Walt-Con, Part I. An encounter in the woods

The Trail in Daylight

My Dirtbike, Walt

I didn't mention this last night, for it's taken a bit for me to process, but I went for a ride in the mountains on my dirt-bike, Walt.  I couldn't go to sleep because I kept thinking of Vaughn, wondering what the hell he's up to.  So, I guess it was about 2:00 a.m. when I painfully hoisted my leg over Walt's seat.  A little arthritis goes a really long way and tends to stop me short.

It was an incredibly dark night.  While a full moon shone at my campsite, the trees devoured its light here.  About five miles along the trail, I saw the glow from what looked to be an enormous fire.  I slowed.  This place is way back in the boonies, so I was a little concerned.   I wasn't sure who could possibly be out there, for I've explored enough to know that there aren't any paths except this one.  I also know survivalists tend to head to the backwoods and how dangerous they can be.  At least that's what I've heard.  Or I thought it might be some kind of coven.  I shivered with fear, excitement, and pure stupidity.

There was no disguising my presence; that little bike makes a lot of noise, which would annoy me if I weren't the one riding it.  And I suppose I could have turned back, but I couldn't help myself, no more than I can stop myself from opening an editor's e-mail about a recently submitted (that means within two years) manuscript.  Powerless.  Simply powerless.

I walked Walt slowly and silently toward the fire and saw about 15 men and women gathered in a tight circle.  They looked fairly harmless, but I couldn't be sure.  They were laughing, and each person had a book in one hand, and a can of what looked to be Rainier Beer in the other. Books say a lot about people, which is why I generally stay away from people who read Anne Coulter. They also had a magnificent Rainier sign.  Well, if they drank Walt's favorite beer, they couldn't be too bad.  And then I saw their banner, "WALT-CON" in letters that were five feet tall. Walt-Con?  What could that be?  It couldn't possibly have anything to do with my beloved Walt.  Or could it?  I know life can be weirdly, wildly, and wonderfully serendipitous (or not), but but this would be like Oedipus meeting his destiny.  

A general hum of conversation arose from the gathering.  A couple of women were flapping their arms in excitement.  Three men appeared to be playing drinking games.  A woman approached them and held up her beer.  The men became silent as she began a toast:

Here's to lying, stealing, cheating, and drinking!

        (They shouted their agreement and drank)

If you're gonna lie, lie to  save a friend!

        (The men drank.  They were taking this very seriously)

If you're gonna steal, steal a man's heart!

       (The men shifted uncomfortably and notably didn't drink)

If you're gonna cheat, cheat death!

        (The men stood and cheered and drank)

And if you're gonna drink, drink we me!

        (At which point everyone who had a beer in hand (which was everyone) shouted and swallowed what was left of their beer)

This was promising, so I took my copy of The Cold Dish out of my backpack and cautiously approached them.  My book seemed like a pretty good choice for this group and a handy icebreaker.


Continued in next installment