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F. P. Dorchak

Speculative Fiction (New Weird) Author

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Cars

The WYO Road Trip

March 13, 2017 by fpdorchak

Road Trippin' Through The WYO. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Road Trippin’ Through The WYO. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)

This past week, my wife and I took a road trip up to God’s Country. Well, at least that’s what Wyoming and my wife think (and I may have slightly overstated my wife’s position, however…). As much as I love trees, Wyoming really doesn’t get the credit it deserves. Wide open spaces. Wind. Pronghorn. Wind. Cool rocks. Wind. Eagles. Wind. Snow fences. Wind. Wind River Canyon. Wind. Wind River Mountains. Wind….

As we drove up, along I-25 we counted 11 overturned campers and 18-wheelers—yes, 18-wheelers. A gnarly windstorm the previous day had actually closed down sections of roadways, and we were getting tossed about pretty good in spots (sections of Wyoming roads were still closed to light, high-profile vehicles). But on the way up and back, I took pictures. I love taking pictures! Some of those images are in this blog.

NOTE: Not all of these images are great quality (i.e., sharp), because we were moving, but I did stop and get out for a few of them. I’m still learning the ins and outs of the camera. Most of the images in this post have also been compressed, so click on them for better views.

Wyoming Golden Eagle. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wyoming Golden Eagle. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)

The first time I whipped out the camera was well into Wyoming, somewhere between Casper and Shoshoni. We’d come upon a large bird feeding on a carcass along the road. You’ll also find lots of carcasses along near every road you travel up there. And wind. anyway, we slowed down, turned around, and I got out my camera and tried to get a shot or two before the winged beast took off. Didn’t get very many good shots because the bird was spooked by our presence and had flown way out and I had to crank my 300mm telephoto and didn’t use a tripod. I initially thought it was a hawk…then had the funny thought that its shape also strangely reminded me of a pheasant—though I knew it wasn’t, it’s just what its profile body reminded me of at one point—but as we later looked at the photos on my laptop, my Wyoming cousin-in-law, Phil, blurted out that it was an eagle. It must have been a young one, because of its size. We’ve seen plenty of eagles before, so it was surprising it didn’t register on us that was what it was at the time! Anywho, back at our eagle/carcass visitation, we waited for a few minutes for the eagle to return but it didn’t. It just sat on its fence post and watched us. We continued on.

As we drove toward Riverton, we drove past some really cool rock formations. I love WYO (this is how the WYO’s abbrev their state name on signs) rock. They’re not Adirondack rock (or maybe they are, I just haven’t researched them—they’re in Wyoming v. my beloved upstate NY), but I still like em. They’re wicked looking.

Wyoming Rocks. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wyoming Rock. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wyoming Rock. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wyoming Rock. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wyoming Rock. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wyoming Rock. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wyoming Rock. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wyoming Rock. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
If Wyoming Were Antarctica. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
If Wyoming Were Antarctica. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)

There’re also lots and lots and lots of wide open spaces (and wind), and The WYO had just come out of a gnarly spell of snow, like a couple foot of it (have to sound “local”), so there were lots of “white caps.” That’s what all the remnants of snow reminded me of, all around the terrain. And as I watched the desolate landscape roll past, I noticed in the growing twilight how a light blue cast was falling upon the “white-capped” terrain. It looked très cool. Reminded me of the Antarctic (had I been there). So, I snapped off some shots as we sped by at some 80 mph—that’s The WYO’s speed limit (not stopping, just taking some “hip shots” out the windows, which is what a lot of what these images are). When I noticed this blue cast, I began messing with the camera settings until I got the blue I was shooting for (pardon the pun). Doesn’t the blue image remind you of the Antarctic (had you been there)? Took some more rock shots and sunset images…loving how the fading, golden light hit the rock faces. As we entered Riverton, Wyoming I took a couple of sky shots of aircraft.

The Approaching WYO Sunset. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
The Approaching WYO Sunset. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Riverton Skies. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Riverton Skies. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Riverton Skies. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Riverton Skies. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wyoming Americana. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Wyoming Americana. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)

After we left Riverton Saturday morning, we drove out by way of Highway 135, towards Sweetwater Station. As you leave Riverton this way, you crest a high mesa with a breathtaking view of the Wind River Mountain Range that is part of the Rocky Mountains. It was somewhere south and past the Gas Hills Road (Route 136) where I spotted a weathered and abandoned (?) trailer. So, I hopped out and took a couple of shots. When I got back in the vehicle, my wife spotted…

The carcass.

