Harrisburg…
About 10 minutes after leaving Noah’s place, Nat paused at a junction, slipped Lemon Steroids into neutral and smiled across at me as I ran my finger across the map to where we were planning to join the I76 – that’s the Interstate 76, the main road over to Harrisburg. Interstates are kind of like what we call a motorway. Maybe in Pennsylvania they could call them Bauerbahns. I think Nat’s family have funded most of them over their years in office.
“How about a change of plan, Boots? Instead of going along the I76, we could take the slower road, the 202 down towards Malvern, and then join Route 30 towards Harrisburg. It’s slower but scenic, and it would let us detour off to call at Strasburg. We’ve got plenty of time, Harrisburg is only two hours away. Todd told me about it yesterday. It’s got the Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania there. We liked the railway museum in York, didn’t we? How about we see what they have in Strasburg?”
“That’s good for me, Nat. How many trains have they got? Any famous ones? Do they run trips on any of them?”
Nat laughed. “No idea, Boots, I only know it’s on our way if we go by Route 30. Noah’s pop said it was good though. And after that we could go up north and call in at Echo Dell Indian Caverns. They’re on the edge of Harrisburg. I went there once, years ago. Don’t remember much, I was only about 4 or 5. I’d like to go again…”
“Okay, that’s our plan, Nat. I’ll look them up on the map and set us a course.”
“You could just stick it in the sat-nav, Boots…”
“I will, Nat, but it’s good to have a chart to follow too.”
* * *
“Be fair, Nat, it was your idea to come here. You can’t complain about us taking too long to look round.”
“Us, Boots? It’s you that is taking the time. Just like you did on the ships. We could have done this museum in a couple of hours. We’re pushing three already.”
Nat’s just smiling. He’s not really that bothered. He’s enjoying this place as much as I am. Okay, so maybe he’s preferring to look inside the carriages and take photos of the outside of the locomotives, all glistening paint and polished brass, but the really interesting stuff is underneath them! Quite a few of the locos are positioned over inspection pits so visitors can actually walk under them and see all their workings – some of them are even labelled and have information boards explaining what each part does. The smell is the best part though. Coal dust. Diesel. Oil and grease. You don’t get that in most museums. In fact…
“BOOTS!” yelled Nat as I scooped a fingerful of yellow grease off the axle of 5901, which is a bloody big, bright red, streamlined E7 diesel loco, and smeared it across Nat’s cheek. He jumped back to try and get away before I could do his other cheek but was laughing as he did.
“There you go, Nat, now you’ve got some warpaint for wearing up at the Indian caverns. Help you blend in…”
We’d just about finished our tour of the museum anyway, and I won the race back to Lemon Steroids by a good few yards. Well, I had an incentive not to let him catch me until he was almost out of breath, didn’t I? As Nat climbed into the driving seat, he tugged his handkerchief out of a pocket but before he could wipe away the grease I grabbed his hand, leaned forward, took the hanky from him and wiped the grease off. “There you go, Nat…”
Nat was still smiling. “If we skip lunch, Boots, we can be at Echo Dell in an hour from now, so 14:00.”
“See, Nat, you can tell the time properly if you need to. Skipping lunch is no problem, I’m still full from that huge breakfast Noah’s mum made for us, plus we still have the sandwiches she insisted on making us. We can eat those as we go. I’ll dig ‘em out.”
“If we’re there for two,” said Nat pointedly, “That’ll give us a couple of hours to tour the caverns, and we can have a quick snack from the kiosk there. I’m assuming it’s still there. Then we’ll be in Harrisburg and at our hotel for six at the latest, probably five if the traffic is light.”
I’m going to ignore that, not rise to the bait. Nat’s probably got some smart-arse wisecrack lined up for me if I do. “What’s the plan for tonight, Nat? I forgot to ask what you arranged for us.”
Nat shifted in his seat a little as he eased Lemon Steroids out of the parking lot and onto the road. I was turning round and reaching onto the back seat, rummaging through my daypack for the sandwiches Noah’s mum had insisted we have but I could sense the slight hesitation in Nat’s voice as he almost started to speak.
“Come on, out with it, Greaseball, what are you up to?”
