All that week as Mac worked with Christy at the Salmon Hole, catching, tagging and releasing the fish, his mind was only half on the task he was doing. He had already radioed Pete to give him a brief heads-up on what he had uncovered; still, using an unsecured channel meant that he had to speak in vague, semi-coded sentences that he could only hope communicated well enough. He and Pete had both agreed that he needed to finish the salmon project before going to Missoula to meet the gun-runners. Whatever was happening with the weapons wouldn't move faster than a week in any event, and they didn't want to lose a whole year with the salmon data.
It was hard for Mac to stay focused, however, when he chafed to be away figuring out what was going on with the weapons shipment.
Christy seemed to understand his preoccupation and subdued her chatter somewhat. She still was mostly interested in the fish, a fact that made Mac grateful for her again.
At last the work at the Salmon Hole was finished and they hiked back to Shearer to meet their pilot and fly out. Once airborne, Christy kept a running conversation with Jerry, the pilot, on the amazing mountainous landscape below them and the names of the lakes as they flew over them. Mac listened to their descriptions, forming pictures in his mind of miles of untamed land spread below them, wrinkled into mountain ranges and freckled with trees, punctuated here and there with crystal-blue glacier-formed lakes. Christy commented on how the natural lines in the landscape were curved or wavy, but as they gradually entered more human influence, the lines between fields of wheat, or lines of roads became straight lines and square corners.
Without incident they landed at the tiny airstrip in Orofino, which now seemed highly urban, with its pavement and buildings.
Mac said his farewells to Christy, each complimenting the other on the success of their project. He hoped they would cross paths again, and he wished her well.
He then asked Jerry to give him a ride to one of the two hotels in town. Built by the river, the hotel was nicer than Mac expected, obviously built to be a touristy getaway for business conventions and honeymooners. He and Puck checked into a ground floor room. The first thing he did was to take an extra long, hot shower, almost groaning with pleasure. No shower ever felt as good as one after a wilderness trip, he thought.
His next order of business was to find transportation to Missoula, Montana, to find Frank and Marley at their designated rendezvous the following day. This proved to be quite a bit more difficult than he expected. Although Orofino, Idaho was linked to Missoula by an interstate highway, there wasn't a connecting bus route, train route or any other public transportation. He felt half tempted to go hunt Jerry down and ask him to fly over there.
After presenting his problem to several different desk clerks, one of them finally said in true Idaho fashion, "I bet my uncle would drive you over there. I'll ask 'im."
"I'd be grateful," answered MacGyver.
A phone call was made, and Uncle Jim said he didn't have anything going on the rest of that day and sure, he'd be happy to drive over to Missoula, provided MacGyver paid for gas. It was agreed and Uncle Jim said he'd be by to pick MacGyver up in an hour.
This gave Mac time to get directions to a nearby café for lunch. The greasy spoon did not have a vegetarian menu and did have a pool table and several arcade games, populated with shouting high schoolers. He was glad to finish his grilled cheese sandwich and leave again.
When he got back to the hotel with Puck, a man at the front desk greeted him from across the lobby.
"You the guy needs a ride?"
"I am. Name's MacGyver," he answered, holding out a hand to shake. The hand that took his was strong and callused.
"Jim Sanders," the man said. "Ya got a bag?"
"In my room. I'll get it," said Mac.
"Need help?" asked Uncle Jim, but Mac shook his head.
"Nah, I'm good," he replied, directing Puck down the hall. Toward the middle of the hall, he trailed his fingers along the right-hand wall, touching each doorknob as he passed. When he came to the one that he had placed a rubber band around, he knew he had reached his room. He unlocked it and retrieved his pack and Puck's food.
At the front desk again, he turned in his key and directed Puck to follow Uncle Jim out to his "rig" as he called the creaky, rattly pickup truck.
"Nice lookin' dog ya got there," commented Uncle Jim as they settled themselves on the vinyl bench seat. "What's 'is name?"
"Puck," answered Mac, "like a hockey puck." He decided that might work better than Shakespeare, but Uncle Jim surprised him.
"You mean like Midsummer's Night Dream?" he asked. "Puck like that?"
"Yeah, that too," agreed Mac. "You like Shakespeare?"
"Love 'im," replied Uncle Jim, and Mac couldn't tell if he was serious or sarcastic.
"I played Theseus in college," stated Uncle Jim, surprising Mac again. His picture of Uncle Jim as an uneducated redneck began to skew.
"Where did you go to college?" Mac asked, more to keep the conversation going than any actual interest.
"Oh it was this little bitty college down by New Orleans," said Uncle Jim. "I was in my hippy days and wanted to get as far away from Idaho as I could get."
"But you came back," prompted MacGyver.
"Yep, I came back," agreed Uncle Jim. "Something about Idaho gets in your blood, ya know?"
