Lost Then Found WC 297

Lost Then Found
WC 297

We sat at the water’s edge, splashing our feet in the ice-cold creek that meandered through Colorado Heights Preserve.

Eric and I had been friends since grade school and neither of us was married, so all we really had was each other, all these years later.

“Holy Moly that’s cold,” I yelped.

“Refreshing, though,” Eric said.

“I guess…” I pulled my frozen feet out of the water.

This adventure was fun until we got lost; to make matters worse, we had spotty cell phone reception—so no GPS.

He studied the huge map he had spread out on the ground.

“I’m so glad you brought a real map, Eric.”

“Yeah, me too, but this place isn’t on the map!”

“It has to be.”

“I can’t find it. How did people use these things?” he said.

Since GPS, map reading was a lost art.

The sky was dimming.

“We’d better get going.” I pulled on my boots and laced them up.

“To where Garrett?”

He had a point.

“The sun sets in the West and—” I said.

“Which way is home?”

Another good point. Neither of us had been Boy Scouts, so that didn’t help.

“Do you think there are Grizzlies?” I felt for my pocketknife, not that a 3-inch blade would do much to fight off a massive, angry, hungry bear.

“Great, Garrett! Add another problem, why don’t you?”

I heard music--a Spanish song. “Do you hear that?”

“Where’s it coming from?”

I spotted the taco truck coming down the rutty road on the other side of the tree line.

“I guess civilization is always right around the corner,” I said, slipping my knife back into my pocket.

“I’m starved,” he said.

“Me, too.”

We hurried toward the taco truck.