Nordo's Hideout

The road is pitch black under a starlit sky, just the headlights cutting a hole in the shadows, and the yellow dots of the lane divider clip by.  The silhouettes of mountains and tall, thin pines stand out against a midnight blue sky.  Out on Crippled Creek’s headway, off Dead Fork Road, no one else exists.  Quietly, the miles pass.  The road bends and up ahead a blinking red light swings on a cable stretched between 2 poles.  It is a crossroads and a town: Lost Falls.  Slowing down, a half dozen empty buildings slide by devoid of life: a post office, a grocery store, a gas station, and in the distance a roadhouse, the only open establishment for miles and miles.  A neon sign shines brightly.  In bold red letters, Nordo’s Hideout.  It offers a place to rest and find other people deep in the Northwest forest.  A few cars in the gravel lot.  A pickup.  You swing in.  And nothing tastes better, after a long stint on the road, than a fresh cup of coffee and breakfast.