Strange Journeys

It was when Robin had driven close to 5000 miles in the past week and a half that she decided that it was time to land somewhere for a couple of days. She was driving on Interstate 70, crossing over the Rockies, and eying the snow brilliantly topping them, when she decided that as soon as she was over the mountains, she’d find that special place. It had been an enjoyable road trip criss-crossing the country from Michigan to Maine to Spokane, Washington and now down across Utah, Colorado and several more states on her way home. Up until Spokane, she’d been driving an elderly friend and her two cats from her summer place in Maine to her new home in Washington.

It had been a fun adventure and they stopped and seen the sights along the way, but it was this part of the trip Robin had been looking forward to . No GPS blinking at her on the dashboard announcing the miles and telling her where and when to turn. Now there was no one needing bathroom stops and no one complaining every time Robin wanted to stop and take pictures. And she took pictures any time her muse inspired her. It was absolutely a grand adventure and she loved every minute of it. She’d taken back roads that did not deserve the name highway attached to the name, which curled around mountains, often turning to gravel as she drove. She went down roads with no guard rails and nothing but an abyss off the passenger side. It scared her silly, but she did it, even if her knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.

She was proud of herself, and caught herself grinning in the rearview mirror. She pulled off the road at a scenic overlook. Relaxing back against the seat, she once again caught sight of herself in the mirror. Eyes that turned mossy green when she was happy sparkled back at her. Very green eyes. Her short, curly hair was a mass of curls jammed under her hat. She smiled at herself thinking she didn’t look all that bad for someone who’d passed the half century mark. Must be the ‘roadtrip!’ glow, she mused. There certainly was something about the freedom, glorious weather and open roads that called to her soul. Her camera, her laptop and her notebook lay on the front seat. She grabbed the camera and her notebook and got out of the car.

Spread out in front of her were three sharp, craggy mountains. Snow shone white against a crystal sky. A lenticular cloud surrounded the heights of the tallest one. She’d seen pictures of such clouds before, but never imagined she’d actually see one. Then again, there really were no mountains in Michigan. Dipping down below her, a sapphire lake, complete with picture perfect sailboat skimming across it, sparkled in the autumn sun. She reached for her notebook only to open it and remember she’d filled the very last page the last time she’d stopped. Mental note, she thought, I need another notebook.

Half an hour and perhaps thirty pictures later, she was back on the road and aiming for Denver. Denver wasn’t too far from Pike’s Peak, and as she was so close to it, all things being considered, how could she not go see it. The sun was well below the mountains as she turned off the highway leading south of Denver and drove into Manitau Springs. A quick stop at a service station for coffee and gas, also gave her local comments about where to stay and what she shouldn’t miss.

Missing the turn she needed, she took her next left and spiraled down into town. Her eyes widened appreciatively as she realized that Manitau Springs was a quaint village clinging to the side of the mountain. Old two and three story buildings were crammed together, like crooked, hunched over men braving the cold. Odd shaped windows and decorated porches were brightened by strings and swags of twinkling white lights. The road was cobble-stoned and twisted along the mountain’s edge. High, pointed roofs reminded her of witch's hats. Wooden branch benches were scattered every so often. It was so intriguing that she couldn’t wait to get settled and go explore.

She never did see the hotel that had been recommended to her, but stopped at a tiny motel called ‘The Pike’s Peak Inn.’ Her room on the second floor was near the end away from the street. A tall willow cloaked her end of the building and a chattering stream ran along side. She dumped her stuff in her room, called home to let her husband know how far she’d made it and what her plans were for the next couple of days. Agreeing to talk later, she was eager to go poke around the village before the stores closed.

She was staying right in the middle of town and everything was in walking distance. She meandered by a log restaurant and immediately decided that was where she’d have dinner, but not yet. The cluster of unique shops beckoned. She wandered through a store full of glass blown objects. Glass balls with swirled colors hung from the ceiling and she bought one to hang by her desk at home. The next store was one with handcrafted candles of wizards and castles, dragons and gnomes. Outside, she realized just why there were so many benches scattered around. Being at over 7000 feet above sea level, it just didn’t seem as if there was quite enough air to breathe, and it felt good to just sit and absorb the quirky atmosphere of the village.

Everyone passing by nodded or said hello. She spoke for a few minutes to an older lady named Saffron who said she ran a pottery shop. She pointed across the road to show Robin where her shop was. Smiling goodbye, she headed across the road. Robin watched her until Saffron disappeared into her store, her long floral skirt brushing the cobblestones as she walked, the tinkling sounds of her jewelry surrounding her in music.

Crossing the road with every intention of visiting the pottery shop before it closed, Robin was instead sidetracked by the first store she passed. It was called ‘The Olde Curiosity Shop’ and was, indeed, a most curious building. There was no decision to go in; it was if she were pulled inside. She climbed up the two crooked steps into a vine-covered entryway, to a door with half-moon cutouts of stained glass. It reminded her, subtly, of a store she’d once seen on a side alleyway in Boston. It had that delicious feel about it; as if something magical was about to happen.

Inside, beyond a counter hung from the ceiling by chains which had all sorts of things hanging from them was a lady dressed as if she belonged in a castle more than in a store outside of Denver. Long, long tawny hair was looped and twisted and tied with colorful beads. She was wearing a medieval gown festooned with lace and had the strangest blue eyes. Curled up on the counter was the largest long-haired calico cat that Robin had ever seen. The woman smiled and it seemed as if the temperature in the shop jumped by several degrees. She introduced herself as Lady Alice and told Robin that the cat’s name was Archimedes.
Robin couldn’t resist petting the cat and he looked at her with glowing golden eyes and began purring.

“He likes you,” said Lady Alice. “He tolerates almost everyone unless they are prone to pulling his tail, but he seems to really like you.”