Wow, all bones, no meat, a little connective tissue. I’m no expert, but it was probably a pronghorn, since they are so prevalent here. They are everywhere. Along with the wind. By comparison, we only saw two deer, up and back. So, of course, I had to take some shots of that. Don’t mess with Texas? Don’t mess with Wyoming.

Don't Mess With Wyoming. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Don’t Mess With Wyoming. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Don't Mess With Wyoming. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Don’t Mess With Wyoming. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Don't Mess With Wyoming. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Don’t Mess With Wyoming. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)

After we peaked the mesa (the name of which I either do not know or have forgotten…the Wind River Basin and its overlook?) I snapped some cool views of the Wind River Mountain Range and surrounding rocks. I wished I could adequately convey the depth-of-field of some of these images that looked cooler to the naked eye. If you look closely you’ll see there’s a ledge. And that it was really, really high. With lots of wind.

Wind River Basin Overlook? (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wind River Basin Overlook? (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wind River Basin Overlook? (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wind River Basin Overlook? (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wind River Basin Overlook? (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wind River Basin Overlook? (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wind River Basin Overlook? (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)
Wind River Basin Overlook? (© F. P. Dorchak, March 7, 2017)

We continued on. Stopped at Sweetwater Station, which is at the intersection of 135 and 287/789. Hung a left. Just over the rise there, is this long-assed snow fence. Had to get an image or two of that. There are a lot of snow fences in The WYO.

Sweetwater Station, Wyoming (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Sweetwater Station, Wyoming (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Sweetwater Station, Wyoming (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Sweetwater Station, Wyoming (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Snow Fence, Outside Sweetwater Station, Wyoming (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Snow Fence, Outside Sweetwater Station, Wyoming (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Snow Fence, Outside Sweetwater Station, Wyoming (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Snow Fence, Outside Sweetwater Station, Wyoming (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)

Long story short, there were lots more open spaces, wind, and pronghorn…but another really cool photo op presented itself, and I blurted to my wife to Stop-stop-stop! (she was driving so I could shoot photos) as I sighted something really neat: a pronghorn sitting pretty-as-you-please atop a hill! At first as we came up on this hill, I was wondering if what I was seeing was one of those many sheet metal hilltop silhouettes—elk, jackalope, cowboy-on-bucking-bronco—but, nope, it was the real deal! We hooked a u-y and came back around. I managed to get a couple of shots as it remained “reclined,” but it spotted us and got up, showing me its white ass. For quite a while, actually. Its white ass. It just stood there…its white butt pointed toward me. I’m thinking this must be a pronghorn thing…showing your displeasure at being disturbed by showing the object-of-your-displeasure your white ass. After a while, it sauntered off.

King of the Hill. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
King of the Hill. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
King of the Hill. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
King of the Hill. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)

The miles and the scenery rolled by…and as I looked out the side, my wife remarked about the beautiful clouds before us—and they were gorgeous! I switched to my 18-55mm lens and caught the images embedded. It looked so incredible! The pictures kinda capture it, but no picture can adequately capture what the naked eyes see….

Gorgeous! (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Gorgeous! (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)

And this brings up a cool point: since I’d gotten back into taking “serious” pictures with my Nikon, my wife has also become more aware (or perhaps vocal is the better term) of photo ops. We were taking about this as we were driving. How photography has you look at life differently. I know I’ve always loved to just watch the scenery go by on road trips, but now, also getting back into photography with a really nice camera has changed how I look at the world. Besides all the “standard beauty” to be viewed, I’m now looking at picture composition and capture, and it was cool my wife was doing the same thing!

After the cloud shots, I then just started messing around…and took some monochrome (B&W) shots. It’s amazing how monochrome changes the whole “tone” (ummm, pardon the pun…) of an image!

