Welcome to The Borderlands Chapter 3

 

 Editor’s note: The following story was reprinted from the book, “Borderland Biker, In Memory of Indian Larry and Doo Wop Music,” by Derrel Whitemyer.

 

 

 

Ma n’ Pa’s store was the first thing that came into view; behind it were treehouse cottages. Behind the cottages were gardens. Ma n’ Pa stood together at the bottom of some hand hewn wooden steps that led up to their front door. Larry and I parked next to the gas pumps.

 

“Larry, I thought it was you,” said a tall woman who looked like she spent a lot of time outdoors in the sun and who was standing next to a very tall man who looked like he spent even more time outdoors in the sun.

 

Larry waved, then turned to me, “Meet Ma n’ Pa, they’ve lived here at the summit forever and have the last place you can get supplies before you reach the Crossroads.”

 

Not having heard of a place called the Crossroads, I asked, “Crossroads?”

 

Larry leaned over, “It’s where the Old Ridge Route joins with this road; I’ll explain later.”

 

“You’ll explain what later?” said Ma from beside us.

 

I didn’t remember seeing her walk down but there she was standing next to Larry and smiling.

“Larry,” she continued, “you sound like a tour guide; bring your friend and come inside, tell us the latest.”

 

Optical illusion maybe, but the inside of the main cottage was much larger than the outside indicated it could possibly have been. With sofas and chairs that seemed shaped to fit more than just human bodies, their furniture could’ve passed for surreal sculpture.

 

Before I could ask any questions Larry said in a whisper, “As weird as it sounds they may have created this Borderland, leastways I’m pretty sure Ma did; fact is, if I had to guess, she may’ve even created Pa. I don’t think they know I know so promise you won’t say anything; it was but by accident I found out myself.”

 

“Promise,” I said.

 

“You boys gotta be hungry,” Pa shouted from the next room. “The table’s set, come in through the kitchen; you can wash up in the sink.”

 

While drying my hands I couldn’t help notice the towel was from the Outrigger Reef Hotel in Oahu. Nothing surprised me. If I could visit their Borderland why couldn’t our hosts go relax in Hawaii, maybe catch some waves; maybe they’d bring home some souvenir towels?

 

Lunch was everything the gardens promised and was served on beautifully finished ceramic plates made in their own kiln. What we were eating became a savory footnote underlining Ma n’ Pa’s self sufficiency. Vegetable kabobs of all kinds barbequed in some secret sauce, lemonade, and fruit for dessert made up the meal. 

 

Throughout lunch Larry did most of the talking, telling about the other Borderland, the Twilight Wave and how we had, with the help of Hilts, barely escaped. Ma interrupted once only to ask if Hilts ever found out who’d put him to sleep and made his city disappear with electroshocks. She knew most everything else; she even knew we were here to get help for Andy and that he’d once been Raggedy Man. Pa on the other hand could’ve cared less about all the drama, preferring instead to tell me about a kind of hybrid apple he’d grown, and how he was digging another well and could I help him install solar heaters.

 

When we insisted on doing the dishes, Ma insisted we take showers; Pa seconded it by saying he’d smelled both of us coming up the mountain before he saw us.

 

“I heard Larry’s chopper first; there’s no mistaking that sound,” Pa said laughingly, handing us Outrigger Reef Hotel towels and pointing us towards the bathhouse that was next to the kiln and not far from the main kitchen. Steam billowed out its roof; smooth wooden planks cut to perfection made for sealed walls and floors.

 

After a hot shower I finished my thoughts aloud, “Those two are certainly more than meet the eye.”

 

Larry talked while brushing his teeth, “Let me guess, you’ve figured out Ma n’ Pa are more than just a nice couple running a store at the top of a mountain and that Ma knows the answers to most of her questions before she asks them and Pa’s senses are more acute than mine will ever be?”

 

“I’m just saying,” I added, “there’s more to Ma n’ Pa than meets the eye. They’re what I would call larger than life models of man and woman.” 

 

“Michelangelo and Da Vinci would’ve called them archetypes;” Larry continued between brushes, “and archetype may be closer to the truth, leastways with Ma, than you and I will ever know. They’re mysteries, no denying, and ones that’ll never be solved but on their terms.”

