Road Trip Pt. 04

"Sorry. I think what you have is a 'green stick' fracture of your tibia – that's your main lower leg bone. It carries ninety percent of the load for that leg; you also have a smaller bone called a fibula that seems all right. The break may be like what a tree branch might do when it cracks but not all the way through. We've got to immobilize the leg before we move you, or we might do greater damage getting you back to civilization."

"How do you immobilize me here – there's not much around to work with and you're in running shorts and a t-shirt?"

"I'm going to go down to my camp and get some materials and come back. We'll immobilize your leg, get you off this ledge, and take you down the mountain. Where's your car?"

"I have a rental car parked at Sylvan Lake. Do you know where that is?"

"No, but I can find it. Give me the keys I want to move it closer to where I'll bring you out of the woods below. I'm on a motorcycle, so that won't do to transport you."

Mils studied me a second, I guess evaluating whether she could trust me with her car and whatever valuables she'd left in it. A wave of pain caught her for a few seconds. The car keys rapidly appeared, and she dropped them in my hand. She described the car to me, and where she'd put it in the parking area.

"It might be an hour or two before I get back. We're still a way from the campground that's the nearest to where you are; that's where I'm camped. I'll take my motorcycle to your car and then drive it back. Be patient. If someone else comes, ask for them to stay, and to me help get you down the mountain when I get back."

"Bring me some food too, if you can – please. My stomach is growling; I've missed two meals."

I agreed, and then studied a descent over the lower cliff, from the ledge to the rocky floor below. I scaled down that cliff face, noting the paucity of hand and toe holds. Once I got down and a few feet away, I turned and took a picture of the cliff. I didn't have cookie crumbs to lead me back to Mils, but I could take a picture every few feet to be sure I could reverse play my journey down the mountain. Occasionally, I'd also move a few rocks into a signpost as well.

I traversed laterally through the trees back to the trail I'd been on before I heard Mils call for help. I trotted down the mountain, extrapolating what the journey would be like with the injured woman. In ten minutes, I rejoined the trail I'd started on when I left camp, and ten minutes after that I reached my camp. I'd taken about fifty pictures of my route down the mountain.

As I moved down the trail, I'd made a mental list of the things I'd need to rescue Mils. I figured my first job was to get her car and see what other resources I could find along the way. I rode my motorcycle a little further down the mountain to the parking area she'd indicated. I found her car quickly and returned to the campground with it, leaving my motorcycle locked in the same parking area. I was amazed at how isolated we were now that the season had passed. I passed one pickup truck before I could react and flag him down. I had no cell phone coverage. The few places I passed were closed.

After I had transferred the packs on my bike to Mils' car and locked up my bike, I drove Mils car back to my campground. I stopped at the entrance and found I could easily detach the chain blocking auto access to the campground parking area. I tossed the chain in the car. After I'd parked by my camp, I checked the trunk of the car. Mils had a hard-sided suitcase. I dumped the clothing out of it, and on a picnic table near the camp I cut the sides out of the case with my knife; they'd be her splints.

From my saddlebags, I grabbed a collapsible backpack and loaded the bag with duct tape that I always carry, my knife, six energy bars, two bottles of water, the chain from the entry, and the sides of the suitcase. I grabbed her sweat pants and sweatshirt as well. I kicked a board loose from the bench seat on one side of the picnic table – a two-by-four. I took my hatchet to the piece and shortened it to what I thought would be a length Mils could use as a crutch during her descent. I added the hatchet to my backpack.

I sized up the rest of my assets, and couldn't imagine much use for anything else. The temperatures were rising, but we were into the afternoon, so I didn't think that any additional clothing would be needed. I set off up the mountain at a brisk pace.

I carried my camera, retracing my steps up the trail and checking my route back to Mils with pictures I'd taken earlier, some trail marks I'd left on the ground as signposts. Eventually, I got the base of the cliff.

"I'm back," I yelled up to her.

"I'm still here, although I should warn you I had to pee, and it didn't go well. I tried to pull my pants down, but it was too painful. I ... well ... err ... I'm drying off, but ... well, I'm just warning you I'm not pretty right now."

I laughed loud enough for her to hear me. She yelled down to me, "Hey, no fair, laughing at the infirm and injured."

