Florence seemed about two hours away.
"Could I drive to here in two hours?" He pointed out the location.
"No problem."
Oliver went back to the airport and rented a car. He could leave early
from the hotel, stop for breakfast on the way, and have plenty of time.
He was still functioning on Hawaiian time; he stayed up late, watched
TV, and wondered about his father. Unpredictable, Ken said.
In the morning, it rained off and on as he drove over the coastal
range. The road curved and swooped through steep-sided valleys. Douglas
Firs grew straight and pointed on every slope; their branches trembled
with moisture; the light was luminous. There was an occasional burst of
dazzling sun and then the clouds rolled in again. Logging trucks owned
the road. Only a few smaller roads met the highway. What would life be
like ten miles to the left or right? A gas station? A tavern? Another
world.
The coastal highway was wide open, almost barren in comparison to the
lush woods. Rain swept in from the ocean. A TV forecaster in a truck
stop spoke of the first winter storm. Lucky Oliver. The windshield
wipers worked well, though, and the rain let up as he eased into a
parking area on a rocky headland.
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