The Modern Mountain Man
 | Intelligence is quickness to apprehend As distinct from ability, which is capacity To act wisely on the thing apprehended. A.N. Whitehead |
Normally, his life is sedentary. He is what society labeled as a thinker rather than a doer. The respites into the woods require a doer response for survival. That is why these quarterly trips, usually for a week, are important and refreshing. Here in the mountains, thinking is a luxury and doing is a necessity. After a trip up here, he finds new energy to sustain a thinking role in society. But it doesn’t come easy. Nothing does now for this sexagenarian. Although he is classified by society as a “thinker”, he is not adept at it. With pressure and fatigue his performance becomes marginal. He keeps getting “kicked upstairs” simply to get him out of the way. His trips to the mountains are a welcome relief to his fellow “thinkers’ as now they can think effectively. He, however delusional, attributes their effectiveness to his creative seeding, which really doesn’t exist. There is a role for marginal thinkers in society. They buffer change.
The whole reason to have a mountain cabin has been diluted over time. The continued accumulation of gadgets had altered the “doer” principle. Things like televisions, DVD player, computers, microwaves, rice steamers, coffee bean grinder and a propane grill had changed the cabin environment to a “thinker” and not a “doer” habitat. Nevertheless, it was a different “thinker” place than the usual day-to-day place. The first two days are the most challenging now. Fixing, moving, and settling in happens during this time. “Roughing it” only occurs until everything is running and the purpose of the mountain cabin reverts to a second home to further think and ruminate. This trip was no different. He brought two new recliner chairs; a computer with all his work imbedded onto its hard drive, a dresser, and numerous smaller paraphernalia requiring a 6x8 foot U-Haul trailer.
Up at one AM, the thinker, accompanied by his dog, drove his pre-loaded truck and trailer out of his thinking town for the 14-hour drive to his doer town. This doer town of his isn’t much of a town, probably not even a hamlet. It is a historic mining town with 15 people. It survives in the mountains because 13 of them are doers. The mountain cabin is here, 30 miles from the nearest paved road. The hamlet is quiet and sleepy except for the occasional drone of overhead aircraft carrying thinkers from one thinking town to another. As he drives, thoughts digress to thinking failures then to anticipatory thoughts of doing in the doers’ hamlet. This trip was difficult as the weather was more inclement than expected for late March. Rain made the majority of the 14 hours monotonous. The last 13 miles were even more challenging, as there was snow and lots of it. By the time he reached the cabin’s sloping driveway there was six inches of new snow over sleet-covered mud. He couldn’t turn into the driveway with the trailer because of the curve in the drive where it attached to the road. He tried to force the vehicle up and over the curve with sheer power but this only caused the high-end SUV to slam into a snow bank knocking out one of the lights. Backing up resulted in a trailer jack-knife in the middle of the road. He needed a doer to correct the obstruction to traffic. Glancing both up and down the road induced panic as it was snowing hard, and there was no one in sight; how characteristic of him to think there would be doers lined up to help him during a snowstorm on a late Saturday afternoon in a 15-soul hamlet. Hubris though he was, he needed help. He trudged down the street as dusk settled upon the sleepy hamlet. There were no lights or signs of habitation in the first three houses he past. The abandonment at the first two didn’t bother him as these were the dwellings of non-doers, but the third vacancy was disappointing as this was the home of the king-doer of the hamlet. More panic as he stepped on.
“Must I go to Larry’s?” he thought.
Larry was a real good doer but he was a joker too. He could be kind hearted, but he was contemptuous of flatlanders like the thinker. Last fall when the thinker first moved to his cabin he locked himself out on the second day. Larry and his brother, Butch, tried to help gain entrance, but the manufactured home was too secured and a locksmith had to be called from the nearest town 45 miles away at $1.00/mile. Larry reported the event to the county newspaper. To the glee of the hamlet, the incident made the Hamlet’s Corner section of the weekly rag. Fortunately this section is between the Pastor’s Corner and Legal Notices so its perusal only appealed to a limited readership. Nevertheless, if Larry was consulted, the jack-knife incident might become county knowledge.
Tom and Sue were home as he looked down their lane. These were big-hearted people and readily accepted the challenge to de-knife the trailer even though they were sitting down to eat dinner. Tom drove the thinker back in his big Suburban, stopped in front of the trailer to attach a long chain, and yanked the vehicle-trailer combo straight in less time than it takes to describe the event.
“You better chain up if you are going to get that load up the hill.”
“Here, let me show you how.”
With chains, the thinker rushed the truck up the slope about two-thirds of the way before a chain broke. Tom walked up and surveyed the damage.
“I think you should leave this till morning, and we will get you up the hill then. Maybe we should unload the trailer first to lighten it. Make it easier to get it up to the top then turn it around to get out. Why did you bring a trailer up here in this kind of weather?”
