| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
.
| Written by Marva Dasef / Artwork by Holly Eddy |
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| CHILPEQUIN 22 MILES |
I liked to take the roads less traveled. Bless Mr. Frost's heart for that thought. So, when I saw a tiny sign-Chilpequin 22
Miles-I just couldn't resist and turned off the main highway. Like the bear who went over the mountain, I wanted to see
what I could see in Chilpequin.
The road was narrow and had more than its fair share of potholes. I bumped along at way less than the recommended
speed. I guessed the highway crews hadn't been up this way for awhile.
After about an hour, I pulled into beautiful downtown Chilpequin, which seemed to consist of a gas station with a Mom &
Pop store attached and a tavern aptly named Chilpequin Tavern. I took advantage of the gas pumps. I never minded paying
those high prices when you get a little something extra. In this case, it was a statue of Bigfoot carved from a single tree
trunk standing beside the side of the road. I recalled that this was Bigfoot country.
You've heard of them, haven't you? The Abominable Snowman, Sasquatch, Yeti. It's one of the things that make these
mountains interesting. I'll admit I didn't exactly disbelieve in Bigfoot. The forests up here are millions of square acres and
nobody could have seen everything. Besides, stranger things have been found. I recall they found a prehistoric fish a few
years back. The scientists didn't think they existed either, until some fisherman pulled one up on a line.
After the fill up, I meandered on over to the tavern. It was dark and cool like taverns tend to be. Nobody was in the place
except the bartender wiping glasses behind the bar. He was one big fella, I'll tell you. His shoulders had to be three feet
wide, at least.
I perched on a barstool directly in front of the big guy.
"What'll ya have, ma'am?" he asked politely, but in a voice that commanded respect.
"Beer. Whatever you have on tap," I answered just as politely.
"Bud okay?"
"Yeah, sure."
He poured a tall glass and set it neatly on a little coaster in front of me. I pulled out a five and laid it on the bar. He didn't
touch it just in case I wanted more than one.
"So, what's happening up here in Chilpequin? I hear this is Bigfoot country," I said to make conversation.
He let out a deep chuckle. "Ah, you don't believe those fairy tales, do ya?"
"I suppose not, but it's pretty interesting stuff." I sat in silence while he continued the unnecessary polishing of glasses.
"Hey," I said after a few seconds of silence, "there's even that statue out front of the store."
"Oh, that's just tourist stuff," he said. His tone had changed slightly; still polite, but with a gruff undertone.
I decided to bait him about it. Just for fun, you understand.
"Yep, I heard the government was covering it up; like that Area 51 down in New Mexico. I'll bet a lot of folks have
actually seen Bigfoot."
"It's just a story!"
I raised an eyebrow at the now insistent tone in his voice. It seemed a little more vehement than I thought necessary.
He leaned over the bar and looked both ways to make sure nobody was listening, although the bar was empty. "I know the
facts," he whispered.
"You do? Well, what are these facts?" Not wanting to miss what I hoped would be a good story, I leaned forward a bit.
He stood up straight and I tilted my head upwards to keep contact with his eyes. Near seven feet tall, no, make that eight.
"The Sasquatch, which is the correct name by the way, really exist. They just don't want people to know they're up there.
And, that's the truth. "
He polished the glass some more and looked a bit introspective, maybe even sad.
"If the scientist guys caught up with one, well, it wouldn't be very pleasant."
"I take it you've seen them?" I asked.
He leaned toward me again until his big nose was no more than three inches from mine.
"I've more than seen 'em."
"What? Do they live in the back of the store or something? Look, I wasn't born yesterday," I said a little testily. After all, I
was just playing him, but he seemed way too serious to me.
"Well, of course they don't live in the back of the store," he said. His voice took on a condescending tone, as if he were
talking to a kid.
"They live way up there," he said jerking his thumb behind him. I looked, but only saw the array of liquor bottles behind
the bar.
"Old growth forest," he said as if that explained everything.
"So what? The Forest Service keeps selling off the old growth. The big trees aren't protected everywhere. Logging rigs go
up and down this road now, don't they?" I come from a logging family, so I know a little bit about this stuff.
"That's true, but there are places even the loggers can't get to. Hillsides so steep and undergrowth so thick; mountain goats
wouldn't go near them. That's where they live," he said. There was a note of finality in his voice as if that was the last he
was going to say on this subject.
"Well, that's just bullshit!" I wasn't about to let this be the end of the conversation, not at this point.
