Chapter 13

No doubt about it ... I thought ... while the lapstrap was cutting me in two in the middle, I gotta get this thing graveled.

The drive was slowing me down. I had to get up earlier day by day. I was losing sleep and quiet time. I couldn’t loosen the seat belts ... the ceiling would break my neck. I needed my drive done, NOW!

I looked up Aggregate in the Yellow Pages. Two headings ... Wholesale, To the Public. Taylor was the only listing ... Unless I wanted gravel from Billings.

I called Taylor Sand and Gravel from school.

“Taylor Sand and Gravel. How can we help?” A man’s voice.

“Taylor?”

“Yes.”

“I need road gravel ... my driveway is gonna kill me.”

“And you are where?”

“You know the Log Cabin past the ninety curves on Wolf Creek?”

“Yes I do.”

“That drive,” I said.

Under his breath I heard him say, “Christ, that’s a long bastard.”

“Yes ... it’s a long bastard,” I agreed.

“Sorry, about that.”

“Can you grade it ... and roll?”

“You want Taylor to build you a new driveway? What kind of gravel do you want us to use?”

“What do you mean?”

“Taylor has access to several kinds of aggregate. Each type has differing properties.”

“Hell ... I don’t know what kind. What you got?”

“Well ... we’re next to a river so we have access to “bank run.” We have “bench, creek, lag, pea, Piedmont, scoria, lava, sedimentary and crushed bedrock.”

“What’s Scoria?”

“Like pumice.”

“Oh Hell, no ... that stuff turns to powder.”

“Perhaps I could come out, scout the path and see.”

“Come out and look, I’ll stay home tomorrow.”

In the morning, I was just pouring the coffee ... two cups.

A white Dodge pickup with Taylor Sand and Gravel and a phone number lettered on the door negotiated the pit called driveway.

Knock Knock

“Mr. Taylor?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Won’t you come in ... I just poured coffee.” I stuck out my hand, “Karen Post.”

He shook, took off his hat and slapped dust from his jeans.

He came in ... sat down at the table ... took up his cup and made an exploratory sip. His face brightened.

“What did you put in this?”

“Fresh ground coffee.”

“Tastes like chocolate ... sweet chocolate. Sugar?”

“Just Coffee.”

This is very good,” he said. “You gotta tell my wife how you make coffee.”

“Driveway.”

“I’m betting the ruts are so deep they cast a shadow at noon.”

“Throws me all over ... any kind of speed ... hurts.”

“Who is paying?”

“Me ... cash.”

“Not Mr. K?”

“He don’t own it. I do.”

“When did that happen?”

“Last February.” I asked, “How will you do it?”

“Scrape it all out with a grader and start fresh.”

“Involves?”

“We bring out our grader, scrape it down to dirt ... pretty deep ... nearly a foot.”

“And?”

“Truck in loads of six inch water washed river stone, spread it, roll it ... big roller, roller cracks the stone, pack it good. Truck in and spread two inch on top ... roll it again. Pea ... or lima bean size on top of that. Roll it ... take all day. That’s a long drive. Right up to the garage?”

“How about paving it?”

“Million dollars a mile ... pavement won’t last ... frost heave.” He said, “You could scatter Quickcrete on top of the pea and wet it ... that would anchor it.

“Or double layer rail-ties edging on the sides. Roll it good. Cost a bundle.”

“How much is a bundle,” I asked.