We didn’t speak on the ride back out on the trail. The noise of the engine was too loud for conversation anyway. The trail ended at a parking lot where my old Honda CRV and his Chevy Trailblazer with attached trailer were parked. He shook his head in obvious distaste, saying, “Is that your foreign car?”
I nodded guiltily. He folded me into the back seat of his vehicle and loaded the ATV on the trailer. He did an external inspection of my car, peering in the windows and writing down the license plate number. I had nothing to fear from those. The only things in the car were a pillow, sleeping bag, and a cooler. My home on wheels.
Then he climbed into the driver seat of his SUV. Since my hands were cuffed, I asked him, “How about a hand in buckling the seat belt?” He ignored me. “You could be liable for any injury to an unbuckled passenger if there’s an accident.” I really didn’t care about the seat belt. I just felt a need to show some spine. Maybe it was not the wisest move, but I was pissed at him and at myself. Really, how the hell did I let a body disappear?
He continued to ignore me, except to scowl in the rear view mirror. He drove us to town, still in silence. This first day in the Lewis and Clark National Forest, my attempt to find inspiration for writing, turned into one screwed up mess. I had earlier been thinking I needed more human contact. Now solitude looked much more appealing.