 

Pa’s loud knock on the bathhouse door postponed our conversation, “I thought you two dissolved down the drain;” then handing us our clothes, “I also took the liberty of washing your stuff while Ma went on an errand. Speaking of which, she told me to tell you Andy’s going to be OK; she also said to tell you she checked on him when you boys were taking showers and that he’s on his way here. Oh, and I almost forgot, she said not to worry about the spidery thing that scuttled away and hid in the wrecked cars.”

 

“There’s no way,” I said turning to Larry after we dressed and exited the bathhouse, “Pa could’ve washed and dried our clothes or Ma gotten all the way down the mountain to the coast in this short of time. That is unless they really did create or are creating this Borderland.”

 

“Your promise,” interrupted Larry.

 

“You mean your friend’s promise not to talk about how Pa and I created this Borderland,” Ma said from behind us. “Pa figured you for having a gift for putting puzzles together. I’m a fair hand at puzzles myself so it didn’t take much figuring to put enough of the pieces together.

 

From your story at lunch I knew that in Andy’s weakened state I needed to get to him as soon as possible. Had that thing that crawled into the field of cars reattached itself to him before I’d gotten there it could’ve turned him back into Raggedy Man.”

 

“So he’s going to be OK?” Larry asked.

 

[page break] 

 

 

 

 “Yes, I even invited him to dinner; I even helped him get his car started. Oh, and that spidery thing hiding in the wrecked cars, well, it turned out to be a parasite that takes over its host. It would’ve changed most anyone into Raggedy Man or something worse.”

 

Larry looked worriedly at Ma, “You actually went looking for that thing; you actually got close enough to see it?”

 

Ma smiled, “What both of you really want to know is did I hunt it down?”

 

Slow on the uptake I finally connected the dots, “That’s what the dreamcatcher ripped out of Andy when he was Raggedy Man, got caught in the web, then grew into what Hilts saw break loose from the back of my bike’s sissy bar. So what actually happened?”

 

“What happened,” Ma replied, still smiling at us but with more of a tigress’s smile, “without getting into the messy details, is it won’t be infecting anyone again. Of more concern is how’d it get into the Borderlands and why’d it pick Andy as a host? Andy being turned into Raggedy Man by an infectious parasite, Hilts being tricked then placed into a kind of sleep or coma by someone so they could destroy the Borderland city he’d created; they’re all related. Actually I’m more surprised Hilts was able to escape; he’s becoming more adept at conjuring than I realized.” 

 

Ma then looked over at me and continued, “Your entries and exits into our Borderland may have even been a contributing factor in what’s happening. Hilts will soon ask the same question and then follow the Old Ridge Route from the Crossroads to where he’ll hopefully find the answer.”

 

“This is the second time I’ve heard the Crossroads mentioned.” Somehow I found myself talking to Pa instead of Ma. “I didn’t see any sign of any crossroad riding to or from the coast.”

 

“You wouldn’t have seen anything unless you knew where to look,” Pa said, glancing over at Ma.

 

Ma nodded as if giving Pa permission to go on.

 

Pa continued, “Until about a year ago Ma and I used the Crossroads to visit friends; I loved those trips. Beyond the entrance to the Crossroads is a narrow valley filled with farms; beyond the valley is a road. We called it the Ridge Route and it runs through the mountains. You’ll cross four bridges before getting to the end of it; the first is at the far end of the valley as you climb into the foothills. The road then continues on crossing two more bridges the higher you go; it finally ends before the fourth bridge. Out of the blue and without any warning the Crossroads were closed; barricaded with boulders its entrance became impassable. We never learned why nor have we seen any of our friends again; none of them came to visit us or tell us what happened. It was as if they’d suddenly all left or were taken by someone.”

 

Larry confirmed Pa’s description of the land, “A few months ago I followed the road leading in from the Crossroads for a couple of miles. The boulders must’ve shifted since you folks were there, enough to let my chopper through. Past the barricade the road winds down into a small valley before climbing back up to straddle the crest. I didn’t ride far enough to reach the first bridge.”

