Sean and Mittie | Roadtrippin': Nightmare in Idaho (part two) 6

Roadtrippin’: Nightmare in Idaho (part one)

This blog is part of a Roadtrippin’ series. To start at the beginning click here. To see the previous entry in this series click here.

When we arrived in Idaho, we gained an hour. I met Eddie’s friend Schuck and he ran errands for three hours (with us captive) in his large Ford truck. All I wanted was a damn shower after camping in the Jewel Basin for three days. Following his sixth errand or so he asked, “Wanna skip showers and go straight to dinner?” A headache began at my temples. I should have known right then how the next three days would go.

We ate dinner in an Italian joint where Schuck’s girlfriend Sara worked. Schuck finished his meal first and watched us. Literally. I found myself eating faster, not tasting my Chianti. When I lay my fork down between bites and he announced it was time to go. We ran out to get drinks at a bar down the street. Halfway through my glass of wine, Schuck got a text message form Sara and told us to hurry so we could meet up with her.  I looked down at my wine glass and imagined chugging it with disgust. The headache got worse.

Sara was a breath of mountain air. I found myself wondering how such a cool girl was stuck with such a douche-bag. We hopped on bikes and zip five miles to a house party. Over the next few miles, my tension was relieved by the cool breeze. I felt good, cruising around Sandpoint (one of the best kept secrets of the U.S.) until we got to the train tracks and things got technical.

Sean and Mittie | Roadtrippin': Nightmare in Idaho (part two) 13

We dragged the bikes over the tracks and chained them together in tall grasses. There were no houses in sight, just woods and waist high thicket. Schuck took off fast (wearing the only headlamp between the four of us.) We trundled through trail-less woods smacking into trees and trying to follow his sounds.  I was drunk, stumbling over a fractured big toe. Even Schuck got lost in it, though he was too far ahead to distinguish. Sara called out to him in the dark to no avail. He continued cutting switchbacks in the blackness. Finally a clearing appeared at the lake, a bed of skipping stones illuminated by the waning moon. I slid my hand in my back pocket and realized it was gone.

A passport may not mean that much to you. You probably have multiple forms of identification with duplicates in a vault. If your father lives in Mexico you visit him with no problems on account of your charm. But who asked you? To me, it was everything because without it (and since the missing purse incident), I didn’t exist. I searched the pathless Idaho woods on my tanked hands and knees.

After the party, we cycled back. Sara sped up to ride next to Schuck. Around a corner, he angled his bike in front of hers (with a sly smile on his face) throwing her, head first, over her handlebars and into a ditch. So that’s how it all began. And I had to spend three days In Idaho with this guy.


This blog is part of a Roadtrippin’ series. To see the next entry in this series click here.

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