The Descent

By Brant Wehde

Sometimes dreams don’t work out in life. But sometimes dreams work with us. A life holds little weight without appreciation, and everyone has different means to reach theirs. Some paths become perilous, and some verge right on the edge of doom. This story is about a man named Brant, who is a very optimistic soul but gets caught in a dark place in his life. His legs are strong, and he has the means to travel, but one day, he comes to his limit and finds that death is just a heartbeat away. After an unfortunate decision, he is plummeted into a dark world known as Hades. Still hearing his heart beating, he and a few others try to overcome their odds and fight back.

Come along on a journey filled with monsters, friends, and foes. As fugitives, Brant and his newly found friends try to escape their sentence to Tartarus by somehow making it back to the world above. This crazy and foolhardy idea takes them on a journey in which they take together and sometimes alone.

Temptation, frustration, and dangerous confrontations come to life in this story of these lonely and desperate souls. Not all endings are good, but with faith, one can light the way. Let’s see how far a light can shine. Even when it dims, it is still useful in a place without it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514426104

Brant Wehde

Just an Iowa boy, my dad calls me. Moved to the Colorado high country at age eighteen and I’ve been bouncing back and forth ever since. I am thirty five now and am the chef of a restaurant in a small town in northern Iowa. Traveling around the country as a culinarian, I learned a lot about people. It is all the fascinating characters that I had the blessing to meet and come to know, that inspired my story. That and many dreams that came to me while I slept. When I was a little down one day, I took a walk along the Iowa River and gazed upon a tree and suddenly I found a way to tie some of these dreams together. That day (The Descent) was born. Couldn’t have thought it up if I hadn’t moved to California for a year and had the privilege to bike the coast and be a transient for a bit. I always come back to the heartland though to get my bearings. It takes a little imagination to get by here, but these rolling hills and thick air can be paradise at times. We all deal with depression differently but staying busy and productive is probably the best therapy. They say, “when in hell, keep moving.” Just remember to keep knocking on Heavens door. I suffered from the feeling of impending doom for a while. Curiously, I didn’t know why. But that adrenaline motored me through some dark places in my life, much like the character in the story, who is also name Brant.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Brant Wehde.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015918921

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5144-2612-8

                Softcover         978-1-5144-2611-1

                eBook              978-1-5144-2610-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 04/19/2019

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CONTENTS

Preface

Descent

Melancholy Light

Friendship

Get To The Trees

The Abyss

Dark Waters

Blue Waters

Back To The Trees

Stardust

Fight, No Flight

The Boatmen

Guess Who’s Back

Get Out Of Dodge

Keep Running

Convalescence

PREFACE

S OMETIMES DREAMS DON’T work out in life. Oh well, what’s a dream anyway? Better to have them then to not. Maybe dreams are deeper than what we know. Maybe our dreams, we can’t control. Control is a bad word; steer is a better one. You have the wheel so steer your dream to where you want it. Just be ready and stay fit because the road is b umpy.

A life holds little weight without appreciation and everyone has different means to reach theirs. Some paths become perilous and some verge right on the edge of doom. This story is about a man, who is a very optimistic soul but gets caught in a dark place in his life. His legs are strong and he has the means to travel but one day, he comes to his limit and finds that death is just a heartbeat away. After an unfortunate decision, he is plummeted into a dark world known as Hades. Still hearing his heart beating, he and a few others try to overcome their odds and fight back.

Come along on a journey filled with monsters; friend and foe. As fugitives, this colorful bunch tries to escape their sentence to Tartarus by somehow making it back to the world above. This crazy and foolhardy idea, takes them on a journey in which they take together and sometimes alone.

Temptation, frustration, and dangerous confrontations, come to life in this story of desperate souls. Not all endings are good, but with faith, one can light the way. Let’s see how far a light can shine. Even when it dims, it is still useful in a place without it.

DESCENT

W EARING A KILT of all things, a thirty three year old Iowa native, found himself in southern California. He clears off a table where a few marines had left a mess of nacho plates and empty pint glasses. Bussing tables at a Celtic themed club, was the only job he could find. Okay, there were a couple perks. Along with the girls in provocative attire, the place did have a huge patio, so he got to be outside and feel that Pacific wind blowing up his skirt. Coming here to live with his father after things didn’t work out so well in a small Iowa town, he figured he could start over or at least get his bearings. Thinking of the events that led him to the present moment, he shook a little as he saw himself standing outside of the pot dealer’s house that his ex-girlfriend decided to make her new home. He remembered how he screamed so loud. But for what? He remembered the rage that fueled him as he used his elbow to break the windshield of her car that sat in the driveway. He gathered himself, along with the plates and the glasses on the table and went to throw a load of dishes in the wash. As the dish machine ran, he tried to imagine his future but couldn’t see one.