I left the rough-hewn crutch at the bottom of the cliff, and scaled up to her with the backpack. Mils blushed over her predicament. I could see the puddle of urine near her. I knelt beside her, and dumped my kit out on the ground. "This might hurt a little; I have to put a splint on your leg."

"How do you know so much about this stuff – tibias, fibulas, and first aid?"

"I was in the Army years ago – Special Ops. Had to learn all this stuff so I could backup the medics from my unit. On some missions we went on, I had to be the medic."

"Oh," Mils said. After thinking about it for a minute, she asked, "What was your specialty if it wasn't being a medic?"

I shot her a sideways glance, "Oh, blowing things up, assassinations, overthrowing unfriendly governments, saving the world, rescuing hostages, and if I tell you more I'd have to shoot you." Mils looked horrified. I laughed. She made a face at me and stuck her tongue out at me. At least, she'd kept her sense of humor. If she knew how close to the truth my statement had been, she might not have thought our conversation so humorous.

I carefully and tightly wrapped the sweatpants and sweatshirt around her leg and anchored them with duct tape. I elicited a couple of yelps from her as I straightened the leg. I hated to do that part, but I knew I had to. I took the panels I'd cut from the sides of her suitcase, and made a long box with no ends for her leg from the stiff material.

Mils watched me. She observed, "Hey, I have a suitcase with sides just like that ... Oh, shit." I looked at her and nodded, confirming her guess about the demise of her suitcase.

Before she could comment further, I said, "Sorry, I couldn't find any other suitable material for a splint on such short notice. I'll buy you a new one."

With more duct tape I wrapped the splints around her leg until I'd made the lower leg completely immobile. As I worked, Mils wolfed down the six energy bars and water I'd brought her.

After checking my handiwork, I said, "Now, to get you down off this ledge. How much do you weigh?"

"About a hundred and thirty." I hoped I could support that weight as I lowered her.

I pulled the chain out of my backpack. I put one end of the long chain around her body and under her arms, tying a bowline knot in front of her to lock her into her metal sling. I told her how I wanted her to hang on, and how I'd lower her, and specifically how I wanted her to keep all weight off the injured leg, even if she had to fall the opposite way.

I found a place I could brace one foot in a crevice in the ledge as I slowly fed the chain out to lower Mils to the ground. I helped her shuttle over to the edge of the ledge, grabbed the chain, wrapped it around my waist, and established my foothold. Mils faced me as she went over the edge, her bad leg going first. I held tight, the free chain passing behind me. I remembered a tough drill sergeant yelling instructions at our platoon as we learned about belaying and anchoring with one of our buddies dangling in midair.

Mils used her arms and good leg to hold herself away from the face of the ledge as I slowly fed out the chain. Inch by inch, I lowered her, trying to estimate the distance to the ground. I asked Mils to start to tell me 'how much further.'

Finally I heard, "I'm down and standing on my good leg. I'm braced against the cliff face." Mils shouted up just as I would run out of chain. "What now?"

"Don't move; I'm coming down."

I dropped the chain over the edge, being sure I didn't clobber her with the excess, and then I scaled down the cliff face for the last time. I brought all my rescue materials, and even the wrappers from the energy bars: carry in; carry out.

I explained to Mils that I would try to carry her piggyback and see if she could handle that position. With some effort I got her onto my back so I could support her weight. We didn't get twenty feet before she pleaded with me to let her down. The lateral pressure on her leg and the bouncing as I walked produced too much pain for her. We had to use an alternate method of getting her down.

I set her down, and Mils steadied herself against a tree while standing on one foot. I retrieved the crutch I had made and handed it to her. I could see the steely look in her eyes as she estimated how far she could go with the piece of lumber under her arm.

I collected the chain, got the backpack organized again, and then went to Mils' side to help her shuffle back to the trail. As I got my arm around her, Mils looked up at me and then kissed me. I kissed back, and with my arm around her the kiss turned into more of an embrace than a support aid. After a couple more kisses, I insisted that we start back to camp. Any romantic notions had to wait until later. She said, "That's for being my hero ... and I don't give those out very often."

