We didn’t get far out of town before the woods closed in on both sides. The road hugged the slopes of the northern hills, twisting and turning with each convolution of the terrain. If I hadn’t known where Billie was heading it would have made it difficult to follow, but with foresight I could sit back on the tail of Smelly Man without fear of losing her. I’d never been to Billie’s farm. But neither had I been idle on my way out to Washington State: I’d brought up maps on my cell phone, noted the main routes and major features of the landscape. Even so, it’s one thing viewing a map, quite another when you’re on the ground. Some of the landmarks were hidden by the hills or forest, and it didn’t take me long to put aside what I’d learned and concentrated on what lay ahead. One feature burned into my memory was of a long teardrop-shaped lake about midway to Baker’s Hole, and I began to look for it, watching for a glimmer of sunlight on water through the trees. On zoom, I’d found that there were a couple of wide layovers opposite the lakeshore, and thought I could put one of them to good use if going with Billie’s idea of a confrontation.