Gorgeous! (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Gorgeous! (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Wyoming Noir. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Wyoming Noir. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Wyoming Windmills Sans Quixote. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Wyoming Windmills Sans Quixote. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)

We then came upon a bunch of windmills. Yeah. The WYO. Wind. We eventually crossed the WYO/COLO border. A little bit inside Colorado, we passed this dual rock formation that we think must be part of a residence or something. Or a Colorado Rapa Nui cousin connection to Easter Island? As we drove on and through Fort Collins, I attempted an artsy shot or two. You be the judge. Or not. In any case, we were both back into heavily trafficed civilization.

Sigh.

THAT is something I do miss from The WYO…their drivers are nowhere near as stupid and in-a-hurry as they are in Colorado. And there are far fewer of them.

Colorado Rapa Nui. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Colorado Rapa Nui. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)

Urban artsy:

Fort Collins Building. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
Fort Collins Building. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
513 Riverside, Fort Collins. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
513 Riverside, Fort Collins. (© F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)

So, hello, home, it’s good to be back. We had a good family visit…and a good road trip. Hope y’all enjoy the photos. It was fun taking them!

The Photographer, Sweetwater Station, Wyoming (© Laura and F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)
The Photographer, Sweetwater Station, Wyoming (© Laura and F. P. Dorchak, March 11, 2017)

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Filed Under: Nature, To Be Human Tagged With: Cars, D3400, Nikon, Photography, Road Trips, States, SUVs, Trucks, USA, Vacation, Wyoming

Love, What A Way To Go

October 28, 2016 by fpdorchak

Love Knows No Limits. (Image of "Cemetery Row," Alexandria, VA, May 19, 1990, © F. P. Dorchak)
Love Knows No Limits. (Image of “Cemetery Row,” Alexandria, VA, May 19, 1990, © F. P. Dorchak)

I’d almost forgotten about this story until working on “A Conversation With Hell.” And I didn’t remember how it ended, either, but I did remember one scene in this story, near the end, involving a projectile. Even felt my arm psychically “move” just as it did when I’d originally written this story, 26 years ago, to “feel” the action of the protagonist.

I love “undead” stories—notice I didn’t say zombie stories. To me there’s a difference. You just can’t keep a good corpse down. I also love a good love story…granted, I prefer a little supernatural/metaphysical element to the love story…but a good love story should stir the emotions and make you feel guilty for every wrong you’ve ever committed against anything or one. I don’t know that I attained that with this one…but, here it is in all it’s unvarnished gory….

This story has never been published.

 

Love, What A Way To Go

© F. P. Dorchak, 1990

 

“God, how I love you.”

Joey smiled back at her. “Feeling’s mutual,” he said, softly, squeezing her hand.

Looking into Lorna’s eyes, Joey was overcome by their passionate presence…large, painfully emotional eyes that constantly appeared to be weeping, though never actually wet.

Joey replayed the past two months of devoted togetherness that had quickly developed between them; from their first meeting as singular lonely people vainly searching the nights…to two…unable to live without each other’s touch. As far from perfect as their relationship might be, all that mattered was that they had each other.

Fiercely holding hands they both felt the internal buildup of emotion—and the tears that were sure to follow. Two months…that was all…two months and they had blended together like a lovers’ embrace. There had been the usual talk—that they’d never last, that it was all just a case of “can’t have” infatuation, but love didn’t have to last an eternity…just a lifetime.

Outside the night was steely gray, and they both shivered as they stared outside through the dirty coffee shop windows. There was a feeling of dread hovering in the air, and though neither would admit it, both knew it was there. It hung as thick as the fog they walked through.

“Think we’d better go now, honey,” Joey said, somberly forcing the words out. Lorna shook her head in agreement. Joey left the tip.

Cold. Desolate. Still that…something…hovered in the air…taunting.

Outside, the two stood beneath a lonely streetlamp, its obscure luminescence spilling out onto the sidewalk. The couple looked ahead to the fog bank before them…their grips on each other tightening. Lorna turned just in time to meet his same movement. Joey saw the tears…the soft wisps that rose from them as they channeled down her face.

“Don’t ever leave me!” she choked.

He said nothing, instead increasing his hold around her, and, smiling down to her, kissed her forehead.

They disappeared into the darkness.

Destination attained, they faced each other.

“I love you!”

“I love you!”