 

The signature roar of Raggedy Man’s Ford interrupted our conversation. Sounding the same as it had when chasing us through narrow streets, it could be heard coming closer, working its way through the gears. Accompanying the car’s sound was the memory of it nearly hitting me. At last it appeared, downshifting, slowing to a stop.

 

Coming to a rest in front of the gas pumps, Andy turned off his engine, “I met Hilts at the entrance to the Crossroads; he said he knows what’s creating the problem and is going there to deal with it. Ma, I owe you a lot, but it’s as if I have a voice in my head telling me to get back to the shop and finish repairing the Corsair. I can’t explain it, but something’s telling me it’s vital for all of us I get my plane repaired and flying. I’ll take a rain check on that dinner invite though and some gas from your pump.”

 

“Take all the gas you need;” replied Ma, “just promise you’ll someday help Pa with his projects. From what Larry’s told me you’re quite the engineer.”

 

“Deal,” said Andy.

 

Ma then put her hand on Andy’s shoulder, “None of what’s happened to you since you crash landed your plane in the Borderlands was your fault. I haven’t put it together yet but I suspect the parasite that turned you into Raggedy Man and what happened to Hilts in the Borderland city he created were caused by the same thing. Are you sure I can’t talk you into staying the night?”

 

“Thanks again for the invite but I’ve got to get going and Ma, so you’ll know, Hilts asked me to tell you he’s almost certain whatever is causing the problem is holed-up in an old diner at the end of the Ridge Route; he said you would know the place.”

 

Andy in the next minute had gassed up his Ford and in less than another was driving down the mountain. 

 

When he was out of sight Ma broke the silence, “There are plenty of chores to be done outside; you two can roll up your sleeves and help Pa with them.”

 

Larry and I spent the rest of the afternoon working with Pa. The plus side was the work in the gardens and orchards took our minds so far away from our worries we had to be reminded to come in for dinner.

 

“Pa, did they earn their keep? Gotta watch them biker types; they’re loafers all of ‘em.”

 

“They earned their keep, Ma,” Pa answered laughingly. “Larry even came up with a better way of gettin’ water to the fruit trees.”

 

If conversation at lunch had been dominated by Larry’s talks with Ma, dinner made up for it with little or no talk. Even the washing of the dishes with Pa pitching in to help, but for the clinking of silverware, was done in silence. Once I started to ask a question I’d been thinking about but Larry gave me the ‘not now’ look.

 

“You two curious characters,” said Ma from inside the living room after we’d put away the last pan, “come in here; Pa and I are next to the fireplace. It’s best to know what you’ll run into along the Ridge Route when you go to help Hilts.”

 

Some type of light grayish metal had been made into a fireplace big enough to seat the two of us at each corner like bookends. Ma n’ Pa were in front, Ma in a straight back chair, Pa standing in an American Gothic pose minus the pitchfork behind her. Facing the fire they were illuminated by the same flames providing heat to our backs; any country bumpkin expression I’d seen in their faces was gone.

 

“You’ve known for awhile we built this Borderland,” said Ma looking at Larry, “and yet you never said anything, never hinted that you knew.”

 

“Told me,” I said.

 

“No harm done,” continued Ma, “I would have told you anyway seeing that Larry’s decided to go after Hilts.”

 

Facing Larry, “When did we decide to go after Hilts?”

 

Larry hadn’t taken his eyes off our hosts when he replied, “About the same time our hosts decided to deal themselves a hand in helping Andy.”

 

“Well I’ll be,” Pa chuckled. “I always knew that one was smart; I sensed it when I met him. How’d ya know?”

 

“When you’re working in your garden,” answered Larry, “you start humming and that soon leads to singing and your lyrics become whatever’s on your mind. All afternoon you kept singing about how you and Ma were going to fight to save the Borderlands, how you were going to set things right.”

 

Ma looked over at Pa, “Pa, I warned you about getting too caught up in your work, about you singing away our secrets; I was afraid you’d let our plans slip out.”

 

“Shucks Ma, I can’t help myself; I can’t really be happy ‘less I’m singing a tune.”

