Buy the book Growing Up Itchy

It was a fine summer day, the sort that defines the season in people’s fondest memories. Blue sky, hot breeze, and bright sun.

Church was over, and Dad called Grey over to the truck. Mom, Bethany, and their new baby brother were patiently waiting in the cab, it was time to head home. Grey had been playing nearby in the woods with some other boys, but Ash was nowhere to be seen.

“Go find Ash – tell him it’s time to go.” Dad said.

Grey ran back out and hunted Ash down. He was about fifty yards into the nearby trees, smashing rusty old cans and bottles with a big rock.

“Dad says we have to go, right now.” Grey said. He wanted to smash a few things himself, but Dad was waiting.

Ash smashed one more beer bottle with his stone, and followed Grey back down to the truck.

He and Ash picked their way through the underbrush and emerged into the wide Grange parking lot. They climbed into the back of the truck. They couldn’t all fit in the cab anymore, since the birth of little Malachai. The old Jeep had a single bench seat. It would only fit three people across it. Three stick shifters sprouted from the very center of the truck’s narrow cab, and Dad operated them often, making the ride difficult for the person sitting in the middle. Because of this, a small child usually had to sit there. It used to be Ash – but now that Malachai was part of the family, Bethany graduated from Mom’s lap to the middle of the seat, Ash rode in the back with Grey, and the baby rode on Mom’s lap.

Malachai had been born at home, in the little house that Dad built. Grey would never be free of that memory. Early one afternoon Dad called Grey, Ash, and Beth into Mom’s room, and they sat uncomfortably on a bench at the end of the big bed. A strange lady was there – she was a midwife and she helped Mom with the birthing. Grey and Ash, old enough to know things, found it fairly difficult to watch as their little brother was pushed into the world, all red and screaming. Dad informed them that it was a miracle. They didn’t have much time to bask in the new miracle before something else was pushed into the world – a red blob. It thankfully didn’t scream like the first miracle. The midwife wanted to save it for some reason, so it was placed into the silver popcorn bowl, which was fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on who you asked; exactly the right size.

Grey, being the oldest, was given the bowl and sent outside with it to wait.

More carefully than he’d ever done anything before, he made his way down the stairs with the bowl, placing each foot down onto the next step with exquisite care. He set the bowl down on the ground, and sat on a stump. He looked sideways at that red mass. Sally was interested in sniffing whatever was in that bowl, so Grey had to stand guard.

That was a few months ago, and the events of that miraculous day were burned into Grey’s mind forever. He tried once again not to think about it as they pulled from the Grange parking lot, out onto the road. It was a beautiful day, and he would have normally enjoyed the ride.

They rode in the back of the truck all the time now. Rain or shine, day or night, summer or winter. The boys had it all figured out – and they knew just where to sit, depending on the conditions. During cold, snowy, or rainy days, they would huddle up against the cab, right in the center. When the weather was nice and warm, they would climb up on the wood racks that stood up around the edges of the truck bed, and stand – feet and legs braced against the bars. On the hottest summer days, when the sun was high, they sat in the very back of the bed where the wind was strongest.

Dad told them that he had some special work he needed them to do when they got home.

This soured their moods a great deal. It had been a pretty good day, and the specter of having to go home and do extra chores loomed over them. The last thing they wanted to do was to work – it was the day of rest, after all. They were also wolf-hungry, as boys usually are. Today was not a “pot-luck Sunday,” and hunger hindered them from maintaining a positive outlook.

They sullenly sat on the fenders, uninterested in the back-county beauty that flowed past. The old truck wound its way north up the Kettle River valley, and Grey glared at his shoes as he wondered what awful chore he had to do when they got home.

Eventually they turned up the mountain road, up the familiar switchbacks, past Marmot Rock. They drove past the long cliffs, and finally came down into the winding dirt driveway. With a heavy sigh, Grey climbed over the tailgate and thumped down onto the dirt, followed by an equally-gloomy Ash. They stood there, waiting for Dad, and he came around to the back of the truck and stood before them.

Grey braced himself, but was puzzled as Dad gave him what seemed like a meaningless task. He gave Ash an equally odd chore to do, and off the boys went, in different directions. Dad and the rest of the family went into the house, hopefully to make lunch.