Archimedes was now arching as Robin scritched her fingers gently down his back.

“Feel free to meander my little shop, there are many delights awaiting your discovery.”

Robin nodded and wandered on down a step and around a curve. It seemed as if there were no straight aisles within. Items were piled haphazardly, in a colorful jumble of sights and odd scents. Jeweled colored scarves hung or were laid out over rough wooden boards. A snow globe designed to look exactly like the shop had its snow floating around even though she hadn’t touched it.

She saw tapestry chairs piled with handmade quilts. Ancient trunks, lids open, spilled forth sheet music and jewelry, a stuffed tree frog and stained glass sun catchers. She brushed by a wind chime and its melody followed her further into the shop.

A spiral staircase beckoned upwards and she climbed the wrought iron stairs into a room brimming with books. Old books with detailed illustrations vied with ones of buttery leather. Leaning against a first edition of ‘The Neverending Story’ was a book with a birch bark cover. There was no title, but upon picking it up, Robin realized it was an old journal. Plopping down on a conveniently placed Victorian chaise lounge, she thought to read a couple of pages. Handmade paper, fragile with time, sewn together with strips of leather, the title pages said simply, ‘My Journal.’

The first page, written in a spidery crawl with now faded ink, read
“ October 23rd, 1847
I am a free spirit. I am a creative soul. I am a writer and the need to write is, for me, akin to breathing. My name is Robin and this will be the place, my secret place, where I can put pen to paper and let all that is within me spill freely upon the page.”

“Strange,” Robin murmured softly, “Her name is Robin, and today is October 23rd. I could have written those words. “

Robin tried to read more, but in the dim light, it was too hard to make out the faint script. Returning downstairs, with the journal in her hands, she went to the counter to ask Lady Alice its price.

“It is $14.23 with tax.” Robin began to dig her credit card out of her pocketbook, but before she could even reach her wallet, Lady Alice said, “I don’t take credit cards, my dearie.”

Archimedes stood up and stretched, his purring, a low thunder.

“Um, I’m not sure how much cash I have on me,” said Robin as she put her hand in her pocket. She came up with a handful of bills and a smattering of change. Counting it out, she stopped, just staring at the bills on the counter and the change in her palm. It was exactly $14.23. Robin looked at Lady Alice, who smiled benignly and scooped up the cash.

She was still staring at the woman as she put the journal carefully in a small, handled paper bag with ‘The Olde Curiosity Shop’ hand lettered on the front above a line drawing of Archimedes sitting in a window.

“Have a good evening, my dear. It is closing time now. Enjoy the journal.” Lady Alice all but hustled Robin out of her shop, and locked the door behind her.

Still somewhat bewildered, Robin headed across the street and went over to the restaurant she’d passed earlier. Strangely, it too was closed. Resigning herself to a dinner of munchies she’d brought in from the car earlier, Robin returned to her room.

She’d no more than flopped on the bed, when her cell phone rang. She told her husband all about the strange coincidence with the journal and he understood why she had bought it. They said goodnight. Robin changed into her nightclothes and settled in bed to read the journal. But she no more turned to the next page, when the long twelve hours on the road and the events of the evening took their toll and within seconds, she was fast asleep.

In the morning, sitting out near the willow tree and drinking the coffee so thoughtfully supplied by the motel, she once again opened the journal. This time she read of the earlier Robin’s journey across the prairie up into the Dakota territories. It was fun reading about this long ago trek across the same lands she had recently driven on her drive west. She read about the long ago Robin’s seeing a huge tower of rock rising out of the landscape in Wyoming Territory, and how folks there abouts called it ‘The Devil’s Tower.’

Robin stopped reading and thought about how several days earlier she and her friend had raced down twilight roads to see Devil’s Tower before the sunset. This was just too weird. Realizing she needed to get going if she was going to make her reserved time on the cog train up to the top of Pike’s Peak, Robin put the journal back in her room, grabbed her camera and headed to the car.

Being assigned a seat in the front of the train as it headed up the mountain, was perfect for taking pictures. She had an unimpeded view as the cog train slowly clacked its way up and up and up. At the top, standing by the sign telling all the history of Pike’s Peak, Robin took pictures of world spread out before her.

“The views sure are breathless, aren’t they?” said the woman standing next to her.

“Breathless is right!” Robin agreed. It felt like there was no air at all up there.” She paused, still trying to catch her breath. “I had no idea what it was like to be at 14,000 feet! I don’t think I like it very much.”

The woman nodded. “I guess you just have to get used to it.” She said as she walked away.

The trip down the mountain seemed to take forever. Robin was tired and the lack of oxygen had bothered her much more than she had thought it might. She had been able to take some excellent pictures, and while normally she would have been excited to get back and download them to her laptop, all she wanted right then was to lie down.

Driving back to the motel, she stopped to let some people cross the street. The one woman was using a walker and Robin shifted into park while she waited. The woman was having difficulty maneuvering it across the stones. Looking around, Robin realized she was sitting right in front of ‘The Olde Curiosity Shop.’ Or she should have been. But where the shop was yesterday, was now something called “The Twisted Tassle.”

“I must be really tired, or I’m not where I think I am.” She said, looking around. No, there was the restaurant across the way, and the glass blowers shop and. . .

A horn honking behind her, alerted Robin to the fact that the lady was across the street safely and that traffic was building up behind her. She shifted into drive and returned to her motel. Stopping in at the motel office, she asked the wispy bearded kid behind the counter about the ‘Olde Curiosity Shop.’

“Nah, we don’t have no such place here. Maybe you was thinkin’ about someplace over to Colorado Springs?”

Robin thanked him and returned to her room. She picked up her cellphone and called her husband.

“Hon, you are never gonna believe this. . .