Friends & Lovers

He caught me at almost 6500 feet, on a large granite expanse. Although the lightly overcast day was cool, I was in a full sweat from the hard climb, and, breathing as slow and rhythmically as possible, I was as close to total exhaustion as I've ever been. Worse, he's not in bad shape, but he'll never be in the condition I'm in because he rarely rides the tough courses with me and he never trains. But, the son-of-a-bitch was less than 100 yards behind, doggedly applying his 190 lb. frame to alternate pedals of his 16-speed (stock, for goodness sake!) mountain bike. I found the closest thing to a tree and struggled to its base, collapsing almost into it less than a minute before he got there. It was only then that I could smile; he looked like shit! One knee was skinned from mid-shin to ankle (though the bleeding had stopped), his Tahoe City 'Bear Whiz' t-shirt was ripped like an action movie character's, and he was barely conscious. The only 'signs of intelligent life' were the flickering eyelids and a sound similar to a freight train coming from his mouth. Reaching my large bush/tree, he misplaced his dismount foot on the uneven rock and dumped (again), this time, face down on my shoes. After a quick assessment of his condition, I decided against using either the ancient CB radio or the cell phone to call in my backpack for a lifeflight rescue; he'd live to rue the day he caught me on a mountain climb!

Forcing myself to try to sound rested and relaxed, I said: "4.7 on the dismount." No amount of care improved my voice; I sounded like I'd been gargling flaming gasoline.

He never lifted his face from my feet but he said, "Maybe so, but I'll beat your tired ass to the top."

Not a chance, not in this lifetime. I would have happily crawled up the rock with my bike strapped to my backpack before I'd let him beat me! I was the bike racer, I was the stronger of the two of us, I was...

* * * * *

...asleep for how long? He hadn't moved much (His head was now cradled in my lap.) and the light was still high, but his brown hair was now white. No, that can't be right; he'd just dyed it back to its original colour last week. Oh, damn! Everything around was covered with a light dusting of late spring snow! The useless bush hadn't sheltered us from the still falling, dry powder. Almost absolute silence in a strikingly beautiful panorama: the higher peaks of the Sierras were alternately shrouded in wispy clouds or bathed in brilliant sunshine. A large hawk circled, looking for prey contrasted against the blanket of white. Scrub brush and manzanita glowed with the pristine 'newness' of a Christmas card photograph. A bright blue Stellar jay bird landed in our bush and stared, his head cocked from side to side, seemingly hoping for an explanation.

I ran my fingers through Jake's hair, brushing the unmelted snow from it and he awoke with a smile, sitting up to kiss me deeply. We both sat there and drank in the awesome splendor of the mountainside, while the jay patiently watched and waited. Jake turned to look at me and kissed me again, this time really savouring the moment. I could have stayed there for hours, pressing my breasts against his chest, tasting the mouth I have loved for nine years now. But, we slowly separated and disturbed the jay into squawking flight.

"We'd better skip the rest of the climb; I'm still tired enough to take too long and, I can admit, I'd slow you down. You win, this time." I was so happy he accepted defeat, I responded with just another kiss, alone in knowing that I would have said the same things if he hadn't first.

We spent a few minutes dressing his injuries then carefully descended, a much easier proposition even though the trail was often obscured by the gentle white glow of spring's soft and new blanket.

By the time we reached the highway and the parked van, most of the snow had melted and we both felt fine. Racking up the bikes, we started towards Truckee, but Jake turned back almost immediately.

"I want to go to the spot."

"Yeah!" I replied, beaming. I'd forgotten about 'the spot': the rest stop above Vikingshom. This overview of Lake Tahoe is an over-used tourist stop (a regular place for busloads of tourists to stop), but chipmunks, squirrels, and scores of stellar jays also populate it. All will eat from your hands if you have fresh roasted peanuts and a little patience.