The sky was clear and the day was bright when Grey trudged down to the creek. He located Dad’s old derelict motorcycle, parked next to a fallen log. It didn’t run, so he and Ash would play on it. His task was to check to see if there was any old gas in the motorcycle’s tank. If there was any, he was to cut the rubber line and drain it out, because old gas was bad for the engine and shouldn’t be left in there for long.

Dad was a collector of sorts, and he collected old things. Truck parts, car parts, motorcycles, and other things that didn’t work. When he wasn’t working on the green Jeep, on the house, or around the property, he would work on these old machines. But mostly, they just sat rusting as the mountain seasons worked to dismantle them, one rust flake at a time. Time wore tirelessly on all man-made things.

Grey didn’t stop to think how a broken-down motorcycle engine would benefit from being drained of old gas. It didn’t work at all, and was missing parts and pieces. All he could think of was how hungry he was, and how he didn’t want to do dumb chores. He knew better than to think these thoughts out loud. He approached the motorcycle, pushing aside brush and weeds that grew up around it.

As he reached out to unscrew the gas cap, a glint caught his eye. Something shiny and metal gleamed, farther back in the brush, on the other side of the motorcycle. Years of roaming around looking for adventure gave the boys intimate knowledge of every object on the whole forty acres, and nothing was supposed to be back there except for weeds and gooseberry bushes. There’s something new back there! He promptly forgot about his chore.

Picking his way around the motorcycle, he pushed aside thorny briers, branches, and spider webs. He hopped a fallen log and was utterly taken aback at the sight of a brand new bicycle.

What was this! Nothing like this should be anywhere on the mountain. He quickly figured that is must be for him – why else would Dad have given him this pointless chore. It had to be a planned surprise.

The sun shone brighter and the day was certainly looking up as he pulled the new bike from the brush, forgetting his despondency. The bike was blue, with chrome handlebars. It gleamed like nothing had ever gleamed before. The bike was tall! The only other bikes he had ever ridden before were short by comparison. The tires were knobby. On the handlebars were levers – brakes, and something else. Gears? He had never ridden a bike with gears before.

Heart pounding with excitement, he pushed the new bicycle, carefully wheeling it through the bushes to the driveway. Two dirt tracks with a strip of grass in the middle rolled away, off towards the house. He lined up the front tire with one of the wheel tracks, and climbed on. His toes barely touched the ground. He launched and rode the new bike down the drive to the house.

He pedaled up to the door and stopped, wobbling. He quickly jumped off and breathlessly put out the kickstand. Dad was standing there, smiling, and Grey knew the bike was supposed to be his forever. Dad was pleased that he had found it, and showed him how to work the gears.

“This is called a mountain bike,” he said. “the gears make it easier to ride up steep hills.”

As Grey was learning about the gears, Ash came running up to the house, leading a new blue BMX.

“Someone was here!” he puffed. “They left a bike down in the old cab!”

Dad chuckled. “It’s for you,” he said. “It’s yours!”

Ash stood staring at what was surely some other kid’s bike, his mind barely able to comprehend the idea of owning something so nice. Something so new. They had ridden other people’s bikes before, but this was his bike?

After what seemed like a long moment, he stammered out a shaky statement of gratitude.

Then how the boys soared! They flew down the path. Familiar landmarks like stumps, logs, and stones they normally trudged past on slow feet blurred with speed. Eyes fixed ahead, they steered their new bikes down the drive.

Grey wondered. How far can we go? They would just have to go and find out. With a glance back at Dad, who was going into the house, he and Ash pedaled down past the creek, up the hill, and out the driveway onto the dirt lane that ran down the mountain. Here they stopped, wobbling a little.

“Do your brakes work good?” Grey asked.

“Yep, watch this.” Ash proved it by riding a little ways, then locking up the rear tire. It was an impressive skid, a full five feet long.

“I could do it even better,” he said, “If I was going faster. Want to ride down the mountain?”

“Yeah!” Grey said with innocent enthusiasm.

The rocky dirt lane rolled downward, around a bend and out of sight. The boys knew every curve and every bump by heart, and could picture themselves soaring down mile after mile of steep mountain road. Grey envisioned the cliffs, he guessed it would be no problem to go slow and stay next to the safe side of the road when they got there. He thought about the switchbacks, and knew his new brakes could easily slow him down enough, plus it would be fun to skid around those corners. Ash mentioned the stream crossing, and they discussed the best way to handle it – agreeing on a plan to ride through it at top speed. They’d barely get wet if they went fast enough. But really, it was a hot day and they’d be fine with getting splashed.

