EZRA AND IKE ON THE ROAD - PART TWO By Tim Wintermute

Continued from Part One

Ezra dreamt he was Lazarus only there were no Mary and Martha to ask Jesus to bring him back to life and he lay there in his tomb wrapped in a shroud. Opening his eyes he saw that he was indeed in a dimly lit confined space. Wiggling his limbs they felt like he was bound from head to toe. Managing to squeeze out of the shroud, Ezra slowly got up and did a stiff legged mummy walk to what looked like a door.  He reached out and then hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t a nightmare and he had really died and if so that meant … He pushed open the door and was enveloped by brilliant, white light. As he stood, stunned, he heard a voice.

“Back from the dead.”

“Dead?”

“You were dead to the world,” Ike laughed. “All zipped up head to foot in that mummy sleeping bag of yours.”

“Mummy … sleeping bag,” Ezra mumbled.  Shielding his eyes from the morning sunlight with his right hand he saw Ike sitting at a picnic table. He hadn’t noticed the picnic table the night before when they pulled into the spot in the campground just outside Crested Butte.  That was after listening to Johnny, the hitchhiker they’d picked up, perform his rendition of This Land is Your Land at a bar that Ezra would normally not be caught dead in. It had been well past his usual bedtime of 9 PM, which probably contributed to his oversleeping. That and drinking a couple of beers at nine thousand feet. 

“I’ll tell you I could never sleep in the kind of sleeping bag you have. Too constricting. Guess that’s why it’s called a mummy bag. I thought you’d wake up when you smelled the coffee I made but it didn’t work, so just grab the mug on the kitchen counter that I bought especially for our trip.”

Ezra went back inside where he changed into khakis and a blue polo shirt then using the small sink in the tiny bathroom, he splashed water on his face and then, adhering to his morning ritual, he brushed his teeth then picked up the new, sparkling white coffee mug with a picture of the Seattle Space Needle on it.  Ezra wondered how stained and chipped it would be by the time they reached Seattle, then picked it up and walked outside and sat down at the picnic table opposite Ike. Spread between them was a map of Colorado. 

“I’ve been looking at the map and was thinking that we might want to head this way on what they call the Silver Thread Highway that follows the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River,” Ike said tracing the proposed route with his right index finger. 

“Why do they call it that?”

Ike tapped an open book on the table. “According to this book on Colorado that was in that little library you brought with you,” he said, referring to the half dozen travel books that Ezra had purchased for their trip, “It got that name because they built it to haul the gold and silver from the mines around there. First it was for wagons then they replaced it with tracks for the Denver and Rio Grande railroad. When the mines were played out they tore up the tracks and it became a highway. It goes through Lake City and then over Slumgullion Pass. Who knows it could be the high point of our trip. What do you think?”   

“I think I’ll go sit on that boulder next to the stream over there and pray,” Ezra said and got up from the picnic table.”

“You need to pray on whether we should go that way?”

“I pray every morning for direction, although not geographic.  I’m fine with the route you suggested.”

“Maybe you can ask God if he’ll help us get over Slumgullion Pass towing a trailer.”

“Praying for something like that can be a slippery slope, Ike.”  

“Since it’s the steepest road over a pass in Colorado maybe you can at least pray that we don’t run into a freak snowstorm while we’re going over it or we could be sliding down the mountain.”

When he could see that Ezra was in a quandary over how to respond, Ike pulled a medal on a slender chain from underneath his shirt, “Heck, I just remembered I’ve got my Saint Christopher so you don’t have to mention it to God.”

Ezra was about to tell Ike that the Catholic Church had never made St. Christopher an official saint because there was no proof that he had ever existed, but decided that was another slippery slope.

As it turned out Ezra didn’t pray for any direction.  Instead, he spent the time listening.  He heard the bubbling creek that flowed by beneath the boulder, the aspen quaking in the breeze, birds chirping and critters rustling in the bushes.  Ten minutes later Ezra returned to the campsite.  Instead of a full breakfast they each had a slice of wheat bread slathered with peanut butter and strawberry jam. They stowed everything in the Airmadillo, which was what they called the trailer because it looked like a cross between an Airstream trailer and an Armadillo.  Then they got in the pickup and with Ike once again at the wheel and Ezra in the passenger seat with the map in his lap, they pulled out of the campground.

