Missing Carolina--Chapter 1

MISSING CAROLINA--CHAPTER 1

Ovens in the summer they
Will you always roast
And in winter's bitter clime
Cold you'll sense the most

Permanent could you say
If they did not rust
But it's been a fact of life
Crumble red they must

Noise within their clanging walls
Louder always gets
Nor will any steel mill
Offer them regrets

But when mining is the game
Keeping budget low
They will always stay around
Ringing blow by blow

Ben Spears hunched over the tiny square table that passed for his desk in Steel IV. "Block IV, Cell 9," he called it. The accommodations at Terrora Falls Mines were not posh, even though this was a Mine of Higher Learning, not an ordinary commercial mining operation in search of coal or some other mineral. The apprentices worked long days and analyzed their specimens far into the night. There was scarcely room for one table in a room with two bunk beds and the personal belongings of two students, let alone four, and it was a hotly debated issue whether or not the vermiculite in the hollow steel walls was of any use in keeping out summer heat or winter cold. For certain the water from the roof cistern was perfect for showers in the summertime.

Ben frowned at the crystals he had dug up that day. They were supposed to be looking for Truth Crystals, but the Assay Manual was so hard to understand, and he just couldn't identify his findings. Maybe the library, but the library was also in a steel, so it would be just as hot there--it was half past nine at night, but the thermometer on the wall still hovered just below 90. The anemic three-bladed fan at the end of the hall drew in more hot air through the open window, and not a few mosquitoes as well. The fluorescent light in the ceiling flickered, and spiral arcs of agony played around one end of the far tube. He had been here only two weeks and he already hated it. He had been to the mines before--once when he was very little he had ridden in the back of a wagon from Vulcan, and stood with the awe of a child at the foot of Terrora Falls. Later on he had come for summer mining camp, where they would hand out little packets of Truth Crystals but not let you go down into the mines themselves. It was all playing ball and swimming and going to Truth Crystal Meetings. But he was homesick for Carolina.

A trumpet blared from down the hall. Instruments were not allowed during study time, but Herb seldom observed that. And since he was in good with the Resident Assistant, he could get away with it.

And as if on cue, Roommate #1 came in. Jude had been allowed to bring a full family coach to the regular session of the Mines, and either a student was one of his cool pals or was jealous. Ben was jealous. He had not even been allowed to bring a quarter family coach with him--in fact, when his had been stolen, his parents would not let him get another one. "You won't need it at the mines," his mother had said, "And besides that, it's not the Creator's Will." That was the end of that. But Ben's thoughts were interrupted. "Hey, man," said Jude, "You know what? I just figured out how I can rake my coach--make it look really cool. Whadda ya think of that?"

"I don't know," said Ben. "Do you have any ideas about the crystals we mined today? I can't find anything in the Assay Book."

"Nah," sneered Jude. "That stuff's too hard. I never understood the Assay Book anyhow. But just wait 'til I get my coach raked!"

"But the assignment is due tomorrow," protested Ben.

"I'll think of something tomorrow. Wanna go down and jam with Herb?"

"No," said Ben. "Maybe a walk would help clear my head." He was beginning to feel very out of place, very discouraged.

"Suit yourself," said Jude, running a comb through his greasy locks. "But it's gonna be a great year. Me an' the Creator got everything squared away this summer. I'm gonna do His Will from now on! We had a special speaker at my Meeting Place, and at the end of the service I went up and promised that I would do all the right stuff for the rest of my life."

"Like raking your family coach," thought Ben, but he didn't say anything. "And I don't even have my quarter coach anymore." He got up from his desk and headed for the door. It did feel better outside. He walked down the grassy terraces--rows and rows of steels stretched out in the warm, yellow glow of street lights with flat, circular, corrugated shades. He paused to longingly admire a golden-hued family coach on the third terrace; one of the cooks was selling it. When he got up the nerve he was going to ask the cook how much. The coach was dilapidated, but Ben liked its lines, and he knew he could fix it up. It was made by the manufacturer of their first family coach--how well Ben remembered their all-night trips to Miami, his parents pedaling away in front while he sat in back with his little brothers--he so much wanted his own coach and his own family--make a honeymoon trip to Miami. His feet led him past the flank of Arrow Ridge, past its point, and over the little metal bridge below the powerhouse. Peering through the window he could hear the churning of the water from the penstock, see the awesome spinning of the dynamo, with its unearthly whine permeating the air. Dim-looking bare bulbs illuminated a row of meters. The night powerhouse watchman was resting his hand on the main control valve, head nodding as he leaned back in a wicker chair. Ben decided to head for the interurban station.

The Dead Man's Branch Electric Railroad connected Terrora Falls with the main railway line a few miles distant. Ben wished he could ride all the way to Carolina City on the train, but for his parents it had always been family coaches. More bare light bulbs lined the wooden platform, and one of the owl-faced yellow and red cars was waiting to depart. The narrow-gauge rails wound their way up Dead Man's Branch and past the Dead Man's grave. The story was that a horse thief had come down from the hills one night and taken the Headmaster's horse. When the Head found out about it, he saddled his own horse and rode up the Branch. A few hours later one man was seen leading two horses back into town. The Branch headed in a different direction from Terrora Creek; its water did not flow over the Falls. As Ben stared at the little branch painted on the front of the lead car, the motorman took his position; the headlight beamed, and as relays clacked, sparks flew from the overhead wire and the cars trundled off into the night, red marker lights glowing. Gone. Without him. When would he ever see Dana again? He missed her so much.

Ben headed back toward the powerhouse. He could see the night watchman through the main window; he was taking the ten o'clock readings from the meters. Ben hesitated at the door. But no, he didn't feel like talking to anyone, and he just barely knew the night watchman; how many times could he go in and say he wanted to watch the dynamo spinning? The moon was supposed to rise tonight, and he had just discovered a way to the top of the falls. Students were not allowed to go there since one had fallen over and died many years ago, but Ben was in no frame of mind to heed that. He headed up Arrow Ridge. A wildcat snarled in the brush over toward the falls. Ben shivered, but he kept on going. After about ten minutes' climb he reached Lake Forest Trail; this part, he had learned, was the old main route to Carolina, but he had never found why it had been abandoned. He wondered which mountains it went through to get there. It would be shorter to go through the Nantahala Mountains, but the Saluda Mountains were lower. Wouldn't it be nice if he could hike home! He turned left and made his way through Terrora Falls Pass.

In a few more minutes he was at the path to the top of the falls. He turned left again. At first the path was clear, but then the brush seemed to close in around him, and he began to get the uneasy feeling that he was lost. He was not really an expert at hiking; especially not at night. He decided that perhaps he should go back. He would see if someone else could help him with the Truth Crystal assignment. Burn some midnight oil. He turned around, thinking he was heading back to the pass, but suddenly the ground dropped out from under him.

CHAPTER 2

The Mileposters Web site has information and many pictures about this tandem bicycle club, which has made several trips over 300 miles as well as many shorter ones, on bicycles built for two, three, four, and five riders.