Planning the ride didn’t put off the inevitable for long. Grey braced his feet onto the pedal. With a nod from Ash, they launched.

Their knobby black tires crunched dirt and gravel with a joyous crackle, and clean mountain air swept past the boys as they pedaled. They quickly gained speed. They hadn’t rode more than fifty feet before they realized they didn’t need to pedal anymore. Coasting, their blue bikes sparkled in the sunlight. Up ahead, the first curve beckoned.

We’re going pretty fast , Grey thought. He gently applied the brakes. He slowed down a little. More accurately, one could say that he merely accelerated a bit more slowly. It still felt too fast for his liking. As they neared the first curve, the wonderful soaring feeling started to turn into something more like hard concentration. Then it became a serious consternation, or perhaps raw fear.

The thought of soaring flew right out of their minds. They both braked as much as they dared, tires starting to lock up on the gravel. Grey started skidding, and figured maybe that was the thing to do, so he locked his brakes completely. Ash followed suit.

The bikes slid around the turn, skidding in an epic display of handling and finesse. Victorious, Grey enjoyed the straightaway, but not for long. Alarm bells rang out in his mind, telling him that maybe, just perhaps, he was a fool for going this fast. Speed came easy. Too easy. There was nothing they could do to resist it now. Faster and faster they went, each boy thinking about the next turn. They both knew it was steeper than the last one.

This was nothing like riding bikes in town. Rocks and dirt clods flew in a rooster tail of dust as they roared towards the next turn, road falling more steeply before them. Each boy had his feet outstretched, but they couldn’t quite bring themselves to drag them to help with braking. As rawhide-tough as bare feet were, they were no match for the hardscrabble rasp of White Mountain Road. Grey’s handlebars wobbled as he sought his balance, hands and feet involuntarily moving left and right as the bike flew over rocks and gravel. This is getting serious.

***

The life of a bear cub is something to be envied. Each day your kind, huge mother leads you to new places to find food and learn about the world. Tart mountain berries, cool bubbling creeks, soft pine needles, and juicy brown rabbits were just a mere fraction of the joys known to the three cubs now playing in the tall grass.

Mother was somewhere down-slope from them, pawing apart an old rotten log for grubs. The cubs couldn’t see mother, but they knew she was close – she always protected them while they played. The cubs wrinkled their noses to taste the air. They could smell mother’s furry bulk and the pleasant woody aroma of the grub log she was dismantling. Mother was never far, and they paid her no more thought as they frolicked.

One cub was rather sleepy. The warm sun had been working on the little bear all day, and its fur coat was as cozy as a sweater, pulled fresh from an electric dryer. Its shaggy head drooped, and it decided that now was a good time to sit down. With a sigh, it eased into a hillock of grass and rested its nose on its furry paws.

Its two siblings were of the more precocious type, and the tender rays of the sun had less effect on them. Like some boys, sleep was something they could ignore. Leaving the sleepy cub behind to wait for Mother, the two playful cubs decided to seek out adventure. They waddled around, tumbling adorably as they poked their inquisitive noses into anthills, gopher holes, and gooseberry bushes.

What was this? The soft dirt and mountain grasses ended as they emerged from a stand of pines. Before them lay ground of a different type – hard ground.

The cubs paused and looked this way and that. What fun! They could see so far now, with no tall grass to block their view. The first cub, being the larger and braver one, ventured carefully out onto this flatter, harder ground. New experiences were always welcome, and every day they enjoyed the places Mother took them. There was no reason to imagine they would not enjoy this new place too.

In a jiffy, both cubs were playfully romping on the hard flat ground, enjoying the pleasant feeling that only wide open spaces give. There was less wind now, and the pines behind them were quieter, their gentle song diminished. A new noise could have been detected at this point, but it was quiet and distant. They didn’t notice it until it grew ominously louder.

By the time the cubs heard the noise, it had started to grow closer at an alarming rate.

In mid frolic, the cubs turned to look uphill towards the noise just as it crashed down onto them like the roar of a mountain lion – a crescendo of motion and chrome. So complete was their surprise, they did not have the time to run. The instinct to flee is life-saving when finely honed; but there was a limit to how fast it could work.