“I didn’t think.” he thought but only shrugged his shoulders then feebly answered:
“I needed more stuff.”
Tom looked incredulous.
“See you in the morning. Call me when you are ready.”
Give a challenge to a doer and they never give up.
Not to be outdone, the thinker began unloading the trailer in the dark. The snow banks hindered progress, but he kept at it until everything but the recliners were in the garage or the house. He plopped in bed and slept till dawn. This was the kind of sleep only dreamed of in the sleeping pill commercial.
After a quick breakfast of bisquits and coffee, the dog and owner returned to the vehicle. The thinker started to prioritize what needed done: fix the broken tire chain, move the SUV through the snow, drive it upon the tarmac, unload the chairs, and then turn vehicle- trailer around for the next day’s decent. After all, he had to have the trailer back at the nearest U-haul store the next day—a forty mile trip. It seemed doable as he had all day.
During the night, however, another 12 inches of snow had covered the landscape. Perhaps this day’s task would be challenging. More thought was needed. Remove the snow, but repair the chain first.
These chains are a modern marvel of ingenuity. This model was designed to be put on without driving over them. The inside part was a steel cable with a simple locking device. You thread the cable behind the tire and loop it over the axle to easily lock it forming a cable circle. The chains attached to the cable loop embrace the tire when tightened outside by a pull chain. A person with no brain, no dexterity, no strength, and no help can quickly install a set of these modern tire-helper gadgets, which is why he purchased this brand. Tom had applied them the night before, and now the broken chain was still wrapped around the axle by the cable but the locking device was now frozen to the ground. Using one of those long-necked butane fire starters, the thinker, always thinking, started to unthaw the linkage. The long neck was ideal to reach behind the tire. Grasping the cable in his left hand he pointed the long neck blindly at the cable and ignited the butane flame. Smugly, he prematurely congratulated his ability to adapt as a doer. Smoke arose from behind the tire with an acrid smell as his left thumb rapidly became warm. He extracted both hands to find the left glove afire at the thumb. With a war whoop and improvised fire dance, he tried to regain control by blowing on the thumb, but instead of extinguishing it, the flame grew. Action was called for and action was taken. He ran down the slope and dived into a snow bank with all the grace of a diver doing a gainer during a world-class exhibition. This procedure was successful, but as he sat in the snow bank holding up his exposed thumb he wondered why he didn’t just remove the glove in the first place.
Returning to the truck he kicked the tire in frustration and the cable connection snapped loose. Surprised, he pulled the tire chain from under the truck. Inspection revealed the pull chain hook had broken. Back in the dry garage, the chain was laid out on the floor so the thinker could determine how to re-attach the pull chain. It seemed reasonable to him to examine the broken chain then compare it to the successful chain on the opposite wheel. Since that chain works, reattach the broken pull chain exactly the same way would solve the problem. What he didn’t think about was that once in place, the chain’s appearance was a mirror image. Therefore, he attached the pull chain in the opposite direction. Puzzled when the chain could not be attached to the tire, he read the directions from the tire chain box. No help there to conceptualize the proper attachment, but at the bottom of the instructions it said “Made in China”.
The great thinker jumped to the conclusion that the oriental worker had made a mistake in assembling this particular chain and that is why it broke in the first place. This project was now a challenge for a real thinker. The chain would have to be redesigned by a creative mind. Unfortunately the thinker’s reality was distorted by the fact that just because society had labeled him a thinker in a limited field of endeavor, he had never really tested his ability for original thought. His mistakes were his only original thoughts, as events would demonstrate.
The tire chain was disassembled and laid out on the floor again. There were now too many pieces to conceptualize a redesign, so he trotted back and forth to the truck tire with the attached chain, and thus reassemble a facsimile. Once completed, he stepped back to admire this creation. Yes, he thought, this will work admirably. Attaching the chain to the tire revealed a basic flaw in the redesign. The cable was now in front of the tire instead of behind. Rather than reassemble the whole tire chain, the thinker simply attached the chain to the tire with the cable outside but now all the adjustments had to be done on the backside. He dug out all the snow around the wheel and axle to squeeze underneath and in the dark and cloistered space hooked the cable tightly to the tire. This time-consuming, profane-inducing act negated the principle of easy-on chains that suppose to appeal to consumers. At least it was securely attached.
To test the chain, the engine was fired up, but the SUV would not move. The front tires were turned from the night before and frozen to the ground. The thinker walked around the vehicle and trailer appraising the situation. It was snowing again; the flakes were big and heavy with moisture. Off in the distance a sound like a rifle shot was heard.
“Gee, this isn’t hunting season.” He reasoned.
