Trucks beat you up. At least that’s how they used to be before they became luxury couches on wheels. Matt liked his trucks the old fashioned way, the kind that kicked your tail on the highway and gobbled up logging roads. Like the truck he was driving now, a trusty old Toyota 4x4 he’d inherited from his father. He shook his head and couldn’t help but smile for a change. Here he was, heading up to the beloved shack for nine days of peace and quiet. And maybe along the way he’d figure out his life, and finally decide if he should go back to college.

The drive from Chicago was close to eight hours and uneventful until reaching the Ottawa National Forest. The “Ottawa,” as it was known to locals, was a million sprawling acres of undeveloped federal land on the Wisconsin/Michigan border. Long stretches of red pine, jack pine, and aspen dominated the drive. One of the reasons for this trip was the fishing on the Black River, a cutting stream with a slate rock bottom and numerous waterfalls. It was September, and the coho salmon would be spawning upriver, eager to strike any flashing lure dangled in the clear pools. The other reason for the trip was to heal. Stacey had left this world sixty-four days ago. Elmo one hundred and twenty days, and his father six months now. He thought the sorrow had fractured his mind for good, and even his mother noticed he wasn’t doing well. She insisted he go north. She knew this was where Matt was Matt.

I’m getting too old for these drives, he thought even though he was twenty-one. He snorted at this, knowing full well it was nonsense. The three hours of sleep the night before might have something to do with it. Might.

The four-cylinder engine rumbled on, not a force at highway speeds but a real fuel sipper. As he entered the Ottawa National Forest, the big pines increased. The Forest Service liked to keep the roadside trees tall while logging the hell out of the forest beyond view of travelers. If someone were to hike fifty yards in, they’d see stumps and clear-cuts. They’d also notice an abundance of stunted poplar and other overcrowding hardwood trees. These took the place of the giant old growth white pine and hemlock that had covered most of the Northwoods. He’d explored a huge portion of the area as a child, and over the years, he’d come to know this country as his home. He’d built up his legs hiking the ravines and rocky ridges of the Huron Mountains.