Sandy left Oregon as soon as high school ended, and went straight to college back on the East Coast. It wasn’t to say he never looked back, but his time on the other side became somewhat of a blur as time went on. Maybe it was all the time he spent drinking and doing late night study sessions in college, or maybe it was what little fun he’d had back in school, but his memory of what high school was like ended up boiled down to only the biggest highlights.

College was great. Going for first an associates at a small city community college, and working his way up each step of the way, he was only about a year behind the expectation by the time he reached his masters program. However, that was graduate school, which was far more freeform than he was used to.

Sandy was someone who liked structure, he was good at it, and it wasn’t often when structure was left behind. However, as he went into graduate school it became more and more his job to provide his own structure rather than relying on that structure of the school. A part of him wasn’t even sure why he wanted to continue school, but he decided he’d go to work on a project to start his doctoral work early.

In the end he decided to go back to Oregon. He messaged one fo the professors at the Oregon University campus and got permission to work on one of the projects they were currently working on in the state. So, with permission from his own school, he hopped on a plane and headed down.

Thankfully, Sandy was able to grab a seat that had no one sitting next to it, taking a red eye flight but having the section of seats to himself. It was rather nice, and it was even better when he finally landed in the airport that he was nostalgic about, PDX. The Banh Mi place in the terminal, the smell of oddly sterilized airport air, the arcade-like carpet that was incredibly iconic, all of hit brought him back to his own childhood.

When he left the airport he took a Bike down south, a reconstructed 1962 Harley with kickstart. It wasn’t the most accurate reconstruction, but it worked and got him where he was going, which was a plus for him. He took the bike, his heavy leather jacket, and headed down the road to Paisley once more.

Of course, he’d been able to find one of the archeological projects in Oregon right near his old stomping grounds, and it made him nostalgic. Maybe it was his overactive adhd style brain focus, but damn did he get distracted by everything from mountain vistas to local restaurants. His bike did get a few glances, it was clear that some people knew it was a classic just by looking, but few people actually cared. A single person on a bike was hardly news in most towns, not even a restored classic Harley.

Some of the towns had the occasional motorcycle ‘club’, though they were never in the same sort of class as those that you always hear about. They were all far more enthusiastic than dangerous, even if they did dip their toe in illicit activities. Most were pretty eccentric, their names and logos sometimes less than intimidating. When he saw one of their bars, always easy to see by the massive collection of bikes, he’d stop by for a drink. He wouldn’t stay long, it wasn’t really his kind of bar, but one had to be polite when you were messing around in other folks’ towns.

He grabbed a hotel room when it started to get dark. With even light astigmatism driving in the night was made a lot worse, and he didn’t really want to try. Besides, it was easier to grab a hotel when he could find it rather than find a place to rest off the interstate. So, yeah, it wasn’t for a few days that he finally made it to his old High School town. Then, after arranging a place to stay at the dinky little motel, he had to drive back north for over an hour to get to the caves.

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The Paisley Caves were one of the oldest sites in North America, and actually contained the oldest human DNA that’s been discovered on the continent. The site was pretty valuable, though it had been gone over many times. When he got there, there were maybe six people who were standing in white tents and wearing lab uniforms. A few hundred feet away were barely workers who were wearing wife beaters and hardhats, standing next to construction equipment.

Taking a sip from his canteen, Sandy realised that the desert air was not doing him any favors, and walked over to a pair of men that stood between the two groups. Both looked older, and each one seemed to hold an air of authority.

“Hello, Doctor Saraj?” He asked, assuming the man to the right was the correct one. He was wearing a tweed jacket, and considering the other man was wearing a rancher’s shirt, it was a safe bet.

“Yes, what do you want?” The man asked, looking a little bit annoyed.

“Ah, I’m here to do my field work? We talked over email and Linkedin?”

“Oh, Alexander… what was it?”

“Raginhard sir.”

“I’d keep that down, people can be cruel son.”

“Yeah… I know.” He said, a little embarrassed. “Anyway, when can I get started?”

“Ah, apologies chap. We’re actually closing today. You’ll have to come back next time.” He walked away, leaving Sandy with the older man.

“So, Sandy was it?” The old man asked, smiling at him.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“That’s a nice ride. I had one like it back in ‘77. Had a bad crash though, nearly lost my life. I settled down on the old ranch around then.” The old man laughed. “Heh, I got a cornstalk driven right through my skull. I’m still convinced a piece is still wedged next to my nose, It always feels weird.” He shrugged. “Sometime I should tell you about when I met Elvis. He was pretty cool, even if I was always more into Cash.”

Sandy nodded. “Wow, you must have had a wild life. I’ve not done much recently. Just been in school.” He kicked his foot at the hard packed sandy soil. “I just wish I could have more time to do some work. I feel bad basically letting my year go when it comes to my paper.”

“Don’t worry about it too hard son. If I could keep it open for ya I would but I’ve got to keep up my living. I’ve been tempted, the guys are all pretty cool, but the cows need someplace to be and Oregon State doesn’t have the money to help me find somewhere else for them to go.” The old man sighed. “So, will ya be heading home?”

Sandy shook his head. “And mess this up again next year? Nah, I’m gonna find myself a place to stay in town. I’m sure there’s gotta be somewhere.” Sandy shrugged. “I already got myself a room at the motel. It’s cheap enough I might be able to just stay there all year round.”

“Son, that’s no way to live for the year.” The old man said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tell you what. I’ll let you stay in my house in town.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly impose…” Sandy said, embarrassed.

“Nonsense. I feel just awful kicking you out so quickly, ‘sides, it’s not like I use the townhouse for much. I’d rather it get used than lie fallow.”

Sandy nodded. “Alright sir, I’ll take you up on that... But only if I can get your name.” He reached his hand out to the older man.

“Leiber, John Leiber.” The old man said, grasping the younger’s hand and shaking it in a death grip.

“Pleased to meet you.” Sandy said with a grin, using his grip strength to try and match the stronger old man’s. “Alexander Raginhard, but folks just call me Sandy.”