06/11/2024
PRINT VERSION OF THE SPLIT MOUNTAIN CAFE NOW AVAILABLE!
An excerpt:
Doc’s black Land Rover soon pulled up next to Bud and Howie, Shorty turning off the engine.
“Everything OK?” Bud asked.
“I don’t know,” Shorty replied. “You have to ask Doc. I don’t think he’s feeling too well.”
Doc got out of the vehicle, leaning on it as if he was about to pass out. Bud and Howie were soon by his side, and Bud noted he was white as a sheet.
“Do we need to get you to a doctor, Doc?” Bud asked.
“No, no, just get me a camp chair. I need to sit down for awhile.”
“What’s going on?” Howie asked with concern, unfolding a camp chair from the back of the FJ.
“He thinks he might be dead and hasn’t fully internalized it yet,” Shorty said.
Doc sat in the chair, now looking through the back viewfinder of his camera.
“I think I’m a goner,” he said. “That’s why I wanted Shorty to drive, in case it hit me while we were climbing this shelf road. I’m trying to reconcile this in my mind, and I almost had myself convinced everything was OK. But friends, pictures don’t lie.”
With that, he handed Bud his camera. Bud tried to make out what was on the viewfinder, but not having much luck, gave it to Howie.
After rotating it and examining it closely, Howie handed the camera back to Bud, saying, “It looks like a tombstone, Sheriff, but I can’t make out what it says.”
Bud took the camera under the shade of a juniper tree, then zooming in on the picture, said flatly, “It is a tombstone, Howie, and it has Doc Richardson’s name on it.”
Shorty said, “Doc, there’s probably a million Doc Richardson’s on the planet. And how could this possibly be your tombstone, way out here in the middle of nowhere? Besides, you’re not dead, though you may be close.”
Doc, almost whimpering, said, “Fellas, look closer. Check out the dates, then you’ll know why I’m upset.”
Bud zoomed in again.
“April 1, 1961. Is that your date of birth? April Fool’s day?”
“I’ve been told that’s when I was born,” Doc said quietly. “Now check out the date of death,”
“Wow!” Bud exclaimed. “According to your tombstone, you have exactly two weeks to live, Doc. You died on your birthday—or are going to, anyway. April Fool’s day again.”
Doc looked at Bud. “Don’t you find that somewhat unsettling?”
“That you might die in two weeks? Sure,” Bud answered. “The fact that you found a strange tombstone with some dates that we can ascribe meaning to, not really.”
“It’s a coincidence,” Howie added, sounding unsure.
“Yeah,” Shorty said. “It’s a meaningless coincidence. Nobody knows when they’re going to die.”
Doc sat with his hand over his eyes, looking like he was already contemplating his end.
“Who gets your Land Rover?” Howie asked. “Just kidding, but I would like to get some of that delicious peach jalapeno salsa you make before you kick the bucket.”
“Doc,” Bud said. “Let’s get going. We want to be in Vernal before dark. Let Shorty drive. He’s a good driver, and you can contemplate which of your buddies gets your stuff as we go along.”
Doc quietly stood, folded up the chair, handed it to Howie, and got into the passenger seat of the Land Rover.
Bud leaned into Doc’s window and patted his shoulder, saying, “We’ll miss you.”
They started their rigs, heading down the back side of Baxter Pass and along the rough dirt road, eventually reaching the Best Western in Vernal, Utah, where they would spend the night.
They would then go stay in two brand-new yurts at Split Mountain Campground in Dinosaur National Monument, where adventure waited, as Doc pondered how he might soon die.