In less than an hour they turned south onto the Silver Thread.  It was a bright, clear day with the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River sparkling and dancing in the sunlight beside them. After an hour of driving, a large sign announced that they were ten miles from Historic Lake City, Founded in1874. “Does that book of yours say anything about Lake City?”

Ezra picked up the book that was on the floor. “Lake City was founded in 1874.  Its population is 432 and its elevation is 8,673 feet.”  

“In other words, Lake City has twenty times the number of feet as it has butts,” Ike laughed.

Ignoring Ike’s joke, Ezra continued reading. “It’s the county seat of Hinsdale County, whose population today is only 800. However, in the 1870’s when they discovered gold and silver the population swelled to more than 5,000.  Its biggest claim to fame, or maybe infamy is a better word, is that in 1875 Alfred Packer was charged with murder and cannibalism.  He and the five prospectors he was guiding were snowed in at the foot of Slumgullion Pass and he was the only survivor.  When he showed up in town in the Spring he seemed to be pretty well fed for someone whose companions had all starved to death.  A search party found the bodies of the prospectors and they showed signs of cannibalism. He was convicted of murder and sentenced to hang, but then the Colorado Supreme Court reversed the conviction and he was released.” Ezra put the book down.  “I guess eating someone doesn’t mean you killed them.”

Ike groaned, “I was thinking that Lake City would be a good place to stop for lunch, but I’ve changed my mind after what you just read.”

“We’re in luck,” Ezra said and then read a roadside sign just ahead, “Linger Lodge one mile” followed by “Eat, Sleep and Just Be.”  

“Just be what?” Ike asked.

“Why don’t we just find out?”

“At least we can just linger for lunch.” 

They turned off onto a gravel road that cut its way through the pine trees and aspen. Five minutes later the trees parted revealing a meadow, spattered with wildflowers like a painter’s palette. A large rambling wood structure squatted on the far side of the meadow.  “That must be the Linger Lodge,” Ike said.

After following the gravel drive through the meadow they spotted a sign for the Lodge as well as ones for cabins and a campground. There were half a dozen vehicles in the parking lot next to the lodge, but there was still plenty of room for the pickup and Airmadillo.  After parking they walked to a door with a sign that said Linger Lobby.  They entered the lobby, which had a high ceiling with thick log rafters and was furnished with heavy, rough-hewn chairs, a couple of couches covered with Pendleton blankets and several tables.  At the far end was a walk in size fireplace framed in stone. To their left was a row of windows with a set of double glass doors in the middle that opened onto a veranda that spanned the side of the lodge offering an expansive view of the meadow and the mountains beyond. 

“Howdy.”

The voice prompted them both to turn and face a smiling, middle aged woman standing behind the Lodge’s front desk. 

“Why, howdy to you,” Ike replied.

 Ezra added “Ma'am.”

She laughed.  “It’s been a long time since anyone called me ma’am.”

“What are you usually called?”

“Cora.”

“Cora means maiden in Greek,” Ezra said.

“It’s also another name for Zeus’ daughter, Persephone,” Cora said. 

“Your parents were into Greek mythology.”

“Actually, they had an apple orchard, so you can guess how I got my name. I have to say I prefer being the daughter of a god than the core of an apple. How did you know it means maiden in Greek?”

“You could call it a tool of my trade.”

“His trade being preaching,” Ike added. 

“A preacher?” Cora said with surprise.

“I prefer minister or pastor to preacher, but you can just call me Ezra.”

“And I’m Ike,” Ike added. “I’m a sheep rancher. Actually, I’m semi-retired, which means I don’t have to count as many sheep in order to get to sleep.”

After chuckling, Cora asked, “What brings you here?”

“We were driving by and saw the sign …”

Ike cut him off, “The sign said eat and we’re both hungry.”

“We sure don’t want to be accused of false advertising. Although our breakfast service just ended I believe Buddy our cook can rustle you something.”

“We don’t want to put your cook to any trouble.”

