The trailhead was a rock filled parking lot next to a large wooden
sign that warned about what to do if you came across a black bear.
After a little evaluation, they each made a mental note to avoid
black bears altogether. It just seemed easier. The Sable was
covered in traveling dust and the engine made its comforting
mechanical clicking as it cooled. Dom was busy pulling out packs
and other gear from the trunk and arranging them into organized
rows along the grass next to the trail. To each pack was divvied
the essentials and communal food, first-aid kits, maps and fire
starters. With each item he wrote a tiny, precise check mark in his
moleskine journal. Paul had wandered off into the woods to relieve
himself of whatever toxins were left over from the club the night
before. Behind a rustling bush, muted curses carried their way back
to the car.
Mike’s cellphone rang a generic tone. He stopped tying his boots
for a minute to glance at the caller ID before silencing it and
slipping it back into his jeans. Jeff thought his brow furrowed
a little more than before.
“I think the last time I wore these, we were still in scouts,” Mike
said, looking down at his boots.
“The Philmont trip?” Dom asked.
“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve been in the woods since. Long overdue,
eh?” There was a grunting agreement from Jeff and Dom and some
nodding from Paul as he rejoined them. Jeff didn’t mention the
camping that he’d done with her.
Dom was running back through his checklist again, making sure
everything was in precise order, just like how he used to arrange
the sugar packets on the diner tables into neat little rows. Some
habits don’t die, they just grow up. Paul fished around in the back
of the car gathering up the last of the junk food and tossing it in
a heap over Dom’s careful work. Dom glowered and Paul shot him
a carefree grin that was his stock and trade. Jeff pulled out his
phone and checked the time (late), checked for voicemail (none),
and ran through his email (spam). On habit, he started to run
through the cycle again.
“It’ll be there when we get back,” Paul said, still holding that
toothy smile. Jeff left out a breath he didn’t realize he was
holding, glanced back at his phone and very purposefully held down
the power button. A red spinning icon and the saddest of all phone
chimes informed the universe that tethers to the infinite world of
technology were being severed. Techies beware.
They all looked at each other for a long moment. “I didn’t think it
would be that hard,” Jeff admitted. He added a nervous chuckle and
spared one last glance down at his phone, then stuffed it into
a dry bag with the others. “Think we’ll need these?”
“Better to have it and not need it...” Mike squeaked it mockingly,
though his attention seemed elsewhere. He hooked a big bowie knife
onto his belt loop and it gave Jeff the strange impression that
Mike had been talking about it and not the phones.
