Gold Beach Thanksgiving (Part 2)
Twenty miles past Eugene, the Reverend saw a sign that read: Drain, Highway 34, Oregon Coast. He was going down the drain so why not see Drain? Why not visit a city with the most depressing name in Oregon? (Boring is second.)
The Reverend rolled into Drain. The Navigator needed refueling and he was hungry so he pulled into a gas station/convenience store. Out front, an old Schwinn three-speed bicycle leaned against the ice cooler.
He got out of the vehicle, asked the attendant for a fill-up, and walked toward the store. He opened the door and saw a line ten deep at the counter. Several of the people were clearly homeless because they exuded all the physical and psychic accoutrements of homelessness.
It was near bedlam inside the store and the Reverend smelled what he thought were biscuits and gravy. Then he noticed something on the counter: a monster-sized crock pot of gravy, thick and steaming, with a shiny metal ladle sticking out. The Reverend read a sign that said a serving of biscuits and gravy cost $2.50. It dawned on him that everyone was waiting for a serving, which doubled the size of the largest portion of biscuits and gravy he'd ever seen, let alone consumed.
The Reverend got in line and observed an elderly woman walk out with her serving in a box. She mounted the bicycle and rode away with one hand carrying the biscuits and gravy, the other hand steering the Schwinn. Drain was pretty interesting! No one in Amity bicycled with biscuits and gravy! The Reverend cracked a little smile.
Ten minutes later he was driving Highway 34 to Reedsport in silence with the box of biscuits and gravy riding shotgun. He figured he'd stop and eat when a park with a nice view materialized. The Reverend passed Elkton and Scottsburg. In many places the highway paralleled the Umpqua River. The emerald water mesmerized him and inspired thoughts other besides Kari dumping him. Rivers can do that if you let them.
The Reverend was famished. The smell of the biscuits and gravy tantalized him, drove him mad. He had to stop and devour them!
A sign appeared. It read: DEAN CREEK ELK VIEWING AREA. Then another sign read: ELK RADIO: TUNE TO 1610 AM.
The Reverend turned into the parking lot of the elk attraction and saw roughly a hundred elk in a field. Some were grazing, some were lounging, some were moving around. They were all less than a hundred yards away. He also saw three ancient and dilapidated RVs in the parking lot that he thought couldn't possibly have driven here, but somehow they did. Someone had kept them running and the Reverend admired the ingenuity and improvisation that must have taken. He didn't have any ingenuity like that, although once he had improvised after gambling cleaned him out. So he had some history of rally going for him.
He parked the Navigator, tuned the radio to the elk station, and began eating the biscuits and gravy.
A monotone voice intoned: An autumn bugle signals the rut. September's mating season leaves the bull elk little time to eat or sleep. Deep resonating bugles roar across the meadows as the males call to attract a female and move in to spar with other bulls and win a harem of cows. If rutting season is in process at the viewing area, do not get out of your vehicle. Racks are symbols of power. Brief sparring occurs when a bull seeks control over another's harem. The immense antler racks are a symbol of prowess during the rut. Females eventually force the bull out of their herd when the rut is completed and he ambles off to join one of the small groups of males...
The Reverend ate, listened to the radio, and watched the elk. He laughed at the idea that he might be the only man in the world watching elk while eating biscuits and gravy. He liked the new feeling. It was nothing like what he felt back in the mansion, whatever that was. He didn't really know.
A long-haired man emerged from one of the RVs and caught the Reverend's attention. He carried a folding lawn chair and a can of malt liquor. Binoculars were strung around his neck. The man wore dingy dungarees and a black hoodie. He was pushing 60 years old. A black mutt followed him.
Sunshine peeked through the clouds and lit up the field. The man unfolded his chair and sat down facing the herd. He cracked open the can, took a swig, and set the can on the concrete. He raised the binoculars to his eyes and glassed the field. The dog collapsed to the ground and snoozed out.
The Reverend exited the Navigator and walked toward the man. He wanted to talk to him and he didn't know why.
“Hey, how's it going?” said the Reverend. It occurred to him that he hadn't asked that question to a stranger in years. He'd never asked it to any members of his flock.
The man lowered his binoculars and turned to the Reverend and said, “It's a fine day for the elk drive-in theater.”
The Reverend laughed and said, “Yes it is.”
“You wanna take a look with my binoculars?”
“Sure, I'd love to.”
The man removed the binoculars and handed them to the Reverend.
“Be sure to look for Jesus and the Apostles,” said the man.
“What?”
“There's one big bull with a huge rack and he always has a group of 12 following him around so I named them Jesus and the Apostles. They usually hang out near that grove of cedars by the slough.”
He pointed toward the grove.
The Reverend looked through the binoculars in that direction. Jesus and the Apostles were there. They were all eating grass.
“I see them,” said the Reverend with an enthusiasm that surprised him. He was excited and it felt good. Watching elk felt good.
The Reverend and the man struck up a conversation, first about elk, then about the man's life. In due course, the Reverend learned:
The man's name was Tony. Tony and his dog Joker had been living out of a 47-year-old RV, The Chateau, for five years. He'd bought it for $500 at a storage unit. It ran great and he'd patched all the leaks. Tony used to live in Coos Bay in an apartment but the asshole landlord kept raising the rent and he was done paying rent. He survived by collecting cans, food stamps and a $1,244-a-month Social Security benefit. The man and his dog roamed in and around Reedsport and sometimes stayed in RV parks that allowed older rigs. Other times they parked on side streets down by the river in the deserted downtown area or on logging roads. The elk drive-in was their favorite place.
After his conversation with Tony, the Reverend drove into Reedsport and turned south on Highway 101. He still had no clue where he was going. He just knew he was going somewhere.