The Tale of Walter Dix

'So there I was Lynetta, following this man I didn't know into the wilderness.....'

Walter Dix is a warm and generous man.

This I didn't realise until I was safely returned to the car park of San Pedro House.


I decided to go for a drive yesterday. A drive it turned out, to Bisbee, a copper mining town at the bottom of Arizona near the Mexico border. Before I got to Bisbee I spotted one of those brown signs indicating something of interest. Swerving and squealing off the main road into the side road I did wish these signs came up earlier....

The San Pedro House was a 1930's shack that now housed a gift shop but the excitement was the beautiful walk that encompassed it. It was taken over by the National Parks of America some years back. Now was is about 25? Drat can't remember now. Anyway it was all farmland and now had been left to seed to return to its natural state. I found a little walking map, highlighting various points of interest along the way. The one thing the Americans do is make a trail really really easy to walk. Guess it's cos they don't do much walking. Anyway I got to point 4 and I could see a small narrow path to the left, the trail on the map went to the right.

Sometimes going off the beaten track unveils much bountiful treasure and I stood there in my walking boots, long shorts and a base ball cap, pontificating the choices. Well really were they choices?

Suddenly out of the bushes appeared an older man wielding a long solid stick, waving and greeting me with a beaming smile as he said 'hello'. Yes, yes I am now accustomed to this traditional American greeting and have happily buried my British reserve and greet all manner of folk in a warm and welcoming way also. Well I think it's that, but I suspect I appear an escapee from a mental institute. But you know what? I just don't care... I'm happy!

The Older Man walks toward me and we engage in conversation. I ask is that a path down there? Is he a Ranger? The Older Man tells me many things, it's a path but not many people use it, he walks here at least 3 times a week.

'Come on I'll show you, it's a dead end but only just under a mile and then you have to walk the same way back'
'Oh right, sounds very nice'
Nice? God I'm sounding British
'Where you from, doesn't sound like Minneapolis?'
'Err, no, no it doesn't I guess, I'm English'
Given up saying British and Welsh, would confuse the populus even more I suspect...
'Oh I knew some wonderful English people, they really helped me out when I was there in the war'
'Oh right'
'Were you in the war?
WHAT? AND you've got your glasses on....
'Mmm, no, no I was born some time after the war'
'Ah'
Moment of silence. Mostly cos I still in a state of shock
'When I was in London...'
Oh Lord no, here we go...
'I was lost and you know, you English were so friendly and helpful'
'I'm really pleased to hear that, I always worry that we don't appear to be friendly cos we are underneath it all'
Underneath all what Tanie???
'Yeah, they grabbed my arm and took me where I wanted to go and showed me all sorts of wonderful places. It was real nice of them'
'Yes it was, I'm pleased'
'Well come on I'll be the guide now, I'll show you the trail, I'll repay the favour and be your guide'


So there you have it. The meltdown of Pink Icing. What on heavens earth was I thinking? I followed him. Yep you heard me, I followed him. He didn't need to grab my arm!

I followed him and thought to myself, what the effing hell am I doing, my sister was right, this place is full of serial killers and nutters. Ooh my goodness I hear water. Older Man suddenly stops and brings up his stick. I move backwards with the stealth of a cat.

'You see there? You see that bit on the fallen trunk? You know what that means?'
I see your stick and it looks very solid
'Oh right, erm no what does it mean'
It means that your going to hit me over the head and I'll be buried under the tree trunk?
'Its beavers, you know what they are?'
'Yes we have them in England'
'Oh. I didn't know that. I didn't know that'


Older Man continues on and chats as he walks. I continue to follow like a lamb. I look at him and decide that he really is a fit Older Man, he can weild that heavy stick easily, he's just walked this path now he's doing it again and doesn't have any water with him.

'Oh you from Minneapolis'

I try to remember the things that Bev M told me about self defence before I left. I had hoped I wouldn't find the need to remember it.

'Moved here 15 years ago, right'

I'm feeling that my backpack will get in the way. Drat, my super gorgeous new baseball cap blocks out some vision.