Mils alternated between using the wooden crutch and having me help support her as she hobbled down the mountain trail on one leg. Getting down was more of an ordeal for her than either she or I had first estimated. We stopped for a break every fifty feet or so. It was slow going.

Time seemed to race by. I figured I'd found Mils about nine in the morning. It was noon when I parked her car at my campsite. Two o'clock had passed, and our progress was slow. I tried to gage how long it might take at our current rate of progress to get to my camp. I started to worry about darkness even though it was only early afternoon.

I had a better idea about her transport. I told her, "I want to change how we're going down the mountain. We're too slow, and I'm worried you'll plant that bad leg to compensate. Sit here, I have to make something."

I found several tall thin saplings. In minutes, I'd cut them down with my hatchet and stripped the branches. I made notches here and there on the longer ones, and cut the shorter saplings into still shorter sections to use as cross pieces. With the aid of more duct tape, I quickly fashioned a travois with a crude seat and backrest where Mils could recline slightly with her bad leg elevated as I dragged her down the mountain trail. Mils watched my fast assembly of the sled with a look of awe.

I helped Mils onto the seat of the travois, and picked up the two long poles where they narrowed together, one on either side of me under my arms. I started to pull; this would work. There were only a few places where the travois wouldn't fit between trees or rocks as we went down the trail, or where the gradient necessitated that I carry her. At those places, I'd help Mils across or around the barrier, bring the travois across, and then we'd start again.

We got to my camp about four o'clock.

"Feed me. Feed us," Mils implored as I got her temporarily seated at the picnic table with her leg elevated, and she saw a duffle bag with my food provisions in it. I made sure she wanted to wait for medical treatment, and then prepared some scrambled eggs and hardtack for the two of us. She gulped down the meager camp food like a starving person.

After our makeshift meal, I got Mils into the backseat of her rental car with her bad leg supported, and then I closed up my camp, putting all my gear into her car. As we left the campground, I even replaced the chain across the gateposts.

When we got in range, I used my iPhone for information and directions to the Rapid City Regional Hospital. I parked by the emergency room door, and seconds later delivered Mils into the hands of two nurses who took her inside in a wheelchair. I parked the car and came back to the ER to see whether I could help.

One nurse in the ER said to me, "Did you do the immobilization of her leg?"

I nodded, waiting for criticism.

She said, "That's the finest job I've ever seen of preparing a broken leg for transport. Our EMTs don't do any better than that with all the crap they carry in their ambulance. When I tell you that you did a good job, take that as a high compliment." She gave me a warm smile and walked away.

I sat beside Mils holding her hand while an osteopathic doctor worked over her leg. Several x-rays hung from a light box on one wall. In each of them, we could see the fracture running nearly all the way through the tibia. Mils had been given a strong pain killer and barely blinked as the doctor manipulated her leg and foot into position to help heal the break, and to prepare her for a short cast running from just below her knee to the toes of her foot. After his handiwork, her toes stuck out the front of the lower cast and displayed her pretty toes.

The ER doctor gave her a talk about using the leg, resting for a few days before she traveled, bathing without getting the cast wet, and the effects of the sedatives he'd given her. He also gave her a vial of pills – painkillers – to tide her over until she could get home to St. Louis at the end of the week. The hospital also gave Mils a pair of crutches to use while her leg healed.

As I wheeled Mils past the nurses' station on the way to curbside, the digital time on the clock registered eight o'clock. I parked Mils with one of the nurses and went to get the car. We got her into the front seat, and I started to drive to her hotel. As we left the hospital grounds, I asked, "You want any dinner?" I felt hungry and needed to get something more substantial inside me besides the breakfast I'd made for the two of us.

"YES!" Mils practically shouted from the seat next to me. We both laughed at her enthusiasm for food. She added, "I'm staying at the Radisson just a couple of blocks from here – that way; they have a lovely looking restaurant too. Even if the food is bad, the atmosphere will be nice – particularly with my hero there. Come on, my treat."

In ten minutes, I'd helped Mils into the hotel. Since the hospital, she'd shed her jeans and worn a skirt and blouse I'd retrieved for her from the luggage in the car. I still wore my running clothes from my morning run along with a light jacket; thus, I received many stares from the hotel staff and a few residents as I helped Mils into the lobby.

