Fools Rush Inn

By Elizabeth Rowan Keith

There is nothing quite like the moment when a vehicle comes to rest after spinning off the road. What comes next? In this case the driver spends the winter in an isolated mountain inn. Set to the theme of a tale from antiquity, this story follows the residents of the inn through a season of compassion, acceptance, frailty, and fun. Set in the Rocky Mountains of North America, this richly descriptive story provides a view of winter in Wyoming, and the unexpected aspects of spring.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Rowan Keith
• Release date: Dec 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301578290

Elizabeth Rowan Keith

Elizabeth Rowan Keith is an independent writer and researcher who writes on investigative, ethnographic, and scientific subjects. She also writes award-winning fiction and poetry. She has a doctorate in the biological sciences specializing in ethnobotany and a Master’s degree in public administration. Her teaching and research span the fields of sociology, geography, Native American studies, government, natural medicines, and the biological sciences. She holds certifications in many forms of mind/body/spirit medicine. Recently she relocated to the Twin Cities of Minnesota, USA, with her collie, Belle. She is the widow of award-winning author and photographer, David H. Keith.

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Fools Rush Inn

Elizabeth Rowan Keith

Published by Elizabeth Rowan Keith at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Rowan Keith

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Cover by Elizabeth Rowan Keith.

Fools Rush Inn

There is nothing quite like the moment when a vehicle comes to rest after spinning off the road. First the driver takes a breath, as I had done. Driving slowly in the snowstorm, I had rounded a steep mountain curve to find an elk standing on the road. As my headlights played across him, he turned to look at me as if he knew it would be me and not him leaving that road. Braking on black ice caused me to do precisely that.

Second, there is an assessment of the new and sudden circumstances, which is what I was doing. I could hardly believe my good fortune. My truck had come to rest gently on a steep bank against a stand of pines not far from the road. I was not about to slide to my death at the bottom of a mountain ravine.

Once a driver realizes she is momentarily safe, she looks for a way out of her tragic situation. That’s the third step.

Knowing the risks of travel this time of year, I wished I had not allowed my stepmother to bully me into making calls out this way. Ever since my father died, my stepmother had been horrible to work with. How she convinced him to leave her controlling interest in our company I’ll never know. I produced a lot more income for the company than she did. And the employees preferred to work with me rather than her, which is probably why I was assigned most of the travel these days.

I knew these Wyoming mountain roads are risky in early November, and that one good storm closed them for the winter. At this altitude, roads could often not be cleared until the end of June. Storms brew suddenly. Still, I hoped this would be a short one and the roads could be cleared very soon and I could be on my way, once my truck could be pulled back up on the road. Even though I carried an emergency winter pack, there was no way I could survive until spring.

The miles up the mountain behind me were entirely void of human establishment. There was no point in going back.

Squinting through the snow that was gathering on the windshield of my truck, I thought I could see the flicker of a distant light. Walking toward it seemed to be the only thing to do.

The drift at the side of my truck brought me to realize how quickly snow was falling. I was barely able to push the door of my truck open. Gathering my suitcase, backpack, laptop computer, and a few items from the winter pack, I set off down the road. Before long I wished I had left at least half of it behind. Walking in the hard wind and snow was more difficult than I imagined. I could hardly move. Even in quality winter wear, I was becoming very cold. And I was exhausted from maintaining my bearing toward the light in the buffeting wind. The storm was quickly becoming worse. Nearly as many steps took me to one side or another as they did straight ahead. I could barely remain upright in the storm.

About half-way between the truck and the light, I was so cold I was not sure I could reach my destination. My frozen hair had become a weapon whipping painfully against my cold face.