'My wife died 5 years ago'

Would I be able to throw these things off in time. Blast he does seem a healthy bloke. Hmm I wonder if he really is old. Wow, those trees are amazing. Cottonwoods can grow really big.

'I walk here about 3 times a week, no one ever comes this way...'

Shit, I AM gonna die....

I start to take pictures of the trail. No one knows I'm here. All the Military were busy today. Who will miss me. Shit. Shit Will I get to drop the camera in time so he can't delete the pics and somehow, eventually, years down the line someone will find it and know I'm out here somewhere and who did it.

I take pictures of him from behind, hoping he thinks I'm taking pictures of the scenery.

'Take as many pictures as you want'

Shit, now he can read my mind! That's because he's a serial killer and he knows my fear. How's he gonna do it? Will he use the stick over my head first? Or will he swipe it under my feet then hit me over the head? Oh God will his lair have other people in?

I decide that I will have a go at him. I could stand a good chance. I can't see a knife or gun about his person, just this huge stick. Wow, this dried riverbed under this bridge is fabulous, must take a picture. If I run now he'll know I'm onto him. Well I haven't got high heels on, my trusty Merrel boots will help, I can at least be sure footed. I'll yank my rucksack and cap off and run like the wind. I remember the path, I've been taking mental notes. Mental is right.

'So are you planning on walking the other part of the trail?'
Keep calm, very calm
'Oh dear, I don't think I'm going to have time, I am meeting friends in Bisbee and I suspect I'm already late'
'They from Bisbee and you're meeting them there?'
Does he see through this?
'They're from near Bisbee, I just spoke to them on the phone and said I was stopping here at San Pedro House and they said "well don't stay too long we'll be hungry". I'm meeting themm for lunch and then we're all heading back to my place in Tucson. Where do you live?'
'Here'

Shit, he lives in a freaking lair at the end of this dead end trail. He must have gone nuts when his wife died. OMIGOD! He probably killed her and he's been doing it ever since. They never find half these crazy people do they. They go on for decades until maybe someone stumbles across them....

'What, San Pedro river?'
'Sierra Vista, It's got a great bus service'
'Oh you got a bus out here?'
I can't believe there is so much water here and the weird thing is it's actually going upstream. Going North from Mexico up into Arizona. My head can't take anymore...

'No I got a car'

Where? Where have you put your vehicle?

'When you see your friends you can be the tour guide?'

Am I going to see my friends, am I? I suddenly realise that all his talking is his way of keeping me distracted.

I am now almost at a peak of hysteria but surprisingly calm with all my exit strategies placed.

'I think I'd better turn back if you don't mind, my friends will be so cross if I'm very late'

Finally you moron, what took you so long.....

'Oh yes we must turn back then, it's only about another 1/8 of a mile, yes we'll go back'

Now comes the tricky bit. The path is narrow and one side is the bank to the river and the other has open fields. I move toward the riverbank side, feeling safer. If we tumbled into the river we might get parted and the fall could hep distance us and part him from the stick. The field is flat and that stick will remain in his hand.
We turnabout without mishap. We continue to walk back the path we came and the Older Man continues to chat.

I decide that I must have some water. I take off my rucksack and get out the water, quietly and slowly, I don't want him to think I'm reaching for a weapon. I gulp the water and Older Man pays no obvious attention.

We get back to the open trail and I am relieved. Desperate to pee and wanting to fall to the ground giving thanks to my Guardian Angel (or was that Tony The Bus Driver...) ((That being my Regression Therapy tale))

As we get back to the manned San Pedro House Older Man tells me his name is Walter Dix. He wants to give me a hug. Ah yes well, okay, hmm, well I AM British you know and ...... I suddenly see Walter as the genuine man he is. We hug. He is so happy to have repaid his debt that he carried all those years. He tells me a littl;e more about the history of the land and I realise that much of what he told me on the trail I didn't hear through my fear of being imprisioned, tortured and slowly killed by a serial killer.

Walter Dix is a lovely man.

Young (at heart) TT on the other hand was an absolute idiot to venture into the unknown and has learned a very solitary lesson.

Do not relax so much

Oh yeah, and don't tell my Father, he'll hit me with his own stick...........