Both felt the chill across their faces as they now wept openly and kissed. Away Lorna walked…on up the path to her house, a dull yellow porch light whispering into the dark. Joey watched her until she got inside and turned off the light. He caught her face filling a window shortly thereafter…a small hand pressed against the glass in a beckoning, farewell call. He smiled softly, waving back.

Joey swallowed hard as he left.

Having made it some four blocks homeward, Joey reached a particular bend in the road, lost in both thought and emotion. He thought of Lorna…wondered when he would next see her. The thought turned out to be only momentary as a car came screaming around the bend and hit him full on, sending his body flying high into the air. He came back down hitting the asphalt hard, and lay crushed and face down in the rain gutter, a warm stain slowly forming a boundary between his body and the ground.

Lorna awoke abruptly.

She’d had the most terrifying dream of her life, but was suddenly unable to recall any of it—except for the uncomfortable feeling that Joey was somehow involved. Rushing out of bed, she frantically fumbled for the phone, a sickness in the pit of her stomach as she dialed his number. She waited. No answer. She continued waiting.

Still no answer. She hung up and tried again.

No answer.

Noanswernoanswernoanswernoanswer….

It never took him this long to get home before, and he always picked up by the third ring. Always.

Finding herself dressed before she was even aware of it, she flew out of the house, screen-door clattering behind her.

He was buried in a quiet ceremony. Lorna wore black. Her mom had died, she was told, from the trauma of Joey’s death, and, somewhere in the night, cruised a car with a pushed-in, left-front bumper.

That night Lorna went back to the old coffee shop and took their usual booth. Her coffee here was free tonight. Outside a car pulled into the parking slots, bright headlights beaming directly in through the shop’s high, open window panes. And they remained on, one slightly askew. Lorna was only in passing annoyed that the driver was so abjectly rude as to leave them on.

The driver entered at the distant end of the shop and approached the cash register. The diner’s owner returned a gesture, and there was conversation, but Lorna paid little attention. Only when the gun went off did she look up, upsetting the runnels of tears marking her face. The assailant also looked up, pointing something in her direction. She never noticed the .357, only the bright flash as something blew her chest all over the windows behind her.

Still wearing black she, too, had a quiet ceremony.

Her family gone, the county took care of everything. She had a nice casket. Thing was, she was buried in a cemetery on the other side of town. Clouds hung heavily, perilously low, a bone-chilling rain downpouring large, painful drops.

That night he was restless.

Something was wrong; something missing.

There was too much emptiness. He had to move. Good thing the rain had softened the earth.

Good thing, rain.

A drunk leaned against the cemetery’s rusted gates, bag in one hand, regurgitated meal in the other. Hearing a noise, he looked up, wiping his warm hand on a pants leg. Peering through the fog, the drunk spotted a lone, lumbering figure crossing the graveyard. The figure carried two objects, the smaller one undistinguishable, but the larger looking like a box the size of a man. Turning away, the drunk slouched back down onto the damp grass, nursing his condition.

A bruised car burned on through a stoplight, one of its headlights dangling. Massaging the gears, the driver raced down deserted roads. Taking one turn a little rough, the driver spotted something entering into his path…the figure straddling the center marker of the street. It was a dark figure…a box-like object behind him on the road. The driver reached for his gun, grinding down several gears for a better look. The unyielding figure held something under one of its arms. It was smaller. Slowing more, the driver strained the lower gears.

The figure suddenly raised its burdened arm, sending the object in a non-curving arc through the air…and impacting the driver’s windshield. It struck the driver square in the face, neatly slicing back the top-half of his head.

The headstone continued on out the rear of the car.

Careening, the vehicle slammed into a street post; shuddering, the light blinked on and off several times before going dead.

The next morning found people gathered around a burial plot. The Caretaker noticed it first, and he was not tight-lipped by nature.

Where she lay, at one time alone, now she had company, freshly turned earth and an accompanying gravestone alongside. They lay together.

One fathom into the ground, lay two bodies side by side, two hands clenched, tightly.

Love doesn’t have to last an eternity…just its lifetime.

 

Short Story Links

Links to all my posted short stories are here.

 

Filed Under: Metaphysical, Short Story, Spooky, To Be Human, Writing Tagged With: Cars, Coffee Shops, graves, Love, Short Stories, The Twilight Zone

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