 

Ma looked at us, then to Pa, “All the more reason I need to level with these boys about what they’re getting into and I know you’ve got things outside that need tending.” 

 

“Ma’s right,” Pa said as he headed for the door. “She’s best at explaining what’s gotta be done.”

 

Ma laughed a little after Pa had left the room, “Don’t know why Pa said that, he could’ve told you too, but I’ll keep it simple. Something, a type of virus, has gotten into our Borderland and is starting to corrupt it.”

 

Larry turned towards Ma, “I suspected from your questions at lunch you knew what was happening. Discovering Raggedy Man was really an infected Andy and that electroshock had been used to erase Hilts’ city were the clues you needed.”

 

Now more coals than flame, the fire had drawn bits of darkness into the room making me glad when Ma confirmed what Larry suspected, “I’ve got most of the pieces, clues as you say, needed to solve the puzzle. Pa was definitely right about you getting to the bottom of things; it’ll help with what you’ll encounter along the Old Ridge Route. Cleverness will be more of an asset than brute strength, which is why the Greeks more closely identified with heroes like Odysseus than they did with demigods like Hercules.”

 

Now why did I get the feeling Ma meant ancient Greeks, had known both Odysseus and Hercules on a personal level, and that riding up the Ridge Route could very well mean meeting a few mythical creatures?

 

Ma again spoke directly at Larry, “You mentioned that after riding past the barricade you rode on to the end of the valley and that you could see where the Ridge Route climbed into the mountains. You should know that once into the mountains it’ll follow the crest. On rare occasions it will intersect with side roads; you must avoid taking those roads if possible. More importantly the Ridge Route will cross four bridges; the first and the last go over the river Styx. They’ll not present a problem; Charon guards them and he’s agreed to help you. The two middle bridges, however, are different.”

 

Larry didn’t ask so I did, “In what way?”

 

“They’re also guarded,” replied Ma, “but by things that’ll want to prevent you from crossing.”

It was Larry’s turn, “Can Charon come with us?”

 

“Charon’s part of the river Styx; he gets his strength from it. If he’s away from it for any length of time he’ll begin to fade away. Charon’s quite powerful, actually incredibly powerful, but only within sight of the Styx.”

 

Ma’s answer to why Charon could not come with us and the second and third bridges being guarded by things not wanting us to cross prompted me to ask the next obvious question, “Can you and Pa come with us?”

 

Ma smiled reassuringly, “Pa and I will be where we’re needed, but not to worry; Charon’s agreed to get Hilts to wait at the first bridge until you’ve arrived.”

 

Larry included himself, so I wasn’t insulted when he stated the obvious, “We’ve no weapons nor, and I love Greek food, are we Greek heroes.”  

 

Light from the dying fire still outlined Ma in her chair. Outside the house whatever chores Pa had chosen to do were beyond hearing. Everything in the gradually darkening room became focused on Ma’s reply to Larry.

 

“You’ll be given a guide. Charon, unable to come with you, will provide you with one. The guide says he knows how to get across the second bridge and around the third.”

 

Larry glanced back at Ma, “Can we trust this guide?”

 

“Trust your instincts, but Charon’s made an agreement with him and agreements with Charon are not to be broken.”

 

“Larry then asked, “Out of curiosity, who is Hilts?”

 

That Ma was still visible in her chair with so little firelight or the fact that her forthcoming answer about Hilts didn’t surprise me surprisingly didn’t surprise me.

 

“Hilts is a runaway; actually he’s the combination of two fictional characters that ran away from your world after their stories ended. One was a character from a movie about an escape from a German prison camp in WWII; the other was from a movie about an overzealous San Francisco cop that drove his Ford Mustang faster than a speeding bullet when chasing bad guys. Once here they became one person.

 

“Taking the name Hilts after crossing into the Borderlands, they melded together like two drops of water when they touch. Hilts has the looks of the prison camp escapee but the persona of the San Francisco cop; on rare occasions it’s reversed. He eventually became our apprentice.”

 

“Like in sorcerer’s apprentice,” I interrupted.

 

“Ma n’ Pa aren’t sorcerers,” said Larry defensively.