I was beginning to suspect he was a few cards short of a deck. He just stared at me and didn't seem to have anything
more to say. I think I may have hurt his feelings.
"Look," I said, "I originally said I thought Bigfoot might exist and you were the one who said that was all tourist crap."
He glared at me for a moment. Then, he realized that either one; what I said was true, or two; he wasn't being a very good
bartender.
"Yep," he said offering me a crooked grin. "I sure did say that. Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to make you mad."
Still, I was getting the impression his smile was a little too forced. I was starting to think, just a little, that he was serious.
He really did believe in Bigfoot and he actually did believe they
lived up in these woods.
He looked at me intently, which made me squirm a little. Then, he said something that took me completely by surprise.
"I am one."
Miles-I just couldn't resist and turned off the main highway. Like the bear who went over the mountain, I wanted to see
what I could see in Chilpequin.
The road was narrow and had more than its fair share of potholes. I bumped along at way less than the recommended
speed. I guessed the highway crews hadn't been up this way for awhile.
After about an hour, I pulled into beautiful downtown Chilpequin, which seemed to consist of a gas station with a Mom &
Pop store attached and a tavern aptly named Chilpequin Tavern. I took advantage of the gas pumps. I never minded paying
those high prices when you get a little something extra. In this case, it was a statue of Bigfoot carved from a single tree
trunk standing beside the side of the road. I recalled that this was Bigfoot country.
You've heard of them, haven't you? The Abominable Snowman, Sasquatch, Yeti. It's one of the things that make these
mountains interesting. I'll admit I didn't exactly disbelieve in Bigfoot. The forests up here are millions of square acres and
nobody could have seen everything. Besides, stranger things have been found. I recall they found a prehistoric fish a few
years back. The scientists didn't think they existed either, until some fisherman pulled one up on a line.
After the fill up, I meandered on over to the tavern. It was dark and cool like taverns tend to be. Nobody was in the place
except the bartender wiping glasses behind the bar. He was one big fella, I'll tell you. His shoulders had to be three feet
wide, at least.
I perched on a barstool directly in front of the big guy.
"What'll ya have, ma'am?" he asked politely, but in a voice that commanded respect.
"Beer. Whatever you have on tap," I answered just as politely.
"Bud okay?"
"Yeah, sure."
He poured a tall glass and set it neatly on a little coaster in front of me. I pulled out a five and laid it on the bar. He didn't
touch it just in case I wanted more than one.
"So, what's happening up here in Chilpequin? I hear this is Bigfoot country," I said to make conversation.
He let out a deep chuckle. "Ah, you don't believe those fairy tales, do ya?"
"I suppose not, but it's pretty interesting stuff." I sat in silence while he continued the unnecessary polishing of glasses.
"Hey," I said after a few seconds of silence, "there's even that statue out front of the store."
"Oh, that's just tourist stuff," he said. His tone had changed slightly; still polite, but with a gruff undertone.
I decided to bait him about it. Just for fun, you understand.
"Yep, I heard the government was covering it up; like that Area 51 down in New Mexico. I'll bet a lot of folks have
actually seen Bigfoot."
"It's just a story!"
I raised an eyebrow at the now insistent tone in his voice. It seemed a little more vehement than I thought necessary.
He leaned over the bar and looked both ways to make sure nobody was listening, although the bar was empty. "I know the
facts," he whispered.
"You do? Well, what are these facts?" Not wanting to miss what I hoped would be a good story, I leaned forward a bit.
He stood up straight and I tilted my head upwards to keep contact with his eyes. Near seven feet tall, no, make that eight.
"The Sasquatch, which is the correct name by the way, really exist. They just don't want people to know they're up there.
And, that's the truth. "
He polished the glass some more and looked a bit introspective, maybe even sad.
"If the scientist guys caught up with one, well, it wouldn't be very pleasant."
"I take it you've seen them?" I asked.
He leaned toward me again until his big nose was no more than three inches from mine.
"I've more than seen 'em."
"What? Do they live in the back of the store or something? Look, I wasn't born yesterday," I said a little testily. After all, I
was just playing him, but he seemed way too serious to me.
"Well, of course they don't live in the back of the store," he said. His voice took on a condescending tone, as if he were
talking to a kid.
"They live way up there," he said jerking his thumb behind him. I looked, but only saw the array of liquor bottles behind
the bar.
"Old growth forest," he said as if that explained everything.
