the grade. They were in business for thirty years and then the saw mill burned down and half the forest with it. The town dwindled again. The stone building across the street from the hotel is one of the oldest surviving buildings from the California gold rush era. Chris sat back at the bar and nursed his drink. “How you doin?” Calvin asked with a toothy smile. “Ok.” “So what do you think of the place?” “Haven’t been here very long.” “It’ll grow on you,” Calvin said. “Did this Bearly guy exist?” asked Chris. “Yep. Had a claim up on Poor Man’s Creek up by where Moran has his claim,” Calvin said and Moran looked displeased. “Find Bearly’s mine yet?” Calvin needled Moran. “That thing don’t exist,” Moran dismissed Calvin’s question. “You’ve looked for it?” asked Laura. “Lots of people have,” Moran answered. “Moran brought in a big nugget after the last flood,” said Calvin wistfully. Moran looked like this was proprietary knowledge. “Ya found Bearly’s mine, didn’t ya, didn’t ya,” Calvin provoked Moran. “That joke’s getting old,” Moran said grouchily. “I found the nugget on the river bed.” “My mom says everyone has a bit of gold bug in them,” said Cathy. “Like uranium and lead are poisons to the body, gold is a poison to the soul,” said Spike. “Are you always such an upper?” asked Moran. “No, sometimes I’m feeling down,” said Spike. “You know the earth is in trouble, all the frogs are dying.” “Mercury from the creeks that run out of the mines killed the frogs,” said Calvin. “It’s the thinning of the ozone,” said Chris. “It’s not just here, frogs are dying everywhere in the world.” “We’re in the middle of a mass extinction,” said Laura. “It’s been going on for 3,000 years.” “We could be eliminated the same as the frogs.” Spike says, “Things are changing, the old world is retreating at light speed, people feel as if they are going crazy.” Chris thought, ‘He’s saying that he’s going crazy. What was that thing his father used to say? Something like, “Listen to the poor, the weak and inarticulate for they too have their story, for they too have their truth”.’ Then he asked Spike, “Why do you live here?” “Had to get away from that world with cell phones,” Spike told him. “Don’t need to be tied to the net 24/7. Anyway all the signs are pointing toward the end, this is as good of a place to be when it all comes down.” “Do you think the world is going to end?” Chris asked feeling ludicrous. “I feel it hard to believe that the earth will be destroyed as long as there is one good person alive,” said Laura. “That’s because you’re a sweet little lady,” said Moran and Laura blushed. “Most people would rather not know why it’s all so fucked up,” pronounced Spike. “We have the highest technology on the planet and we keep most of it hidden because we want to use it for the military. When we put weapons in space it tells the world that we seek total control of the planet.” “I don’t put a lot of stock in those things,” said Moran. “Surely we can solve all these problems,” said Laura. “The politicians don’t want to solve problems, it’s not in their best interest,” said Spike. “Politicians are not scientists so they will deny the scientific proof of global warming. They deny that there is class warfare which is basically the rich constantly exploiting the poor because they are rich and don’t see things from a poor persons view point. It’s fear that gets them elected.” “You think everything’s a conspiracy,” said Moran. “History is the record of the wars between secret societies,” Spike said eruditely. A guy walked in the front door. Calvin did the introductions. “Chris and Laura, this is Turtle…” “Hi,” said Turtle. “Hi,” responded Chris. “How are you doing?” Turtle asked. “We’re doing fine,” answered Laura. Turtle got a drink and wandered away. He seemed to be a simple minded soul and Chris wondered how he survived. Chris did not want another drink, the alcohol was making him feel heavy, woozy and depressed and this made him feel vulnerable among these strangers. “Do you want to go?” he asked Laura and she nodded her assent. He patted her butt as they walked up the stairs. She giggled and pushed his hand away. They did not make love because they felt the walls were to thin. Saturday AM Chris and Laura got up late on Saturday morning. “We need to do laundry soon,” said Chris. “This is my last set of clean clothes.” “We better go eat breakfast before they close the kitchen,” said Laura. They walked to the small dining room. The coffee tasted like diesel fuel and Chris felt all wired up with no place to go. Laura took the old claw foot bath tub in the hotel and Chris walked up the street and took a look at the Fiesta. Then he made a right turn past the cemetery and looked over the short fence and read some tombstone dates. Along the way to the campground shower Chris examined the dusty black berries on the side of the road with desire. The berries were ripe but much too dusty to eat. He wondered if he could take them to the river and wash them but he did not know if the water was clean enough. He picked a few berries and took them to the shower in his towel. In the shower room there was a coin box on the wall. He put in a quarter and the shower started. He unfolded his towel, it was stained with berry juice. He washed the berries as he showered and ate them. Trying to extend his shower Chris put another quarter in the coin box but it jammed and the water turned off. After drying, shaving, brushing his teeth he put his clean clothes on. Chris left the shower room and walked over to look at the swift river where it ran along the edge of the near deserted campground. There was a pool in the river that looked ideal for swimming. Across the river the steep ascent of a mountain began. A young cat standing amid the rocks meowed at him loudly. “Are you hungry?” Chris asked. The cat walked over toward him and sat a far enough distance from him to run if it wanted to. To Chris it appeared to be a starving and abandoned animal, he felt sorry for it. It looked at him as if saying ‘you see my plight’. “Stay here,” Chris said and the cat seemed to listen intently. “I’ll go get you some food.” Chris thought it might be shorter to walk up the river to buy cat food from the red store than to take the road. He walked past new cabins built along the rivers edge. Once past the campground there were no paths along the river but there were lots of big round rocks. He slowly climbed up and down each rounded boulder. He stopped to look into an old mine shaft that had red water flowing out of it. Saturday PM It was already early afternoon and Laura sat on the bench in front of the hotel burning up. The mountain atmosphere was much too hot and dry for a person suited to the cooler climate of the state of Washington. Laura waved to Cathy as she drove down the street in her VW bug and Cathy pulled over and stopped next to her.
Copyright © 2007 Michael Potter |