 

Ma smiled at Larry then continued, “Actually your friend’s right. Once upon a time we would’ve been called sorcerers or wizards by some, but I digress. Hilts proved to be quite gifted and against our advice he not only created the city you two barely escaped from but also people to live in it. Pa and I never doubted he meant well, but by creating people he made himself vulnerable.”

 

“He made himself vulnerable because…?” I asked.

 

“Because,” Ma said, turning to me, “you have to empower your creations. Inviting people into your life is quite normal; creating people or making real people into something they’re not can make you a host to parasites. Creating people is like growing your own fleas. Not being real, your creations become dependent on you for existence; empower them for any length of time and you’ll begin to expect them to act as if they were real. On rare occasions, if you’ve made them larger than life, the roles will reverse and you’ll begin to believe you’re their creation; you’ll become dependent upon them.” 

 

Sarcasm was not what I intended, especially towards Ma, “So whatever’s out there trying to destroy your Borderland, possibly all Borderlands is at or near the last bridge. Hilts has figured it out and we’re joining him as support. Does that about sum it up? Because if it does, about all Larry and I can do once we get there, providing we’re able to cross the second and third bridges, is cheer from the sidelines. Ma, we’re talking about going up against an enemy that can create things with their thoughts. Seems to me we’ll most likely be used for cannon fodder or at the very least we’ll become a liability for Hilts if he tries to protect us.”

 

[page break] 

 

 

“Can Charon keep Hilts from crossing the first bridge until we arrive?” asked Larry.

 

“That’s the plan,” replied Ma. “The plan has never been to enter the diner alone; it’ll have to be a team effort.”

 

Memories of giving a gold coin to an Elvis that looked like the Elvis in the movie BUBBA HO-TEP to put into an old Doo Wop diner’s jukebox suddenly returned, “I know the place you’re talking about; I’ve been there.”

 

“You’ve been where?” Ma replied.

 

“Charon called it the Styx Diner and gave me a coin to give to the bartender to put in the jukebox; it was the condition I had to meet to get home. I think the bartender was Elvis?”

Ma looked at me as if seeing me for the first time, “It was Elvis and he’s missing. Since then the music’s stopped. To put it simply that jukebox is the keystone; it’s the catalyst to our Borderland. Things become discordant when the right songs aren’t played. All Borderlands have jukeboxes or their equivalent; they create the harmony that allows them to exist. Elvis was an integral part in choosing then playing the right songs. Without those songs there’s no harmony; without harmony Borderlands become unstable.” 

 

“I had to say it, “So Elvis has left the building?”

 

 “However you want to envision the problem,” continued Ma, having taken no offense at my attempt at humor, “he’s gone. Elvis is an essential element. That you were able to enter the Styx Diner and then leave on your own is almost as much of a mystery as his disappearance.”

Pa in the meantime had entered the room with an armful of firewood announcing his presence by passing between us, placing it on the fire, then standing behind Ma.

 

Larry turned towards me, “Describe Charon and the Styx Diner; they’re Borderland folklore. Having never seen either I’ve always been skeptical of their existence.”

 

Glancing at Ma I felt that like Pa I was asking permission to share what I’d seen with Larry, “If Tarzan were six and a half feet tall and rode motorcycles he’d look like Charon.  

 

“I can’t remember much about the inside of the diner. Except for Elvis behind the bar and the jukebox in the corner I didn’t see much else. There may’ve been life-size statues across the room or they may’ve been pictures of people painted on the walls; I can’t be sure and his shadow…”

 

“What about,” interrupted Ma, “his shadow?” 

 

“It moved on its own.”

 

“That’s impossible, unless…” said Pa, but it wasn’t Pa’s normal ah-shucks country bumpkin bib overalls voice that was doing the talking.

 

 “I know it’s impossible,” I said wondering now if I’d really seen it, “but the shadow behind Elvis wasn’t his.”