Having been trained as a chef, didn’t help, down in this part of the country. Here, there was a plethora of cooks and he didn’t speak Spanish which really limited his options. The lead busser came to tell him that he needed to clear off another set of tables. He set out to do the task as his coworker stood and chatted with the cute hostess. This was an increasing trend, ever since the dude got promoted to (lead busser), of all worthy titles. He cleared the tables while struggling to inhale through his crooked nose; it showed signs of being broken a number of times for he had been getting out frustrations by training at a local boxing gym.

At the end of the day he took his kilt off and said goodbye to his coworkers with a smile, as he usually did. Riding his bike home, he gazed at the empty flood canal. Back in Iowa, he lived near a river that he would walk beside to clear his mind. But there was no river in this town that lied forty miles inland from the Pacific. The dry windy air that always seemed to be blowing, kept him on his toes. This was vineyard country and the terrain was rugged. Surprisingly, this town; full of marines and ultimate fighters, was rated second safest place in the US, on some national survey. Kicking ass during the week and wine tasting on the weekends, was the lifestyle. Whatever, this place did not feel like home for this man and stealthily, a feeling of impending doom was creeping up inside of him.

He kept going through the motions; applying at restaurants, training at the gym, writing on his laptop at the local Starbucks, and watching the X-factor on TV with his dad and his stepmother. Life seemed to be peaceful but that growing feeling inside, began to get unbearable. He would look up to the sky for answers, asking, what? What is this? Is something bad going to happen? Is someone gonna try and kill me? He would wonder. The only thing he could do to stay out of its dreadful wake, was to move faster. So that’s what he did, on his bike rides to work and at the boxing gym.

He was turning out to be a good boxer. He and his coach had plans for him to compete. But fate would not let him stay long enough for that. Here, there was no river to walk beside and this competitive and windy scape of land, gave him no balance and no clarity. But sometimes, all it takes to inspire direction, is a fellow employee that you can’t stand. One day, that head busser pushed Brant over the edge.

A man is fleeing southern California and he is riding a Cannondale R1000 road bike that pulls a hurly trailer, packed with everything he owns. Never being able to find a job in that southern Cali town, other than bussing tables in a skin factory, definitely promoted his departure. That certain employee finally got to him and in one instance, instead of getting angry, he decided he was taking a journey. His plan came to him so quickly. Just like that; it was set in his mind and now he could imagine something of a future. In a tormented but inspired moment, he went up to his boss and told her of his plans.

That day, he took his kilt off with a wider smile than usual and pedaled fast on his bike route home. He gazed at the empty flood canal and daydreamed of the ocean, which he would soon be riding beside. The second he got home, he told his father of the adventure he intended to take. Even though his father thought it was a little sudden and crazy, he couldn’t deny that it sounded fun. And by the look in his son’s eyes, the father could tell that it was something that his boy needed to do.

Two weeks later, Brant gave one last wave to his father as he descended the steep hill by their house. It was a hot sunny day and he had a map and no plan, except for heading north, into lands he had never ventured.

There was an invigorating feeling flowing through him and he had just enough strength in his legs to get him where he needed to go. The only thing he would regret was leaving his boxing coach. Even though he wanted to punch him in the face so many times, that trainer got him in the shape he needed to be. All of those burpees, push-ups, and drills were necessary, for now he was headed into the wind.

One cute girl at his work, had wondered how he would camp. She said that all of the camp grounds needed reservations, weeks ahead of time in order to get a spot. He didn’t believe it and told her he’d be fine.

The sun beat down on his black helmet as he ascended the steep hill out of town. It was stifling but it would be no problem once he got to the coast with the cool ocean breeze. The hill was a long one, as he was told by a couple at a bike shop. When he reached the top without too much of a struggle, he felt confident that he could pull his trailer and all its weight for the whole trek.

The land was beautiful, he observed as he passed by the wineries and estates of the established and well to do. He got rerouted a couple of times but with his map and some helpful directions, he found his way out of wine country. It was pretty much a straight shot to the coast now and all he had to do is pedal.