Nat burst out laughing. “Greaseball? It was you that greased me up, remember?”
“And whilst I’ve got you under the cosh, Greasy, do you have something to tell me about Erie? Maybe about journalists?” See, I’m back in charge now. Bowled Nat a googly. He knows what I am talking about though. I can see it on his face.
“Err, plans for tonight? Well, sort of complicated, Boots. Pop’s going to be in Harrisburg tonight. Holding a fund-raising dinner to get support for his election campaign. He flew in today. The helicopter, remember? It lets him get about easily. I thought we might make an effort to see him, just for a short time, thank him for arranging our hotels every day and stuff like that, then we’ll be free to do as we want for the rest of the evening.”
“Yeah, that’s fine by me, Nat. Will your mum and Elizabeth be there too?”
“Err, no, Boots. They’ve stayed home to keep on hosting your mom and pop. Normally at least mom would be with pop, probably me or Elizabeth too. The family image is important in politics.”
Bugger! I should have thought of that. It’s not really fair of me now to say what I was going to say, about the fact that it’s weird the press seems to have found out something about our good deed in Eyrie when only me and Nat knew for sure it was us involved. But Nat’s dad has squashed it, refused to use it to his advantage.
“Boots?”
“Sorry Nat. I was thinking. Yes, of course, we can go and see your dad. Maybe even gatecrash the dinner, get some free food. If you don’t mind. Would we get away with it?”
I think I recovered that one. Nat’s smiling. Definitely looking relieved. I think he had an idea where the conversation might have been about to go.
“Yes, Boots. I’m sure pop could find a couple of seats at the dinner for us. It might be a bit boring though. Lots of self-important people wanting their egos massaged. We wouldn’t need to stay long. Just be seen, shake a few hands. Some people might be wondering who you are. Linking you with Elizabeth. It’s a pain, I know, but it keeps the gossip columns on the boil and indirectly that keeps pop in the limelight.”
“Okay, Nat, we’ll go to the caves, then gatecrash your pop’s party…”
* * *
“Are you two sure you want to do this? Especially you, Craig? Nathan knows how these events go, and how intrusive the questions can be, and not just from the press, but there’s no reason you have to put yourselves under scrutiny for my benefit. I was serious when I said you two should just be able to fade into the background and enjoy yourselves for a while on a road trip.”
Nat’s looking at me. Looking pretty torn to be honest. I know he wants to support his pop, but it’s plain he doesn’t want to pressure me.
“I’m good. We’re really enjoying our trip, aren’t we Nat? Especially today. The rail museum was wicked, and the caves pretty awesome too, the rock formations and stalactites and stuff like that. We even saw a bat. They have breeding boxes for them in the caves. Maybe it came out especially to say ‘hello’ to Nat. Back in Allegheny we were pretty much convinced he’s a vampire.”
Nat’s smiling awkwardly. Tough. I can put him under the spotlight. He’s done it to me often enough.
“The tour you arranged around the Capitol Complex for me and Nat was great, especially the behind-the-scenes stuff like up in the rotunda. It was like being in St Paul’s cathedral up there.”
It bloody well was. The whole place is. I’m sure they copied the design from Sir Christopher Wren. Weird how they complain that the Chinese copy all their stuff but then don’t think twice about nicking our bright ideas. Jet engines. Radar. Hovercraft. Computers. Harrier jump jets.
“Maybe with a few more bats though, just for Nathan,” chuckled Paul.
I like Nat’s dad. He’s smart, got a great sense of humour too.
“Did Nat tell you about his plan for supporting the USS Olympia Trust? How Noah’s going to do some drawings of the ship and Nat’s going to arrange for them to be done as a set of limited-edition, high-quality art prints to be auctioned to raise funds? I can’t believe that the ship’s in danger of being scrapped. It’s got to be preserved for history.”
“And post cards and a book for sale in the ship’s gift shop, for every day visitors that can’t afford the art prints,” added Nat quickly, eager to take control of the conversation. I like it when I have him on the run. Like Noah said, we’re always competing. I can beat Nat easy at sport and military stuff, but maybe I can start to counter him at politics and stuff like that too. Get into his world. Dad said I should try. See what Nat’s life is really like.