Nobody was there when we arrived and parked the van. As soon as he was out of the door, Jake started his summons. I never get used to seeing it: with vocal chirps, clucks, and pops, Jake calls the wildlife to him. And, the wildlife responds. In seconds, the air is filled with the cries of, maybe, 25 birds. They dip and dodge through the pines and land in a very small impatient semi-circle around the boulder we choose to sit on. The bag is opened, handfuls of nuts grabbed, and the birds went crazy as we tossed a bunch at once to let everyone get one right away without waiting or fighting. Then, as individual birds become used to us, they returned for more, bouncing off rocks, diving from trees, hopping along the railing and the walkways, plucking one from Jake's open hand!

"Watch out behind you," he spoke quietly. The sound of his voice was the only thing that prevented me from screaming. I pictured a 12" tall jay pecking my ear off, but turned to see the cutest little chipmunk on his hind legs, preparing to jump at my hand for a nut. I quickly dropped one at his feet; he grabbed it and scampered away. Soon a busload of tourists arrived and we got set: with large numbers of nuts in our pockets, we tossed enough to get every bird in flight with a full beak, turned to each other and kissed. (We do this a lot, but, for the tourists, we do it with 'chaste showiness': hands folded into each other's, distance between our bodies, eyes closed). The 'flock' of returning jays arrived just before the tourists reached us and it looked as though the birds had all come to see two people in love! The 'ooos' and 'ahhhs' were drowned out by the sounds from dozens of cameras. We parted for a moment to hand feed (Jake) and toss (me) peanuts to our 'feathered audience'. Someone in this crowd actually started clapping! We pretend to just notice their arrival and hurriedly depart for the van, struggling not to be seen laughing until we were on our way and well out of sight.

Plans for Truckee window-shopping are changed and we retrace our route back down Highway 50. We stopped at a lodge in Twin Bridges and raced to the door to the left of the lodge's main entrance. The screen door was opened to the smiles of a small girl, obviously on her first day on the job. She was about 12 years old, blonde, blue-eyed, and eager to please. So, with as little fuss as possible, Jake and I ordered old-fashioned ice cream on large, twisted homemade sugarcones. (I know: we had just left a mountainside after being covered with snow and now craved icecream! But it was a lot milder at this elevation and the sun had come out, dazzling all it washed with clear bright warmth.) The little girl seemed to know exactly what to do, making our cones with care, looking up the prices, taking our money and making proper change. I pretended not to notice the proud mommy just beyond a side door and left the girl a $2.00 tip. She couldn't hold her glee long, though, and was gushing to mommy before we got outside.

Driving slowly now so as not to miss the proper tract marker, we made our way to the turnoff and down the long, bumpy drive to the small cabin. Jake rents it out most of the time but it was early in the season (...snow in his hair, on his legs. Why am I thinking of this now?) and it was 'reserved' just for us. Not bothering with anything more than closing the van doors, we made our way down a small overgrown path and, suddenly, face the swift and noisy upper American River. A stroll downstream a bit brought us to a quieter place, with stones seemingly placed for us to cross to a sun-bathed boulder in the middle of the river. There, we finished our ice cream, never eating from our own cone - always offering ours and accepting the other. Then, washing our hands, stretching out prone on the big rock to reach the cold water.

Jake splashed water on the boulder to lightly cool it and began to unbutton my top. I am shy of public nudity and almost stopped him, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I turned from him, allowing him to unclasp my bra. Jake centered me on the cool, wet surface, laying me down on my stomach, then proceeding to massage me, working out all of the deep soreness and pain from my legs, thighs, hips, back, and neck. I'm dosing in and out of bliss forever.

Neglecting my bra, which he stuffed into a pocket, he dressed me again and helped me back to the river's bank. On the way back to the cabin, we gathered small, dry branches for kindling for the fire.

Later that evening, by the warm light of the crackling fire, we made passionate love. And, much later, we ventured upstairs to the bed and continued our lovemaking throughout the night.

* * * * *

Jan is 5 years old, now. That may seem far too young to you, but he has a deep, quiet understanding well beyond his years, quite like his father. Today, I will tell him of the time you and I played with the animals and the tourists, the time we ate ice cream in the sun, the time we almost made it to the top of the mountain, of the time when we made him. I think he can understand, now.

* * * * * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you are crying right now, you know just how deep a mother's love runs. Thank you for reading a piece so close to my heart.