"So what? The Forest Service keeps selling off the old growth. The big trees aren't protected everywhere. Logging rigs go
up and down this road now, don't they?" I come from a logging family, so I know a little bit about this stuff.
"That's true, but there are places even the loggers can't get to. Hillsides so steep and undergrowth so thick; mountain goats
wouldn't go near them. That's where they live," he said. There was a note of finality in his voice as if that was the last he
was going to say on this subject.
"Well, that's just bullshit!" I wasn't about to let this be the end of the conversation, not at this point.
I was beginning to suspect he was a few cards short of a deck. He just stared at me and didn't seem to have anything
more to say. I think I may have hurt his feelings.
"Look," I said, "I originally said I thought Bigfoot might exist and you were the one who said that was all tourist crap."
He glared at me for a moment. Then, he realized that either one; what I said was true, or two; he wasn't being a very good
bartender.
"Yep," he said offering me a crooked grin. "I sure did say that. Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to make you mad."
Still, I was getting the impression his smile was a little too forced. I was starting to think, just a little, that he was serious.
He really did believe in Bigfoot and he actually did believe they
lived up in these woods.
He looked at me intently, which made me squirm a little. Then, he said something that took me completely by surprise.
"I am one."
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"You're kidding!" I started to laugh until I saw
how serious he looked.
"We've got to hide out, so we fit in wherever we
can. You know those linemen in the NFL? You
don't think they grow people that big, do you?"
"Well, football. They are pretty big guys." I was
getting a little worried, so I tried to sound
normal, kind of light so he wouldn't see I was
getting scared. If this guy actually thought he
was a Sasquatch, then he was crazier than I
thought.
He sighed deeply and I could feel his hot breath
cross my face.
how serious he looked.
"We've got to hide out, so we fit in wherever we
can. You know those linemen in the NFL? You
don't think they grow people that big, do you?"
"Well, football. They are pretty big guys." I was
getting a little worried, so I tried to sound
normal, kind of light so he wouldn't see I was
getting scared. If this guy actually thought he
was a Sasquatch, then he was crazier than I
thought.
He sighed deeply and I could feel his hot breath
cross my face.
"Yeah, my cousins both play for the Seahawks. I've got an aunt who's a linebacker for the Chicago Bears."
I relaxed a bit. Now I knew he was putting me on. Must be boring out here in the woods and the favorite game
was goon the tourist.
"How could a wo...female, uh, Sasquatch play football?" I decided to play along.
"She doesn't take showers with the team. Hell, they wouldn't notice anyway."
I wasn't sure how to respond. It was bad enough he was taking this joke so far, but he sure was big...and hairy. I
didn't think I wanted to sit here by myself with a guy who thought he was Bigfoot. All things considered it was
probably time to move on. I shoved my beer to his side of the bar.
"You all done?" He gestured at my half full glass.
"Yep. I'm all done."
He gave me my change and I walked out as fast as I could--short of running, got into my car and drove away a
little quicker than was safe on this road. I decided to head back to the main highway. I think I had found a little
more than I wanted off the beaten path.
I wonder to this day whether that big bartender is still up there, serving beer to the occasional hunter or hiker and
telling his story. I can promise you, I won't tell.
I relaxed a bit. Now I knew he was putting me on. Must be boring out here in the woods and the favorite game
was goon the tourist.
"How could a wo...female, uh, Sasquatch play football?" I decided to play along.
"She doesn't take showers with the team. Hell, they wouldn't notice anyway."
I wasn't sure how to respond. It was bad enough he was taking this joke so far, but he sure was big...and hairy. I
didn't think I wanted to sit here by myself with a guy who thought he was Bigfoot. All things considered it was
probably time to move on. I shoved my beer to his side of the bar.
"You all done?" He gestured at my half full glass.
"Yep. I'm all done."
He gave me my change and I walked out as fast as I could--short of running, got into my car and drove away a
little quicker than was safe on this road. I decided to head back to the main highway. I think I had found a little
more than I wanted off the beaten path.
I wonder to this day whether that big bartender is still up there, serving beer to the occasional hunter or hiker and
telling his story. I can promise you, I won't tell.
Congratulations to Holly Eddy for
finishing 4th in the 2006 Preditors and
Editors Readers Poll - Best Artwork for
her illustration for Chilpequin 22 Miles
finishing 4th in the 2006 Preditors and
Editors Readers Poll - Best Artwork for
her illustration for Chilpequin 22 Miles