“It’s when he isn’t cooking that Buddy gets into trouble.”

Cora showed them to the dining room, which was through a double door on the right, opposite the one to the veranda.  There were a couple of long tables that could seat at least eight and several smaller ones. At one end was a buffet counter and next to it a pair of swinging doors with port hole windows.  Seating them at one of the small tables, Cora took their orders and asked them if they wanted coffee as well.  After they both replied with an enthusiastic yes, she pointed out that the restrooms were through the door at the far end of the room. “Just in case you need them after all that coffee.”

“How much do we owe you?” Ezra asked Cora after they finished breakfast.

“How much do you think it was worth?”

“You don’t have a set price?”

“The meals are included with the room, so we don’t have a price for an individual meal.”

“You mean we have to pay the same price as your nightly room rental,” Ike said.

“We don’t rent rooms on a nightly basis, but only by the week.  Otherwise, there’s really not time

to linger, is there? You can’t ‘just be’ if you’re in a rush to be somewhere else, can you? However, seeing as how you didn’t know that we’ll just have to charge you nothing for your breakfast.”

“Nothing?” Ezra asked with astonishment. “That doesn’t seem right.”

 “Couldn’t you make an exception to your one week policy and charge us for one night?” Ike suggested. “We need a place to stay for the night anyway.”

“We don’t have any vacancies.”

“We don’t need a room since we can stay in our Airmadillo.”

“What’s an airmadillo?”

“That’s what we call our trailer because it looks like what you’d get if you mated an Airstream with an armadillo.” 

“It’s not really ours,” Ezra added. “It belongs to a friend whose husband built it.”

“Then he died,” Ike said. “So he never got a chance to use the Airmadillo he built.”

“What a sad story,” Cora said, taking a Kleenex from the box on the front desk and dabbing her eyes.

“We’re delivering it to someone who bought it,” Ezra said. “They live in Seattle.” 

“This isn’t exactly the fastest way to get to Seattle.”

“We’ve got several weeks and decided to take our time,” Ike said. “You know, sort of take our time and linger on our way.”

“Well, then, since you don’t need a room you’re welcome to spend the night here in your Airmadillo.  We have plenty of space in our parking lot.”

“How much will that be?” Ezra asked.

“How about one seventh of our weekly rate?”

“How much is your weekly rate?”

“Now that’s the tricky part,” Cora said.  “You see we charge on a sliding scale in which a person can pay what it costs us, or what they think it’s worth or what they can afford.”

“Seems more like a slippery slope than a sliding scale,” Ike said. “How can you stay in business with that kind of pricing system?” 

“You’re not the first person to point that out,” Cora replied with a smile, “but we’ve managed to stay in business for a century, nonetheless.”

“A hundred years,” Ike said, shaking his head.

“Ninety-nine to be exact.  This will be our hundredth year.”

“Don’t people take advantage of you?”

“Some people pay more than it costs and some less, so it all evens out. In fact, we’ve more than met our costs since I’ve been working here.”

“How long has that been?” Ezra asked.

“Twenty one years. I’m one of the newer employees.”

“Who came up with this system a hundred, I mean ninety-nine years ago?” Ike asked.

“Good questions, but we really don’t know. The Lodge was built by someone who wanted to remain anonymous. He or she, we don’t even know whether anonymous was male or female, hired a fellow named Abner Emerson from Denver to be the general manager and after several years when it was up and running, our anonymous benefactor decided that it should be turned over to the employees to be run as a cooperative.  Anyone who works here can be a member but when they end their employment they have to sell their shares back to the cooperative. Only Old Abe, as he was called, knew who our anonymous benefactor was and he never told a soul.”

“Not even the current general manager?” Ike asked.

“Nope, and I should know because I am the current general manager.”

“You’re telling us that this anonymous person just gave it to the employees with no strings attached?”

“As a matter of fact there were strings, four of them, although we refer to them as stipulations.  The first was that the employees would always be the owners, the second was that it was to be, as the sign says, a place to sleep, eat and just be, the third was to have the sliding scale that I just explained to you and the final one is a real hoot.”  She stopped and laughed. “Every guest has to participate in a hidden talent show at the end of each week of their stay.”