***

The boys fell full into the turn, pulled by gravity itself. There was a point when they resigned to the force, surrendering to the brutal physics of the slope. Wind blasted across their ears, not quite drowning out the mix of adrenaline and shredding black rubber on the gravel below. Shards of rocks and showers of dirt spun outward in all directions. The rushing whir of spokes and rattle of teeth joined the roar as the brothers rolled down the mountain on unforgiving chariots of steel.

Puppies – little puppies were right there on the road!

That was weird. Whose puppies were they? Grey wondered about this. They were probably in danger and shouldn’t be left to play out in the road like that. Grey wanted to warn Ash to look out for them, but at that fleeting moment, he simply didn’t have the mental capacity to form words as his brain jostled from the rough ride. He was using every last neuron at full capacity in the attempt to navigate the too-fast trek down the mountain.

Eyes wide in concentration, he blasted past the fluffy brown puppies as the turn straightened out a little. His rear tire locked, time seemed to slow as his rattled thoughts started to line up again. Was he going to make it? He was going to make it! A whoop escaped his mouth as he continued to shed speed, until the point where he was moving slowly enough to turn his head to check on Ash – who was coming in fast. His teeth were clenched and eyes were wide in terror.Slow down, Grey thought. Slow down! You’re past the worst part!

Grey heard his brother yell as he roared past.

“….eeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrs!!!”

Grey’s head snapped around in a vain attempt to follow the streak that was his younger brother. What did he say? The Doppler effect bent the sound of the word, like it bends the sounds of a siren when a fire engine speeds past.

Grey’s subconscious knew that it was time to pedal again. His hands released the brake levers, and his feet began to move. The fragment of the word Ash hollered as he flew past wound its way across Grey’s thoughts. Did he say… ears? Hairs?

The problem was, his ears didn’t quite catch what Ash tried to say.

As Grey pedaled, his mind worked on the word he had partially heard. The letter “E” seemed to dally unhurriedly on its journey to the brain’s Upper Concept Processing Center. “A” seemed to wander along the scenic route, enjoying the view. “R” took a short nap at the edge of the Auditory Cortex, while “S” fidgeted impatiently in the Processing Center’s waiting room. Finally, when all the letters arrived, they were prodded, poked, studied, and rearranged. Brains do all of this at wonderful speed, with great ability to figure out incomplete information. Because Grey hadn’t quite heard the whole message, something was missing – the final letter to complete the word that Ash yelled.

A millisecond later, Grey’s subconscious had the solution to the partially heard word. It hit him suddenly. The word was “Bears!”

Grey realized in an instant – relatively speaking – what it was that Ash said when he passed. Bears! Those weren’t puppies back there!

Grey knew, as most boys do, that where there were cubs, there was a big mother as well. It was unwise to hang around baby bears.

Blood rushed in his ears and chills ran up his spine. Time to get outta here!

The metal frame of his new mountain bike strained as Grey bore down on the pedals. Forget slowing down! They pushed their new bikes to the limit.

The boys went quickly now, as fast as they could, and did not stop until they reached the bottom, dust cloud settling behind them.

Finally they rested, three miles from home at the bottom of the mountain road. They leaned the bikes against the row of battered mailboxes and sat in the grass to rest. Grey’s feet felt like they were numb, still tingling from the rush.

“The mother would have eaten us for sure,” Ash stated.

Grey nodded. “I heard a guy got killed by a bear over on Mt. Vulcan. They found nothing but his boots.”

Ash shuddered. “We have to go home soon,” he said, looking up at the sun.

Neither of them wanted to walk their bikes back up the hill when there were bears up there, but they didn’t want to be out here when it got dark either.

“If we wait long enough, Dad will drive down to get us.” Grey said hopefully.

He looked up the hill. What if the bears were still up there? He figured that they wouldn’t get in trouble for going so far and staying out so long. The bear cubs saw to that.

The evening sun sank low, cresting the mountain ridge and lighting up the tops of the pines. As the shadows crawled across the meadow, the boys rode in lazy circles down on the paved road, waiting and hoping for rescue. Grey remembered the time, years ago, when they had first stopped here, next to the row of old mailboxes. One of the mailboxes was theirs, now. It had seemed so scary and new all those years ago, but now it truly felt like home.

A rumble. Dad arrived with the truck just before dusk. He listened as the boys told him the story.

“We didn’t want to stay out so late!” Grey said. “But with the bears, it was much safer to stay down here and wait.”

Dad agreed.

They loved those bikes, and rode them every day – but never again all the way down the mountain, unless a pick-up was scheduled beforehand.