Dirt Road

By Bryan L. Beerling

“What about this one?” Cliff turned the notebook around for Brent to see.
‘DIRT ROAD’ was printed in large block lettering, one word over the other and each taking up several lines.
Brent smiled.
“It’s just a dirt road that leads off the highway up and over the hill.”
“So, what’s the interest?”
“I don’t know,” Brent said. “I’ve driven past it a hundred times over the years and I’ve always wanted to know what was over the hill.”
Find out what’s in store - over that hill - for Brent as he explores his Bucket List and life after the death of his wife.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dream Write Publishing
• Release date: Aug 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781988723532

Book preview

Dirt Road

Bryan L. Beerling

Dream Write Publishing Ltd.

P. O. Box 57083 RPO Eastgate

Sherwood Park AB T8A 5L7

www.dreamwritepublishing.ca

© Bryan L. Beerling 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author, except for quotations in book reviews and interviews. Please contact the publisher for use. Dream Write Publishing and the author are committed to providing quality literary products for all ages and provide the following in-house book rating:

Adult Fiction – General Romance

Graphic violence (0); sex/nudity (0); language (1)

The characters, situations, and settings are fictitious and any resemblance to a person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Dirt Road

978-1-988723-53-2

Book and Cover Design by Dream Write Publishing

Cover Photos by Bryan L. Beerling

Library and Archives Canada Cataloging in Publication

Dirt Road

Beerling, Bryan L. (b.-)

Lethbridge AB

Look for this book in Print-on-Demand and E-Book

Thank you to Leslie Johnson and my fellow members of the River Bottom Writers

for the inspiration to take up my love of writing again.

Dirt Road is Bryan’s first full-length novel.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

About the Author

Chapter One

The same coffee shop, the same booth, the same waitress, the same time every morning, waiting for the same two buddies.

That was Brent’s life the past six months since losing Margaret.

He checked the clock – still fifteen minutes before Cliff and Norm showed up. That’s right, Cliff and Norm, only Cliff was not a postal carrier and Norm never wore suits. He used to say everyone should shout his name when he walked in though. These three guys were inseparable. It didn’t matter whether it was a high school football game, the casino, a baseball game – if you saw one the others were not far away.

Brent slowly pulled the notepad from his shirt pocket, pulled the attached elastic down, and opened it to the first page. As always, when alone, Brent had the notebook in one hand and an eraser-ended HB pencil in the other. Brent was predictable. Even before he opened the coffee shop doorway the waitress would be ringing in his order into the till – large coffee, one sugar, one cream, and a bagel breakfast sandwich. He sat in the same booth facing the same way, always the first customer in the door and he ate his sandwich before having more than two sips of coffee. Then he would settle back in the booth to scan each page of the notepad, waiting for his friends. Sometimes, he would add to his notes, other times, erase or cross out what he had already written. Sometimes he would tear out a page and discard it.

Suddenly, the book was ripped from his hands. Cliff and Norm slid into the booth opposite him and started looking at the book. Brent tried to grab it but Cliff held it out of his reach. Brent usually had it tucked away in his pocket before they arrived.

We always wanted to see what you kept in this book, Cliff said.

Probably girlfriends’ phone numbers from every truck stop on his route, Norm teased and instantly regretted it. He looked up at Brent. I'm sorry.

Brent waved it off, but a tear formed in his eye. He turned and faked a sneeze into a napkin wiping away the tear. Everyone knew Margaret had been his one and only. Even now he wouldn’t look at women. Cliff and Norm did their share, often commenting on asses or breasts but Brent ignored them.

Cliff closed the book and passed it back to Brent.

This is private, he said. We won't bug you about it again.

Brent secured the elastic over it and pushed it back into his pocket. He took a drink of his coffee and waved the empty cup towards Eleanor, the waitress.

What great weather we're having, Cliff said as he looked out the window. Hard to believe it’s only March.

And the snow’s practically gone, Norm added. They all peered out the coffee shop window at the rising sun over the hills in the distance. Those hills were separated from the Rocky Mountains in the west by a hundred miles. Between was prairie farmland and ranchland. Only patches of snow still appeared on the higher mountains.

Then Brent did something he had never done. He pulled the notebook from his pocket and snapped off the elastic. He slid it across the table.

It’s okay, he said. Go ahead and read it.

Cliff put his hand on it but looked up. Are you sure?

Brent nodded. Leaving it on the table so Norm could see, too, Cliff flipped open the cardboard cover. ‘BUCKET LIST’ filled the first page printed at an angle in bold penciled lettering. Each letter was neatly drawn with a border on the outside and inside and then penciled filling. Both men looked up at Brent and smiled.

It's just something I formulated over the years driving truck, Brent said. Mostly places I saw through the windshield and always thought about stopping to see in person.

Each page had a destination penciled across the top and a description underneath. Some pages were hard to read. Notes had been erased and rewritten. One page had 'DISNEYLAND' on the first line with other sites below; 'Universal Studios, Knott’s Berry Farm, San Diego Zoo.'

That one I want to take the grandchildren to, Brent said. But the little one is only four, so I want to wait a couple of years. Trouble is the oldest will be fourteen and I'm not sure if she will like it then. Or if their parents will let me.

Cliff and Norm did not know the reason. They just knew that one day Brent’s son and family packed up and moved away. They wondered if Brent knew where.

Cliff flipped through a couple more pages before Norm stopped him and turned back one page.

What about this one? He turned the notebook around for Brent to see.

'DIRT ROAD' was printed in large block lettering, one word over the other, each taking up several lines and spread almost across the page. It was the only one without notes and seemed to have never been erased and rewritten.

Brent smiled.