Mils said, "I'd like to stop by my room before dinner. Maybe you'd like to dress for the occasion?" She gestured to a pleasant upscale hotel restaurant across the lobby.

"I can take a hint," I told her with a grin. I went back to the car and selected a change of clothes that would make me more presentable for her hotel. When I came back into the hotel, Mils stood by the elevator. We rode up together, and she led the way to her room. I helped her inside, although she was getting better at maneuvering with the crutches.

The first order of business seemed to be a shower for Mils. I helped prepare the bathroom for her task, putting a plastic chair from the room's balcony in the bathtub for her to sit in as she washed. After that, I helped seal her leg in a plastic laundry bag with duct tape so her cast would stay dry. Mils took a long shower. I watched television.

When my turn for the shower came, I was done in two minutes: rinse, soap, lather, rinse, and done. I used a disposable razor that the hotel had provided to shave. Even one night away from hot water makes one appreciate the luxury. I thought back to how I had dreaded the thought of the cleansing swim in the cold lake I'd camped beside when I got back from my run. This was a far cry from that. In ten minutes, I emerged from the bathroom a new man.

Mils sized me up as I emerged from the bathroom fully dressed; "You scrub up really well. Give me another second in there with my makeup." She used one crutch to hop into the bathroom and then shut the door. I had thought she looked gorgeous when I'd found her and during my rescue. With some attention to her hair and a little makeup she was truly extraordinary. As she disappeared, I took a mental snapshot of this jaw-dropper. It would be a pleasure to be seen in public with her for our dinner.

I flipped on the television and found my favorite channel – Weather. Tomorrow looked to be a good weather day, but then the next two days promised another autumn weather front with cold rain and wind. I wondered if I should get a room in the hotel. I had nowhere to go until I found someone to drive me to the parking area at Sylvan Lake where I'd left my bike.

When Mils came out of the bathroom, she asked whether I minded waiting a couple of minutes while she made some phone calls. I watched CNN and planned the next few legs of my travels as she called her mother and her best friend to tell them the news about breaking her leg. I heard some discussion about travel arrangements, but didn't pay much attention.

Mils and I made it down to dinner, and we inhaled many of the menu items, even splurging and splitting a Banana's Foster for dessert. I steered our conversation over dinner to find out more about my pretty dinner partner. Our earlier discussions had focused on her leg and transport.

Much to my surprise, Mils was a private detective. This led to many questions about her most interesting case, classiest client, biggest job, hardest job, most dangerous job, firearms, and so forth. I asked a lot of questions about how she did her work and how she interfaced with the local police departments. She had a way of telling even a simple story that made it captivating without going into so much detail that the story became boring.

So far, my celebrity status had escaped her attention, but apparently not for long. A well-manner teenage girl about fifteen came to the table, apologized for interrupting, and asked for my autograph. She had a menu from the restaurant and pen. I asked for her name, and consequently wrote'To Jana, It's so nice to have you as one of my fans. Keep listening. XOXOX Jim Mellon.' The teen looked very pleased, thanked me, gave me polite hug, and retreated to her parent's table. I nodded nicely to them, and they nodded back their appreciation for humoring their daughter.

Mils jaw had dropped. After the teen had left the table, she said in a loud whisper, "You're THAT Jim? I had no idea. Why didn't you say something?"

"You mean like sing'Texas Dawn' for you as I pulled you down the mountain, or announce 'Hey, I'm famous'?" I teased with a smile. I added, "I'm a new celebrity, and so I forget much of the time that people will respond to me in a different way because I've been written about inPeople and a few other magazines. I don't want people to respond to me differently than I was before this fame stuff happened. I don't have such a large ego that I need to be fawned over."

Mils digested those comments. She asked whether I minded talking about how I got started in the music business, so I explained about my chance encounter with Crystal Lee, and all that followed to make me a celeb. The conversation drifted around for a while, and I got us back on a more even keel where we were each talking about our lives and not just talking about my celebrity status. I wanted my situation fading to the background of our being together. Throughout dinner and our lingering conversation it was clear that we felt chemistry for each other. We began flirting outrageously with each other. Mils even entwined her good leg between mine as I sat beside her. I could tell she'd taken off her shoe so she could run her foot up and down my leg. Tease.