Betty grew up among the mountains. She was old enough to choose to go walk about through them if she wanted to which is what she tried to explain to the woman on horseback who refused to let her make her own way across to the game trails that would lead down the mountain. It wasn't the first setback she had had, those had mostly concerned the lack of food, and, of course, water, and planning her walk about a little early in the summer. She had her knapsack, her backpacker's guitar, her water bottles, and her determination not to go back to the place where she had grown up. She would be okay as soon as she filled the water bottles, at least for the little while it would take to reach the Appalachian Trail which was her goal.

Mario saved her from another of the woman's lectures, but he was just as stubvborn about letting her continue her walk about. Oh, there was a promise to help speed her on her journey, after several weeks of rest, but if she was ever to make it to the Trail she needed to go now, before the big fat lust devil that was carmped in her sould jumped out and ensnared Mario. He pointed the motorcycle in the direction of the resort that sat on the funnel of pelple trails and roads that led downt he mountain. She put her arms around him for balance. She was lost.