“They have to compete in a talent show?” Ezra asked, incredulous.

“It’s not a competition but a way for our guests to show others the talents that they’ve hidden away from themselves and have discovered or rediscovered during their stay at Linger Lodge.

Like I said, we rent by the week, beginning on Sundays and ending on Saturdays, so it’s always on a Saturday night.”

“I guess if a person stays more than a week they have to be more talented,” Ike said.

“Oh, everyone has more than one hidden talent. We like to say that it’s like prospecting only the gold or silver is inside you. It’s what you discover about yourself when you have a chance to ‘just be’”.

“Today is Saturday, so if we stay the night we get to see the talent show,” Ike said.

“You not only get to see it, you get to be in it,” Cora said with a grin. “There are no exceptions allowed. I can waive the one week minimum for you but not any of the four stipulations.  It starts at 8, right after dinner."

Ezra looked at his wristwatch and said, “That only gives us ten hours to discover this hidden talent of ours.  I don’t know if it’s possible.” 

“In all the years we’ve been doing this we haven’t had one case of someone not having some hidden talent they can share with others.  Although, I’ll admit that most everyone is surprised at what they find.” 

“There’s always a first time,” Ezra replied, glumly. 

“I’m surprised you would say such a thing,” Cora said. “You being a pastor you must know the parable of the talents,” Without waiting for a reply she recited, “A master goes on a journey and leaves his three servants a different talent. One gets five, another two and the third one. The master tells each of them that they need to increase the value of the talents while he’s gone.  When he returns he asks them for an accounting. The first two doubled the value of their talents, but the third one hid the talent because he was afraid that he’d be punished if he lost it.  And …”

“You don’t need to finish, I know the rest.”

“Yeah,” Ike laughed, ‘You don’t need to preach to the preacher.”

Embarrassed, Ezra changed the subject by asking, “What other activities do you have that help your guests just be other than eating and sleeping?”

“First, I can tell you that what we don’t have are televisions or wifi and the cell service is pretty much nonexistent. Now, what we do have are books and board games and activities like hiking, yoga, Tai Chi, horseshoe tossing and, of course, sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs on the veranda and just being. There’s a comprehensive list of suggested activities at the front desk.”

“How are we going to discover this hidden talent in just a few hours?” Ezra said to Ike on their way back to the pickup and Airmadillo after breakfast.

“Search me,” Ike said. “Still, she said it wasn’t a competition so what’s the worst that can happen?”

“We’ll be embarrassed.  Well, at least I will be.  You know the saying that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“We’re old farts not old dogs,” Ike replied, patting Ezra on the back.  “Well, we can’t just sit here and stew over it.  Let’s go for a hike. I picked up these maps of hiking trails at the front desk along with the list of activities.” Ike handed Ezra several sheets of paper with maps on them. 

Ezra looked at the maps. “We should probably try this Prospector Creek Trail. Maybe it will improve our prospects for the talent show.”

After putting on their hiking boots, Ike gave Ezra one of the two old oak shepherd’s crooks that he’d brought with him to use as walking sticks. “Who knows, we might even find some sheep.”

A few minutes later they were on a trail through the pines. After hiking for fifteen minutes they came on a rushing stream.  “Must be Prospector Creek,” Ike said. 

They continued on following the stream for another ten minutes when they came upon a middle aged couple squatting next to the creek with prospector’s pans. They both looked up as Ezra and Ike approached.

“Find any gold?” Ike called out.

“Fool’s gold,” the woman answered with a smile. “But then we’re both fools having fun.”

“Speak for yourself, Adele,” the man said, a frown etched on his face. 

“You’re right, Denny, you’re not having fun,” she said, slowly getting up. 

“I take it this is your first time at panning for gold,” Ike said.

Adele nodded. “We’re staying at the Linger Lodge. That’s where we got the pans.”

“We’re staying there too.”

Denny stood up even more slowly than Adele and looked at them. “We’ve been here a week and I don’t remember seeing you.”

“We just arrived. We didn’t have a reservation and there aren’t any vacancies, but they’re letting us stay in our trailer.”

“We’re only staying the night,” Ezra added.