No sooner said than a louder shot was heard overhead. As he looked up a limb heavily ladened with snow crashed upon him. Snow went down his collar as his head was driven into the snow bank and his glasses were thrown from his face. With a visual acuity of 20/200, he frantically searched into six feet of snow. The dog took delight in these quadrapedal actions at first, even helping to dig.
The dog was more realistic and quit digging after 15 minutes. Cold and wet, the search for glasses was a priority that had to be aborted after an hour. His hands were numb and bright red like his nose. Pants were soaked; leg movement caused chaffing.
Defeated, he crawled back to the cabin to minimize chaffing. Disrobed, he felt better but could not warm up as the electricity to the power-dependent house had been off for the past six hours. His only option for warmth was the fireplace. He searched for the fire lighter only to remember it too was buried. Maybe, it dawned on him: more thought should have been expended on the basics such as matches rather than the comforts such as recliners. Nor could he find spare glasses. He had stocked this cabin with every thinker’s tool, but no spare glasses. Fortunately, Mother Nature endows sexagenarians to a certain degree with a survival tool: presbyopia. He could see well up close but not beyond three feet with any degree of acuity. Most thinkers can function within three feet.
Without clothes and vision, reality forced re-prioritization: warmth first. A sweat suit was donned and then back outside for heavy labor. The only source of heat had to come from within by exertion. Had he been a great thinker, he would have jogged down to Tom and Sue’s cabin, basked by the pot-belly stove, drank piping hot percolated stove coffee and recruited Tom’s help to move the truck and trailer, after Tom cleared the snow with his bladed 4-wheeler.
Through narrowed eyelids, his myopic eyes glanced the driveway. Grabbing the snow shovel, he started the backbreaking task of snow removal. It was hard at first and never eased up. Stopping was not an option now as he warmed with sweat. The muscles in his arms would cramp if he stopped, and sometimes the left bicep would fatigue too much to scoop full loads. On he worked until the driveway and tarmac were cleared of snow. He even took six feet off the corner where the driveway met the tarmac so the trailer would clear the snow bank: thinking, always thinking, about how to extricate the vehicle. The snow under the wheels could not be removed, but around each wheel he dug a moat that sloped fore ward. Wheels now stood on individual pedestals. When rotated, they should jump off the pedestal, and with momentum, help propel the load that much closer to the tarmac as an object in motion tends to stay in motion. He was proud of these thoughts and worked to the point he contemplated taking a picture, but abandoned the idea remembering the camera was stowed in the thinking city home. Besides, further idleness brings on cramps and chills. He jumped into the SUV, put the key in the ignition but stopped for more thought: gently accelerate and when the wheels started to turn avoid spinning, try to steer but don’t yank the wheel too hard, and remain calm. Yes, that’s the way to do it!
The engine started up immediately. With a racing heart, he turned the steering wheel to and fro. The ice beneath the front wheels gave up their grip and the wheels were free. With this success, he jumped down from the SUV. He checked wheel alignment for any needed steering corrections once the vehicle started to move. He checked the chains again, although he could not inspect the inside out chain. Oh well, it would work or it wouldn’t. Now was the moment. Now was the time to prove a thinker can be a doer. Now was the time for glory!
The SUV wouldn’t move. Primordial behavior manifested from his frustration. The dog diplomatically removed himself to the opposite side of the garage when the thinker got out of the SUV and flopped in the snow, whimpering. After a while, he rose, and then kicked a tire, but this time both tire chains unlatched from their tires to lay in the snow. Things were unraveling fast! To make matters worse, he noticed his left thumb was turning blue. He started sucking it for warmth but found the act so gratifying his temper was soothed.
Back to work, snow chains were reattached in between sucking his thumb. He jumped back in the vehicle, started the engine, and reviewed the mental checklist with the added proviso that rocking the wheels gently at first might break the ice. Cautiously he put it in reverse applying a little power then forward with a little power. With two cycles the wheels broke free, jumped off their pedestals and with more gentle acceleration inched up the hill onto the flat tarmac with the obsequious trailer following behind. He braked just in time to avoid hitting the garage door. Depth perception is difficult with 20/200 vision. He jumped out of the SUV, crouched, extended a fisted right arm, and then rapidly pulled it back while exclaiming loudly:
“Yes!”
A loud rifle shot overhead interrupted this victory dance. As a reflex, he looked up to the oncoming snow and branch that buried him.
He dug himself out with his right hand while sucking his left thumb.
Exhaustion, after cleaning up the snow pile, did not help the stamina needed to finish the day’s work. The chairs were moved, one by one, to the dry garage. Muscle fatigue caused the first one to be dropped in the snow but with no obvious damage. The second chair popped open, which is reclined, as it was swung around the trailer, knocking the thinker to the ground. The chair looked inviting as he crawled up its arm to regain standing. Too heavy now to lift, the chair was pushed into the garage, snow included.
