As soon as I flew over the place I knew I wanted to return. Several days later I was able to do just that. Last Thursday after Wednesday after Tuesday while eating a cheeseburger at Devil’s Den Food Shack down in base camp, owner and head cook and everything else Bret, who I had befriended in my week’s stay there, said that a blue rental car had kind of falling into his lap — he told me not to ask about details so I didn’t, ha. He knew about my fly over of Mammoth City, knew my burning desire to go back to that icy place way up on the ridge above the canyon. “Have it for the day,” he said, and threw me the keys while briefly turning away from the grill. “Just get it back before dark. And stick to the main roads. No side roads, especially snowy ones. Capisce?”
“Capisce.” What else could I say.
I reached the town about 2 that afternoon. A light snow was falling, but nothing sticking on the roads. But then I made the mistake of turning down a side road which I thought was still the main one. I shortly spotted a car parked alongside it that appeared to be the same as my own. Curious, I pulled in behind it and got out, deciding that this was as good a place as any to begin exploring the place on foot. I became grounded at that point. Just like my alter ego.
Yep, same exact make and model as I checked closer, same exact color, heck I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t have the same exact license plate #, although I stupidly forgot to check; might have even saved my life later on. Did the person who gave Bret the car also give this duplicate one to someone else? I thought at the time.
I started walking around the town but the subject kept niggling at my brain. Could it be possibly… me — or a variant version of me — a doppelganger I think they call them? Silly thoughts, I thought at the time. But then down at the lake toward the, ahem, end of my walk I ran into tracks that weren’t my own, and that I felt I *had* to follow. Which led me to my end. He left me in the water and walked away, saying thank you for my friendship, whatever that means.
Soon the car followed my body into the water. Groundy I later learned was his name. Posthumously obviously; my replacement. It took Bret a while to catch on, but eventually he did. There was a sadness about him after that which wasn’t present before. But he never said anything.
(to be continued?)
Sunklands 