“Just one night, huh?” Cora said.  “That means you can go to the hidden talent show tonight.”

“Not just go, we’re going to be in it.” Ike said in a voice that sounded like he wasn’t worried about coming up with a hidden talent.

“Apparently it’s a requirement for all guests,” Ezra said. “Even though we only have a few hours to discover our hidden talent while the other guests such as yourself have had a whole week.”

“Yeah,” Adele replied, “I can see how that would make a person anxious. I didn’t discover mine until I’d been here four days and Denny only found his yesterday.  He won’t tell me, because he says it should be a surprise.   She nudged Denny with her elbow. “As if it’s not enough of a surprise that you’ve managed to hide anything from me after being married thirty five years.”

“I didn’t manage anything, because it’s something I didn’t even know I had,” Denny replied gruffly, then resumed his kneeling position by the creek and sifted through the contents of his pan.

Ike squatted next to him and asked, “Nothing but fool’s gold, huh?”

“Yep,” he replied and poured the gritty contents of the pan onto the ground. “Have you ever panned for gold?”

“Well, way, way back when I was little kid. My family owned a sheep ranch and one summer my dad helped a friend who was grazing his sheep in the mountains and said I could go along.  I was pretty bored watching those sheep so he gave me a pie pan and told me to go find some gold in the creek.”

I panned every day for the entire time we were there.  I got pretty good at it.”

“Find anything?”

“Actually, I did.”

“You found some real gold?” Ezra asked, astonished at Ike’s revelation.

“Just some dust,” Ike said as he stood up.  “But for a kid it was pretty exciting stuff. I told my Dad I wanted to be a prospector rather than a sheep rancher, but my Dad said it was just kid’s luck and that most prospectors ended up with nothing to show for all their panning and digging. You know I’ve forgotten all about that until now.  The only thing I’ve looked for in streams since then is trout when I’m fly fishing.”

“Here,” Denny said handing his pan to him. “Why don’t you give it a try.”

Ike took the pan and walked upstream, stooping to look at the water as he went. Suddenly he stopped and squatted, dipped the pan in the creek pulled it out and began sifting through its contents with the fingers of his right hand as he tilted it gently back and forth.  The others walked over and watched him.  Periodically, Ike poked the contents in the pan.  Finally, he stopped, pulled a red bandanna from his back pocket and filled it with what was in the pan.

“What did you find?” Denny asked.

Ike opened the bandanna and held it out. 

“It looks like gold,” Denny said after a close examination. “And not the fool’s kind, either.”

“How did you know there was gold in this spot?” Adele asked.

Ike cracked a smile and said, “I just looked at how the water was flowing over the stream bed and i just got this feeling that there was gold here. I’m as surprised as you are that my hunch panned out.”

“You’re not going to continue?” Denny said.  “There could be more gold.”

“Could be, but I found what I was looking for, now it’s your turn.” Ike handed Denny the empty pan.

“That was pretty amazing,” Ezra said to Ike as they resumed their hike leaving Adele and Denny kneeling on the bank of the creek enthusiastically sloshing water and gravel in their pans. “That you could figure by just looking at the stream the best spot to find gold.”

“I don’t know if it was the best, but it was good enough,” Ike chuckled. After walking in silence

for several minutes Ike started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Ezra asked.

“The gold I found might just be some flakes, but at least I’ve discovered a hidden talent for tonight’s show. I’ll borrow one of the pans, dump the stuff in the bandanna into it, swish it around and show everyone my hidden prospecting talent.”

“Good for you, Ike,” Ezra said, patting his friend on the back. “I hope it doesn’t make you regret not having continued prospecting instead of listening to your Dad.”

“The only thing I regret is that he couldn’t be here to see it. He would have been laughing his head off.”

“Unlike finding yours in a stream bed, any hidden talent I have is probably buried at the bottom of a shaft in an abandoned mine.”

“Now, Ezra, remember what Cora said about people who let themselves ‘just be’ discovering the gold and silver hidden inside them.”

What if “just be” is “not to be” Ezra thought, but kept it to himself.