 

In an instant Ma n’ Pa changed. Larry didn’t see the change because he was facing me; if I’d blinked I wouldn’t have seen it either. In Ma’s place was a radiant head, nothing else, no body, just soft rainbow colors rippling outward. In Pa’s place was an eight foot figure of light, actually ribbons of blue light like the ones seen entwined and dancing together on the bottom of sunlit swimming pools. In synchronized shades of blue they moved, ebbing and flowing in brightness.

 

 

 

Larry glanced back at Ma n’ Pa who’d already changed into our ah-shucks hosts again, then back to me, “That’s it then, we’ve got to catch up with Hilts and jumpstart the jukebox.”

 

Ma nodded knowingly in my direction as if we’d just shared some cosmic secret and then looked at Larry, “When you two are ready to leave both your bikes are out by the gas pumps.”

 

Pa reached into his pocket then walked over to Larry, “Take these pills. When added to a gas tank full of water they’ll change the water into gasoline. Remember that’s water into gasoline, not wine, so don’t go drinking it.”

 

Pa then handed me an electric guitar, “Recognize it?”

 

Was it the electric guitar I’d played for years as a studio musician? Whether it was wasn’t really important because without any power there’d be no music, but I took it trusting Pa knew what he was doing.

 

“It looks like the guitar I use at the studio.”

 

 “Oh, one more thing,” said Pa as if he’d read my mind, “you’ll have the power you need when you need it.”

 

I asked the obvious, “When I need it?”

 

Pa smiled, his eyes sparkling with the same bright blue that had animated a rhythmic dancing eight foot figure of synchronous light minutes before, “You’ll know when and where to play. Just don’t lose it; your guitar could very well be the key to saving this Borderland.”

 

Larry turned to Ma, “The moonlight’s bright enough to ride; we’ll leave tonight. There’s enough light to see to the road and the landmarks we’ll need to find the Crossroads.” 

 

Larry was right, the sooner we got started the sooner we’d catch up with Hilts. It was hard to believe the fate of saving Ma n’ Pa’s Borderland now depended upon an over-the-hill studio musician, an Old School chopper builder and a character created by the melding together of two characters from two different movies.     

 

Following Ma n’ Pa outside underlined how bright the moonlight was and that our bikes twinkled like jewelry. My Wide Glide and Larry’s radial engine chopper never looked so clean. The buildings behind us were highlighted in shadow and appeared as if they’d been sculpted in bold relief.

 

Pa came over and stood between us, “Your bags are filled with some sandwiches and fruit and I strapped some ponchos around your sissy bars. Ma made the sandwiches and I figured you could use the ponchos when you get to higher elevations; it gets cold past the first bridge. There’s snow along the higher ridges and ice in the shadows and at night so stay alert; you might even get to see some leftover fall colors.” 

 

Pa held out a tooled leather guitar sling then walked behind me, “I picked up this sling in Brooklyn; the guy normally makes custom seats for choppers. Here, let me strap that guitar on your back.”

 

Pa walked behind me, strapped the guitar around my shoulders but when I turned to thank him he’d already disappeared. With a wave to Ma we rode away. 

 

Once on the Ridge Route Larry decided to clear out his bike’s cobwebs and left me looking at the quickly shrinking question mark welded to the back of his sissy bar. He also left me with no doubt my Wide Glide would never be a match for his radical radial engine chopper in a race. By the third corner I’d lost sight of him, by the fifth corner we were side by side, not because I’d caught up, but because he didn’t want me to miss the entrance to the Crossroads. 

 

Covered with brush, the entrance was nearly impossible to see unless you knew where to look. Larry not only knew where to look but was able to find the tire tracks left by Hilts. The tracks came from the same Yamaha Road Warrior we’d seen him riding in the Borderland city he’d created and the ones coming up the beach and back into Ma n’ Pa’s Borderland.

 

Past the barricade our path widened becoming a country road, none of it reclaimed by weeds. Looking closer I could see why. Fused into an uninterrupted layer of melted rock, the road flowed into the distance as an unending black ribbon. Split-rail wooden fences spaced with oak trees followed on each side providing parallel borders for nearby fields. Beyond a set of switchbacks where farmland started turning into foothills we stopped. Our motors, once they were shut off, began to cool and contract. Their ticking sounded like two clocks slowly running down.