Stopping at a fruit stand to recharge, he sat there and felt the nutrients from the orange and pear, rush into his blood. Fruit is just so good when the body is parched and one could think that those plums and pluots, were the true wealth of the world.

Once he was satisfied, he headed off again with music playing in his head phones. After a set list of inspirational music, anything from Phish, to Ratatat, and a strange dub-step DJ named Ekaj, he had covered almost forty miles and the sun began to set. He wondered if he’d find a campsite soon. He had not seen one yet and was at least an hour from the coast. Then, like a Godsend, he saw a sign, (Camping Next Left). It all seemed too easy, and it was. The cute girl at work, turned out to be right as the ranger explained, sorry, we are booked for weeks. The female ranger felt bad for him and wished him well as he rode off. He now knew that he would have to go stealth, and that is what he did for most of the journey.

He set off again, or so it seemed. It was beginning to sprinkle and he nonchalantly went around the back of the campground and quickly ducked into his first (hobbit hole), he called it. Tucked away, just out of sight in the trees, he put up his tent and cooked himself some mac and cheese on his propane stove. Besides the mosquitos, it was a decent setting. He watched the campers that paid for their spots, walk right past him without noticing. He imagined himself a ninja, using his surroundings to cloak his presence. The rain had ceased and he opened a bottle of rum that he brought with and took a couple puffs of some herb from his dugout.

Laying there, under the silhouettes of the trees and the moonlight, he became dazzled by a visual story playing out above him. Strange and very cool, he thought as he saw depictions of angelic beings; it was strong herb. If only he could share this vision, he thought. But no, these spectacular images were playing for him that night, alone in his hobbit hole. These strange and artistic visions, reassured him that he was going in the right direction.

The next morning he packed up early, around 5:30. Once out of his hobbit hole, he stopped at a pavilion within the campground and made a cup of fresh brewed coffee. He heard something flop down next to him and smiled at the mated pair of ducks that wobbled by. He then gathered his wits and set off for the coast.

With little effort he made it, and the sight of the ocean was magical to him. There was a surf competition taking place in the first town he came across and the sound of the waves gave him contentment. Oh, and the smell of the salt water was so cleansing. The ocean, really reminds one of how small they are in a large and mysterious world. Just right past those waves is another world of fascinating creatures that knew and cared nothing for material wealth. It was cleansing to the mind.

The sun didn’t pierce through the clouds for two full days as he pedaled from beach town to beach town. It was easy to cover distance on these flat lands; full of coffee shops and pit stops. Finally, he came across a campsite that had a hiker/biker section and he got a chance to shower and shave. After a couple beers and a good sleep, he was off again to traverse the rich orange county.

The sun finally came out as he pedaled into another beach town. He stopped to ask directions from a beautiful girl, walking on the sidewalk. She had a genuine smile and was very interested in his journey. After chatting a bit, with an infectious smile, he headed off in the directions she told him. That was the last genuine, care free smile that he would carry for a while. This was the town of San Clemente and that girl would be something to remember.

The thermals carried him up the hills at times, helping him cover distance in a short time. Little did he know that these would be the last times that the wind was in his favor. With trepidation, he pedaled to places where money doesn’t veil the nature of men. He wasted no time in Los Angeles except for a couple donuts. There seemed to be just as many donut shops as there were taco stands. Besides racing through an underpass with cars speeding by, the stretch of LA was a lot easier and pleasant than he imagined.

It was the blocked off beaches of Malibu that disturbed him. The highway was kept away from all the elegant views of the sea and the traffic was agitating. Curiously, a man in a truck came to a stop by him as he was riding and yelled, nice fucking idea! Brant brushed it off but wondered what the guy’s problem was. Oh well, he thought as he reminded himself that this was the pacific highway and bikers had a place here. That day, he tried to cover as much ground as possible. Throughout northern Los Angeles county, you could almost smell the cocaine in the air, still lingering from eighties. If you ever wanted to see what money does for man and nature, this is the place. And it’s not all glamour. One community that he came across, looked as if it had not been renovated since Van Halen was in their prime.

That night, he was forced to sleep on the beach. The sun had long gone down and there was no hobbit hole in site. But he saw an opportunity near a ginormous beach house. He pretended to be a commando as he snuck onto the premises. With his trailer stashed in some bushes, he carried his bike down to the beach and found a spot next to a storm sewer outlet, just out of view from the multi-million dollar mansion. He didn’t bother putting up his tent as it might catch someone’s eye. He just sealed himself up in his down mummy sleeping bag and slept in the constant mist and the sound of crashing waves.