All that was left now was the task of turning the SUV and trailer around. First, the trailer was unhitched, and then the truck was backed around it, inch by close inch, until it could be turned around at the junction of the driveway and tarmac. The trailer proved to be more challenging. The 4-wheeler, another convenience stored in the garage, was backed to the trailer hitch and attached. Because of its size, the trailer could be easily maneuvered thought the thinker. He had even bought a hitch ball for the 4-wheeler for such a contingency last fall. This 4-wheeler was a big 500 cc, four-wheel drive, top-of-the-line model.
“There ain’t nothin you can’t do with this baby!’ the salesman had assured the thinker as he patted the seat then rubbed an imaginary smudge with his long sleeved shirt arm.
Within nanoseconds of trying, the thinker found one thing it couldn’t do. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps the salesman was mendacious. The 4-wheeler wouldn’t budge the trailer, and its efforts were analogous to a male ant climbing up a female elephant’s hind leg with rape on its mind. The 4-wheeler was relegated back to the garage
.With backbreaking lunges, the trailer tongue was lifted, moved laterally a few inches, and then dropped. With a moment respite so muscles could recover, the act was repeated over and over until the trailer was perpendicular to the SUV. So much for manual labor; let’s get mechanical, he thought like a thinker. The vehicle was backed as close to the tongue as possible, the trailer safety chain was attached to the hitch ball, and thus the trailer was dragged into perfect position. Truck and trailer were re-attached ready to journey in the morrow to the U-Haul store.
While inspecting his work for the day, he heard:
“Hello?”
From down the driveway, Tom was climbing to the house.
“I see you have been busy, I’ve waited for your call all day but it looks like I waited too long.” He smiled.
The thinker didn’t mind. For the first time in as long as he could remember he was a doer doing and not a thinker thinking.
“You look cold and wet. You better get inside, the electricity is back on.”
As he departed: “Oh, by the way, watch out for falling snow. These trees can’t hold the weight.”
With stooped posture, the thinker shuffled into the laundry room and disrobed completely after locking the door as a gesture of finality to the day. The dog cocked his head as he perused the naked old man as if to question:
“Is this my true master?”
For nothing is as repulsive and unaesthetic as a naked old man. Wrinkles engulf flabby muscles, and a withered butt competes with a sagging gut for symmetry. The combination makes it impossible to see if he is coming or going. The chest barrels forward as the spine bends, like a limb, making a question mark in profile. Fat accumulates in odd places giving the appearance of unstable Jell-O with any movement. With time, the aging metamorphosis makes the human shape unrecognizable.
He was viewing the bruises from the falling limbs when it dawned on him that the groceries were still in the garage. Although tired, hunger necessitated action. Out the door, shutting it as he went, ran the naked old man intent on a fleeting journey to the nearby garage to gather up enough food for supper. A locked garage door stopped him cold. He turned and ran back to the house to be equally stopped by a locked door. He had locked himself out again.
Only this time it was cold, snowing, and he was bare naked without even glasses. At least it was dark, and, hopefully, no one would see him. There was a spare key planted under a large pine tree out back after the last lockout, but the area was under three feet of snow now. Digging frantically in the dark only made his fingers and knees colder. The only other option was to get a spare key from Tom or Larry.
“Oh no, not Larry!” He thought as he high stepped it down the main street. “I hope no one drives up now.”
Tom and Sue were home: thank God for small blessings. The thinker knocked on their door then dived behind the city ambulance. Fortunately it was Tom, not Sue, who came to the door.
“Tom, can I get my spare key?”
“That you? Let me turn on the porch light.”
“No!”
“Well come on in then.”
“No!”
“You okay?”
“Please Tom, just get the key!”
“Okay, but Sue wants to know if you can stay for dinner.”
“Some other time. Please Tom.”
After what seemed like an eternity, Sue came to the door. “Tom can’t find the key. You want to come in?’
“Thanks Sue, but I got a cold and I don’t want you to get it” Cold he was.
Just then Tom returned to the door. “I found it!”
“Just put it on your Suburban’s hood, Tom. Thanks!”
Both Tom and Sue peered into the dark. The thinker had to wait until they finally turned back into the house, both looking puzzled at each other.
As he ran back home he wallowed in self-pity: “Is there anything else that could possibly go wrong?”
About that time he heard a rifle shot overhead.
Post Script: Two weeks later the county newspaper ran an article in the Hamlet Corner about a geriatric streaker running down the road. The most sober of the eyewitnesses described the bare jogger: “Well it’s hard to say; kinda looked like a giant s-shaped bouncing water balloon on legs. Hard to say if he was coming or going.” An accompanying article in the Pastor’s Corner bemoaned the moral degeneracy of such an act and asked why such perversion was permeating rural America.
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