That, actually, is not too far from here on the other side of those hills. It’s just a dirt road that leads off the highway up and over the hill. It’s too narrow for two vehicles to pass and rarely looks used.

He described the road curving twice before cresting the hill as if at a painting. Barbed wire fences along each side sometimes hold back cattle, sometimes buffalo, he said. There is a big mud bog at the bottom of one mountain that never seems to dry up, so it must have some source of water. There is a mailbox and sometimes the flag is up, sometimes down, so somebody must live at the end of the road.

So, what’s the interest? Norm asked as he turned the book back and leafed through a few more pages.

I don't know, Brent said. I have driven past it a hundred times over the years and I have always wanted to know what was over the hill. One time when I was in Montana, I even took a detour hoping to get a glimpse from that side but couldn't see anything.

You can probably look it up on the internet and get satellite shots, Norm said. Brent agreed but he didn't want to spoil the adventure.

Maybe it’s that extremist camp we’ve heard rumors about, Cliff said. I heard it is somewhere around here. They are an offshoot of that one in Waco Texas that got raided years ago.

No, it's from Jim Jones, Norm said.

Brent smiled. I think it's from those guys in British Columbia with a dozen wives.

Can you imagine a dozen wives? Cliff asked. You're always going to have two or more on the rag at once. Suddenly, both men realized what they were saying and looked at Brent.

Sorry, Norm said.

You've got to quit pussyfooting around me, Brent said. She's been gone six months. I used to talk like you.

Cliff looked back at the book. So, why don't you go check it out if it’s that close? It seems to be the one you are most interested in.

If it's that close he can do it anytime, Norm said.

I'm scared it will be a dead end or maybe just a place the kids go to make out. I would be so disappointed, he said ruefully, as he tucked the book safely into his shirt pocket.

We'll go with you, Cliff said. We'll take our hunting rifles just in case it is that extremist camp. We can attack it and kill 'em all.

You'd probably join them, Norm joked.

They all laughed and discussed some of the other pages.

Well, I've got a honey-do list, Norm said, and if I don't get to it, it'll be honey no-no. He stood up. Same time, same place tomorrow? The others agreed even though they knew it was a given and watched as he walked out the doors.

Cliff's phone buzzed and he checked his message. He typed something into the phone and put it away.

Guess I got a honey-do list, too, and if I don't get it done there will be no honey.

Brent smiled as he watched Cliff hurry out the door. He wanted to say, 'be thankful you have a honey to do things for' but remained silent.

Brent pulled the notebook and pencil out of his shirt pocket again. He flipped through the pages until he got to ‘DIRT ROAD’.

Looking out the window, he could see the highway and the mountains in the distance. Looking back at the words, he studied them and drew a box around them, then a box around that one and turned the pencil on its side to shade in the spaces making one box with wide borders. Staring at the words, he pulled his phone from the other shirt pocket and typed 'Gone Fishing' into his daily calendar. He closed the notebook and snapped the elastic around it before tucking it into his pocket.

As he walked toward the door of the coffee shop he heard Eleanor call out, Didn’t you forget something, Brent?

He looked back to see Eleanor holding up the green slip of paper his meal order was written on. Sheepishly, he returned and paid for his breakfast. Eleanor went to clean his table when her co-worker mentioned it was strange he didn't say anything.

Usually he has a joke to tell before leaving.

Must have something on his mind, Eleanor said to the other waitress. Both looked to see his half-eaten bagel sandwich and half a cup of coffee.

He never leaves without finishing his food and coffee and usually brings the dishes to the counter.

And never walks out without saying good-bye, the other girl added.

In his pick-up truck, Brent looked at his fuel gauge. He was going to need to fill up before leaving town, he decided. Just as if he was driving his semi, Brent drove across the street to his usual gas station and parked exactly straight beside the pump, so his gas tank cap was in easy reach but the truck far enough away to be able to move comfortably between it and the pump. In the last couple of years, he had to increase the allowance – too many long hours on the road and too much soda pop and snacks from truck stops made his belt tighter.

Now retired, even though he was only in his fifties, he still maintained his good driving habits and other quirks adopted over the years.

I still can wear my pants, he said to himself as he stepped out of the truck and patted the slight bulge above his belt buckle. The pants and shirt were the same ones he had worn for years driving truck – one set of five exactly the same. His company logo on the sleeve, and his name embroidered on the left pocket. He was proud of his thirty-five years with the company. He started out working after school and weekends washing trucks and trailers. After graduation, he was hired full time loading and unloading, but his real passion was to drive. Then one day his boss told him he would have to get his class one license to drive trucks to move them around the yard. Brent jumped at the chance and got one of the drivers to take him on a few trips. He came back and passed his test.

I want to drive, he told his boss as he proudly showed his license. The boss said he could move trucks and trailers back and forth.

No. I want to drive on the highway. I want a route. He hesitated and then lied, I already have a job with another company if I want it.

For two years, he filled in for other drivers when necessary. Then his boss called him into the office. The company was experiencing a slow period and Brent worried he was getting fired. He stood in front of the dispatcher's desk, shaking. The dispatcher pushed a pile of used maps and a brand-new logbook toward him. On top of the book was a set of keys.

Tomorrow morning you’ll be headed for Albuquerque. The details for drop-off and pick-ups are there, he said, nodding toward the maps and a file folder under them. In those days there was no GPS, no e-logs – just maps and lots of paperwork.

Brent never looked back. His mother cried when he came home telling her he was now a 'truck driver’. She knew it meant endless days on the road. Her only child was leaving the nest. Brent had never known his father.

Somehow, over the years he managed to find time to acquire a wife and two children. And now, grandchildren. He 'fudged' his logbook to get home in time for the birth of his first grandson, praying all the weigh scales were closed. They were.

Along the miles, he