Before the sun rose, he packed up and headed back up to the highway. Waiting at the nearest gas station for the morning light, he was bothered by an odd man who was obviously on something. The man kept going on about how god is everything and he kept trying to offer him a ride up the coast. He was actually harmless but very annoying. Brant finally explained to him that he was biking for the fun of it and didn’t want a ride. The oddball finally left him alone and moved on to a girl who pulled up for gas.

It was still foggy but the morning light had arrived and Brant was more motivated than ever to get a move on. Private beaches! Fhheww. The plastic feel and agitation would be something to remember.

This journey could only get better from here, he thought as the highway came back to the coast. It was an amazing feeling, being back by the ocean’s side. The views made this trip a memorable one. Never having lived by the coast before, he was like a child in a new world.

At the first beach outlet, he decided to stop and make some coffee. A family pulled up in a van when he was brewing his fresh drip. The little son, maybe seven years old of the family was intrigued by his process of coffee making. So Brant took him through it, step by step. After showing him the process and explaining to the curious boy that he was traveling up the coast by himself, the little boy exclaimed, you’re all alone? Just biking by yourself? Brant concurred as he finished extracting the beans. The little boy, then said something intuitive, you are a sad man. Brant couldn’t argue with that. The boy’s parents then yelled, leave that man alone! Brant told them that he was no bother.

It proved to be a task to get up that windy California coast. The highway would venture back inland at times and he found that the strawberry fields in central Cali were not as dreamy as he thought they’d be. It was a rugged, windy scape of land, with towns that harbored the migrant workers.

Pulling his heavy trailer proved arduous and one of his knees would get strained and he’d have to compensate with his other leg to pedal. Then, when it healed, the other knee would give out. He was a one legged pedaler for a while. The same thing happened to his achilles heels as he struggled to walk down the steps to a restaurant, afraid that they might snap in half. Maybe not packing so heavy would have been a good idea, but he was carrying his life with him. He didn’t see how he could live without his cast iron skillet and his stainless steel tea kettle. He would just have to get stronger, and that’s what he did.

He saw no one else biking north. Other bikers would joke, you’re going the wrong way! Turns out, almost everyone biking the coast, starts north because of the torrential head winds, especially at late day. Oh well, he wasn’t biking just for scenery, he was on a mission to find his life.

With exhausted legs, he finally got out of the wind-blown badlands. It all happened on a single curve and descent on the pacific highway. Within a slight moment, the landscape turned softer. It is hard to explain unless you experience it for yourself. A tear ran down his cheek as he gazed upon the view that began to reveal itself. The trees were tall and very still and the mid-day sun, hitting the damp pine needles, created an aura around them. The wind had finally dissipated and the air felt thicker. This land glowed and then so did he. He had made it to the place that he dreamed of.

He decided to pull off the road and take some time for himself. He wandered down a lush trail in the forest and took it all in. Flowers and grasses stood tall here and he came across a family that also came to enjoy the treasure of nature. Surprisingly, the mother and father both pulled out a cigarette and lit up as they walked. Brant had been a smoker in the past but thought it was strange to see this.

After loosening up, he got back on the road and continued his trek. Through corridors of red woods and eucalyptus trees, he rode. Surrounded by such beauty, a song began to play in his mind and the rhythm kept him pedaling.

There was magic on his journey and he always found a hobbit hole, just in the nick of time as the sun set. One time, he slept right above hundreds of elephant seals as they roared and made their gravely howls. With a bottle of rum in his hand, he looked around and felt that he was on his way to heaven. Everything seemed to be going well and the weather was accommodating.

Next up, was the challenging hills of Big Sur. If only he had known to stock up on supplies before entering that wilderness. Convenient stores were few and overpriced. But when he found a gushing spring coming off of a cliff, he filled his water jug and felt that everything was fine. A passenger in a car noticed him collecting the free bounty and let out a, woohooo! To praise his effort.

Camping was easy now, for this was national forest. No stealth needed in here. He met some friendly travelers in that forest and even re-upped his herb supply. For a mere five bucks he filled his dugout with some Big Sur outdoor.

He spent a few days in the trees to let his body heal, it was well needed. Amongst campgrounds, he met up with some savvy bikers and got some useful tips. One fella recommended that he change to thicker tires on his bike, explaining that they are heavier but he hadn’t had a flat in about a year of riding. Another fella advised him to start eating sardines for their potent nutrient