The boys relay the call up to the front of the column.
"EVERYBODY STAY IN LINE UNTIL WE CATCH UP!" I yell. "DON'T LOSE YOUR PLACE IN THE LINE!"
Fifteen minutes later, the troop is standing in condensed line. I find that Andy is the one who usurped the role of leader. I remind them all to stay in exactly the same place they had when we were walking.
"Okay," I say. "Everybody join hands."
They all look at each other.
"Come on! Just do it!" I tell them. "And don't let go."
Then I take Herbie by the hand and, as if I'm dragging a chain, I go up the trail, snaking past the entire line. Hand in hand, the rest of the troop follows. I pass Andy and keep walking.
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And when I'm twice the distance of the line-up, I stop. What I've done is turn the entire troop around so that the boys have exactly the opposite order they had before.
"Now listen up!" I say. "This is the order you're going to stay in until we reach where we're going. Understood? Nobody passes anybody. Everybody just tries to keep up with the person in front of him. Herbie will lead."
Herbie looks shocked and amazed. "Me?"
Everyone else looks aghast too.
"You want him to lead?" asks Andy.
"But he's the slowest one!" says another kid.
And I say, "The idea of this hike is not to see who can get there the fastest. The idea is to get there together. We're not a bunch of individuals out here. We're a team. And the team does not arrive in camp until all of us arrive in camp."
So we start off again. And it works. No kidding. Everybody stays together behind Herbie. I've gone to the back of the line so I can keep tabs, and I keep waiting for the gaps to appear, but they don't. In the middle of the line I see someone pause to adjust his pack straps. But as soon as he starts again, we all walk just a little faster and we're caught up. Nobody's out of breath. What a difference!
Of course, it isn't long before the fast kids in the back of the line start their grumbling.
"Hey, Herpes!" yells one of them. "I'm going to sleep back here. Can't you speed it up a little?"
"He's doing the best he can," says the kid behind Herbie, "so lay off him!"
"Mr. Rogo, can't we put somebody faster up front?" asks a kid ahead of me.
"Listen, if you guys want to go faster, then you have to figure out a way to let Herbie go faster," I tell them.
It gets quiet for a few minutes.
Then one of the kids in the rear says, "Hey, Herbie, what have you got in your pack?"
"None of your business!" says Herbie.
But I say, "Okay, let's hold up for a minute."
Herbie stops and turns around. I tell him to come to the back of the line and take off his pack. As he does, I take the pack from him-and nearly drop it.
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"Herbie, this thing weighs a ton," I say. "What have you got in here?"
"Nothing much," says Herbie.
I open it up and reach in. Out comes a six-pack of soda. Next are some cans of spaghetti. Then come a box of candy bars, a jar of pickles, and two cans of tuna fish. Beneath a rain coat and rubber boots and a bag of tent stakes, I pull out a large iron skillet. And off to the side is an army-surplus collapsible steel shovel.
"Herbie, why did you ever decide to bring all this along?" I ask.
He looks abashed. "We're supposed to be prepared, you know."
"Okay, let's divide this stuff up," I say.
"I can carry it!" Herbie insists.
"Herbie, look, you've done a great job of lugging this stuff so far. But we have to make you able to move faster," I say. "If we take some of the load off you, you'll be able to do a better job at the front of the line."
Herbie finally seems to understand. Andy takes the iron skil- let, and a few of the others pick up a couple of the items I've pulled out of the pack. I take most of it and put it into my own pack, because I'm the biggest. Herbie goes back to the head of the line.
Again we start walking. But this time, Herbie can really move. Relieved of most of the weight in his pack, it's as if he's walking on air. We're flying now, doing twice the speed as a troop that we did before. And we still stay together. Inventory is down. Throughput is up.
Devil's Gulch is lovely in the late afternoon sun. Down in what appears to be the gulch, the Rampage River goes creaming past boulders and outcroppings of rock. Golden rays of sunlight shift through the trees. Birds are tweeting. And off in the distance is the unmistakable melody of high-speed automobile traffic.
"Look!" shouts Andy as he stands atop the promontory, "There's a shopping center out there!"
"Does it have a Burger King?" asks Herbie.
Dave complains, "Hey, this isn't The Wilderness."
"They just don't make wildernesses the way they used to," I
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tell him. "Look, we'll have to settle for what we've got. Let's make camp."
The time is now five o'clock. This means that after relieving Herbie of his pack, we covered about four miles in two hours. Herbie was the key to controlling the entire troop.
Tents are erected. A spaghetti dinner is prepared by Dave and Evan. Feeling somewhat guilty because I set up the rules that drove them into their servitude, I give them a hand with cleaning up afterwards.
Dave and I share the same tent that night. We're lying inside it, both of us tired. Dave is quiet for a while. Then he speaks up.
He says, "You know, Dad, I was really proud of you today."
"You were? How come?"
"The way you figured out what was going on and kept every- one together, and put Herbie in front-we'd probably have been on that trail forever if it hadn't been for you," he says. "None of the other guys' parents took any responsibility for anything. But you did."
"Thanks," I tell him. "Actually, I learned a lot of things to- day."
"You did?"
"Yeah, stuff that I think is going to help me straighten out the plant," I say.
"Really? Like what?"
"Are you sure you want to hear about it?"
"Sure I am," he claims.
We're awake for some time talking about everything. He hangs in there, even asks some questions. By the time we're fin- ished, all we can hear is some snoring from the other tents, a few crickets... and the squealing tires of some idiot turning donuts out there on the highway.
Davey and I get home around 4:30 on Sunday afternoon. Both of us are tired, but we're feeling pretty good in spite of the miles. After I pull into the driveway, Dave hops out to open the garage door. I ease the Mazda in and go around to open the trunk so we can get our packs.
"I wonder where Mom went," says Dave.
I look over and notice that her car is gone.
"She's probably out shopping or something," I tell Dave.
Inside, Dave stows the camping gear while I go into the bed- room to change clothes. A hot shower is going to feel absolutely terrific. After I wash off the great outdoors, I'm thinking, maybe I'll take everybody out to dinner, get us a good meal as kind of a celebration of the triumphant return of father and son.
A closet door is open in the bedroom. When I reach to shut it, I see that most of Julie's clothes are gone. I stand there for a minute looking at the empty space. Dave comes up behind me.
"Dad?"
I turn.
"This was on the kitchen table. I guess Mom left it."
He hands me a sealed envelope.
"Thanks Dave."
I wait until he's gone to open it. Inside is just a short hand- written note. It says:
Al,
I can't handle always being last in line for you. I need more of you and it's clear now that you won't change. I'm going away for a while. Need to think things over. Sorry to do this to you. I know you're busy.