“It’ll be good for Noah too,” continued Nat. “He’s doing pretty well with his portraits, but there’s no secondary market for them. People who commission them tend to keep them. They are too personal to sell on, so his name doesn’t get to appear in the auction houses and dealers’ catalogues. With art prints like of the Olympia, we can start to establish a bigger market for him, boost his profile. Get his values up.”
“Boost your cut too, Natters.”
“I don’t get much of a cut, Boots,” grinned Nat, “Noah’s pretty astute and beat me down to a really good deal – for him at least – on representing him.”
“What plans do the two of you have for tomorrow?”
“We’re starting our journey back home, pop. I’m going to take Boots over to Gettysburg next,” said Nat. “Show him round the battlefield. You’ll love that, Boots. Lots of awesome military stuff for you.”
Nat’s dad is smiling, but in a kind of thoughtful way. “I’m sure you’ll love it, Craig, it’s a great tourist experience and very special to us Americans. Lots of things to see and do. But…”
Nat’s dad paused, building a stage for his words to come.
“…But as well as just looking at the battlefield, learning how it was fought, who won and lost, try to think too about why the battle was fought. Why any battle is fought. If the cost was justifiable. What we can do to make sure we are worthy of the sacrifices made there.”
I think I know what he means. Dad says stuff like that too occasionally when we are talking about battles, visiting war museums. On Remembrance Day. Not everybody understands what he means. They always expect him to have an opinion on the tactics and equipment used, and he does – that’s his job after all – but warfighting is more than that. Dad says it means the politicians have failed.
“Well,” said Nat’s dad, glancing down at his watch, “If you are set on joining me for an hour or two then I’d be very happy to have you there. It certainly won’t do me any harm and perhaps you’ll even find it interesting. The pre-dinner cocktails – just fruit juice for you two though – begin at seven and the dinner itself at seven-thirty. If you’re changed and ready just before seven we can walk in together.”
“Gotcha, pop,” grinned Nat. He’s happy with this.
* * *
“You’ve done your own bow tie, Boots! I was looking forward to stepping behind you, putting my arms around you, tying it for you just like I did back when…”
“Cool it, Nat, you don’t want to go down into the central lobby under the rotunda for a blueberry juice whilst trying to hide a bulge in your pants…. I’m going to be struggling enough for the both of us with that problem.”
“So, you’re saying I’m looking pretty hot too, Boots?” smirked Nat as he straightened his dinner jacket - ‘tuxedo’ - and admired himself in the mirror in our hotel room.
He does look hot, but there’s no need to let him know that.
“No, Nat. Just pointing out the facts, bud. I’ve got more to try and hide than you do.”
* * *
The Americans like their pizzazz. Nat’s dad – Paul, I still can’t get used to calling him by his Christian name – waited just a minute or so until after he was due to appear at the head of the stairs that flank either side of the lobby under the central rotunda of the Capitol Building that he’s hired for the drinks reception. He allowed the tension to build, then swept down the stairs to the music that suddenly boomed out from some speakers, waving at the crowds of supporters waiting below as somebody intoned, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Paul Bauer, your future Governor…” The rest was lost in a great burst of cheering, “whoopin’ and a hollerin’”, as they say over here.
“We don’t have to do this, bud,” said Nat as we waited a moment or two before stepping out onto the stairs to follow Paul down. “We can stay back. Pop won’t mind.”
Nat’s desperate to do this. For all he hints about arguing with his pop, he’s right behind him. Supporting him. He’s a Bauer. He’s going to be Governor too one day.
“We’re doing this, Nat. It’s easy. I’ve got the balls for it even if you don’t. I’ve met Prince Philip, remember? Shaking hands with a bunch of politicians and ‘wanna-be’s is easy. Come on…”
Nat grinned as we stepped out of the doorway and down the stairs, just far enough behind so as not to take the gloss off his dad’s progress down the stairs. Protocol matters. I can do protocol, and way better than Nat too. Nat gave a cheery wave to nobody in particular and smiled.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands afterwards, Boots. Don’t want too much politics rubbing off on you.”
