H. Metcalf

I had given everyone terribly bad directions. Lack of preplanning on my part had the TVP’ers looking for the Barstow exit, but there wasn’t one. I was half right about the gas station… there was one but it wasn’t a Chevron as I had told everyone. We planned to depart for the claim at 8:15 am but waited ‘til 9. A lot of people had found me, actually us, as a group had assembled. As we left the station I saw Mark Weaver, getting on the freeway going in the opposite direction, at least I thought. Mark was in the passenger seat. Driving was his old friend Red, someone I had never met. I tried to call them via cell phone, but it was off in the back of the truck, reserved for emergencies.

What should I do? Would my friends get lost? I was supposed to be leading a group of prospectors to the claim. They all wanted to look for Gold, so we set out for Coolgardie Road. Mark and Red would do whatever.

After heading out north toward the diggings on Copper City Rd. I saw a truck in a cloud of dust ahead of me. It was going slow so we gained on it quickly. At the top of the grade the fellow in the truck pulled to the side, I slowed and to my amazement it was Red and Mark. Somehow in their detour the “Wrong Way” they had managed to get several minutes and many miles ahead of the caravan. “Is this the way to the claim?” Red asked. I had never met him but somehow I knew he already knew the answer. “I think so,” I replied. Red smiled and said “Well… we’ll follow you.”

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