After the good days in Seward, I went on to Homer for more fishing. The road ran close to the Kenai. The river was wide and clear, full of men standing with rods. They cast and waited. It looked fine, the fishing, but there were too many of them. I thought I would come back when the crowds were gone, in the shoulder season when the river would be quieter.
There was little public land found near Homer. I had to take a small campground run by an old couple. It was clean and good enough. The host was born in Germany. He came out and looked hard at my Jeep, the old one I trusted. For a moment I felt uneasy. Then he began to talk. He told me of a cabin they owned farther east, up a track. He said the Jeep could make it. It would cost no more than the site I had already paid for.
I had slept well the night before. I was ready for something new. The idea pleased me. He made me promise three times to put it in four low and coast down the steep parts. I promised each time. It made me smile inside.
His wife brought out my map and marked an X where the cabin sat. I thanked them both, promised again about four low, and drove off.
The pavement lasted less than an hour. Then I turned onto gravel and passed a few houses set back among the trees. The road began to drop. At first it was easy, nothing bad. But I had given my word. A man keeps his word. I stopped, shifted the transfer case into four low, and went on.
For a while it seemed foolish. I thought they might be laughing back at the campground, the German and his wife. Then the grade sharpened. The road turned tight around rocks and spruce and sudden drop-offs. I came to the corners quicker than I liked. I turned the wheel hard and fast. The tires bound and hopped on the dirt. There was no sharper turn possible. If I missed one, backing up to try again would be hard, maybe impossible.
My hands were tight on the wheel. I was afraid then, truly afraid. The Jeep held, but it was close. It went on like that for a stretch. Then, as sudden as it had begun, the hill ended. The land flattened out. The road ran easy again through the trees.
I drove a few more miles to the X on the map. There was a small gate across the track. I got out, opened it, drove through, and closed it behind me.
The cabin was there, small and old, from the homestead days. It sat solid. Across from it, close enough to hear the ice crack sometimes, was a glacier, blue and clean, all mine for the time I stayed.
I remained half a week. Each morning I smiled at the Jeep and was glad it had looked able to make it. I thanked my luck and the German who had sent me there.