After they returned to the Linger Lodge Ike went to fetch a pan and practice for the show, while Ezra headed for the veranda where he slumped in an Adirondack chair and looked out at the meadow and the mountains.  Maybe meditation will help, he thought and closed his eyes. A few minutes later he opened them to find a freckle faced boy was staring at him from the adjacent chair. 

“My name is Danny, what’s yours?” The boy asked.

“Ezra.”

“You’re pretty old, Ezra.”

“And you’re pretty young, Danny.”

“I am not, I’m almost nine.”

“I stand corrected, you’re a big boy.”

“My parents went for a hike but I didn’t want to go,” Danny announced.

“Why not?”

“It’s boring. Just trees. I’d rather be playing video games on my Nintendo, but my parents wouldn’t let me bring it.  They say that this is like camping and that people shouldn’t play video games when they camp.”

“We didn’t have video games when I was growing up and we found fun things to do.”

“Like what?” 

“When we went camping we’d sit around the fire listening to stories.”

“You listened to people telling stories?” Danny seemed amazed at the idea.

“Yep, but the ones my Dad told were the best. He’d hold all of us in the palm of his hand when he told a story.” Ezra held up the palm of his right hand and could see his Dad illuminated by the flickering campfire holding everyone spellbound as he spun a tale, which he’d made up even though he always insisted it was true. Ezra knew that he would be a terrible storyteller in comparison to his father, so he refused to try.  

“Tell me a story,” Danny said. “It can be made up, but also true like your Dad’s.”

Ezra looked at Danny’s expectant face. It was clear he was not to be denied. “Okay,” he said unsure of how he would begin the story much less how it would end.  Then, Ezra remembered what Ike had said about panning for gold as a kid when he was supposed to be watching over sheep and he began.

Ten minutes later he finished and Danny, who had sat enthralled as Ezra spun a tale from some hidden source he’d never knew existed, said, “Wow, you sure know how to tell a story. You should tell it tonight at the talent show. I’d sure like to hear it again.”

“You would?” Ezra asked surprised to discover that maybe he had a hidden talent after all.

“Promise you’ll tell it again,” the little boy demanded.

“Why sure, Danny”

“That was a humdinger of a story you told,” Cora said to Ezra after the Hidden Talent Show ended and people were munching on freshly baked cookies and drinking hot chocolate.  “You had everyone at the edge of their seats when that little boy, Tommy, was searching for the lost lamb up in the mountains …”

“And how he used his slingshot to chase off the mountain lion just as it was about to eat the lamb who was drinking at the creek,” chirped Danny, who was cradling a cup of hot chocolate. “Then Tommy discovered that there was gold in the creek and he used the gold to pay off the money his family owed the bank and save their sheep ranch.”

Cora turned to Ike and said, “And that gold panning demonstration you gave was mighty impressive. To think you hadn’t panned since you were a kid.”

“Come to think of it I was about the same age as you, Danny,” Ike said, rubbing the top of Danny’s head with his right hand.

“Tomorrow morning right after breakfast before we leave I’m going to the creek with a pan and find some gold,” Danny announced.

“Be sure and give some to your folks so they can pay off the mortgage on your home,” Cora laughed.

“Here’s my lucky pan,” Ike said, giving Danny the empty pan. 

After Danny walked off to join his parents and sister waving the pan above his head, Cora asked

Ike what he was going to do with the gold he’d found.

“You mean this?” Ike pulled out the red bandanna and opened it displaying the flakes of gold then he closed the bandanna and handed it to Cora. “I think you should put it back in the creek. Sort of like releasing trout I’ve caught when I’m fly fishing.”  

“I know just the spot for it,” Cora said as she accepted the bundle.

“I bet you do,” Ike laughed.

“Do you wish we had lingered longer,” Ike said, as they pulled onto the Silver Thread Highway the next morning with the Airmadillo in tow. 

“If we stayed then we’d have to be in another hidden talent show,” Ezra replied. 

“Yeah,” Ike chuckled. “I think we surprised people that two old farts like us could have any hidden talent.”

“I think we surprised ourselves more than anybody, Ike.”

“You’re right, Ezra, and I have a hunch we’re going to keep on surprising ourselves.”

Read Part One