Mac considered this. He didn't feel particularly attached to Idaho, although it was beautiful, but he thought about Minnesota where he grew up. He thought about the long, harsh winters where blizzards scraped across the land. He thought about the German and Swedish people and about hockey.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said quietly, suddenly wondering if he'd ever skate over a blue line again, chasing a loose puck, or slam into the boards avoiding a crash with another player. He doubted it, and suddenly he didn't feel much like talking anymore.
"Where you from?" asked Uncle Jim, as if reading his thoughts.
"Minnesota," answered Mac.
"Huh. Never been there," said Uncle Jim. "What'd you do for fun out there?"
"Hockey," replied MacGyver. "I was headed for the pros."
"But you went blind?" prompted Uncle Jim.
"No," answered Mac. "I broke both my wrists. I didn't go blind till just a year ago or so."
"You sound like the daredevil type," commented Uncle Jim dryly.
Mac considered this. Was he? He certainly had his fair share of close calls and injuries, but he didn't think of himself as a daredevil. He didn't go looking for trouble. It just somehow seemed to find him.
"Not sure," he said noncommittally. "How about you? What do you do?"
"Logger," replied Uncle Jim.
Mac grinned to himself. He couldn't help liking this man although the environmental work put him on the opposite side of politics in most cases.
"You like it?" he asked.
"Love it. Out in the woods all day. Can't beat that," explained Uncle Jim.
"How do you justify the cutting if you love the woods so much?" Mac couldn't help asking.
"Well, I try to promote responsible cutting. We don't clear-cut and we replant. The forest is a sustainable resource if we use it right," Uncle Jim continued.
Mac nodded. "You don't have to lose habitats either. I wish more loggers thought like you."
"We do what we can," agreed Uncle Jim, then he changed the subject. "Guess you can't see the scenery. Too bad cause it sure is a pretty day."
Mac felt suddenly at sea. He wasn't sure what to answer. He was used to most people asking tentatively how he lost his sight and tripping over their words trying to be inoffensive. This guy just kind of spilled what he was thinking. Mac was impressed with both his directness and his acceptance of how life was.
"Nope, can't see it," agreed MacGyver, wondering where the comment would lead. To his astonishment, Uncle Jim began describing the scenery, and Mac enjoyed the man's love for the landscape in which he lived as much as the description itself.
"The hills in the sun are like the flanks of a deer. Smooth and brown with a few trees here and there. This now, this is the Clearwater River but pretty soon we hit the Lochsa. The Nez Perce tribe used to live all over this valley. Raised Appaloosa horses."
"Lewis and Clark came through here, didn't they?" asked Mac, struggling to remember history lessons from his school days. He had always been more interested in science than history, but he vaguely recalled something about the Nez Perce in connection with Lewis and Clark.
"Right," affirmed Uncle Jim. "Lewis and Clark crossed the Bitterroot mountains in the winter. Sacagawea was a Nez Perce gal, and she was their guide all through this country. And she even had a little baby."
"She sounds like a tough lady," remarked MacGyver.
"Oh she was," agreed Uncle Jim. "Sold into slavery, forced to marry a French trapper and fur trader. Then brought back as a translator and guide by the Expedition, and they weren't very genteel either."
They both pondered this in silence. MacGyver pictured the river on his left as the rattly truck swung around stomach-wrenching turns. He pictured the canoes full of men, weary from their mountain crossing, eager to press on to the sea. He pictured the young native lady with her baby, excited to see her homeland once again and be reunited with her own people.
"Why you going to Missoula?" asked Uncle Jim, breaking into Mac's thoughts.
"Oh, I'm supposed to meet someone there," he replied vaguely.
"Huh," came the grunted reply. It seemed to indicate that Uncle Jim thought that if Mac wanted to keep his business to himself, that was fine.
The road along the river got twistier with tighter turns. Uncle Jim maneuvered around them at a speed which sent Mac's stomach into knots. He also found that the sun flashing through the trees into his eyes had begun to give him a headache. Puck shifted on his feet, trying to find a more comfortable way to snooze. The cab of the pickup grew warm with the afternoon sun, and Uncle Jim rolled his window down, effectively stopping further conversation with the loud rush of wind. Mac sighed and closed his eyes, wishing there was a way to block the flash of sun and shadow caused by the fringe of trees along the right of the road.
Although the drive felt interminable, eventually they did finally slow, swing to their left and then stop at what sounded like an intersection. Mac lifted his head from where he had been dozing against the seat back.
"We're here," announced Uncle Jim with delight. He deposited Mac and Puck at a motel on the edge of town and gratefully accepted the cash for gas that Mac handed him. The two men wished each other good luck and Uncle Jim rattled and squeaked his way out of the parking lot and back on his way again. Mac smiled to himself, thinking that in some weird way, blindness indeed had its compensations. If he hadn't needed rides, he would meet quite as many interesting characters.
Then, he thought about tomorrow and the fact that he would need to meet some interesting characters of a wholly different sort. His stomach, still queasy from the river road, clenched again. He had to meet the next level of crime boss and somehow convince him that he was just blind enough to be harmless and not so blind that he wasn't useful to them. Tricky, he thought. Darn tricky.