Although Dean was anxious to locate "P. Corbin," he was cautious enough to wait for Fred to confirm the named party had actually joined the tour. It was after dinner by the time Fred caught up with him. Dean had showered and changed and was sitting under a tree licking a frozen yogurt desert and chatting with a group of riders from Texas when the old man strolled up. Dean rose to meet him and the two wandered to a quiet section of the park before Dean questioned him.
"He's here," Fred said with a tired smile. "He signed in and picked up his packet of information. After I checked out the list I spent the afternoon at a rest stop squinting at a couple of a thousand bikers' numbers trying to spot him, but no luck. He must have been at the front of the pack and I missed him."
"I'm surprised he's in good enough shape to bike with the leaders," Dean said. "Did the papers show where he's staying?"
"No luck there-the tour doesn't record that. It would be too confusing. There's a big bulletin board down by the information area where everyone's supposed to check for messages if they're looking for someone."
"If we left a note for P. Corbin we'd just spook him," Dean said.
"Yeah, that's what I figured. But I'll spot him tomorrow. I'm scheduled to man the first rest area and I'll get there before any of the bikers get started. That way I'll make sure I get to see 'em all."
The two exchanged the Coors beer and the evening's entertainment for a brief but pleasant stroll around the streets of Durango. They tried a couple of times to telephone Mrs. Porter back in Parkside but weren't able to get through.
"She's out there gallivanting, I suppose," Fred snorted. "Mrs. Lincoln's going to be lonely. Bad enough the kitty has to suffer without any good country music to listen to, now she doesn't have any company either."
Much as Dean wanted to telephone Cynthia Byrne, he knew it wasn't appropriate-suicide was a better word. Instead, he settled for a postcard to her and one to her son, each with a bland "Having a great time" message. He had no intention of calling the Parkside Police station. It wasn't a lack of curiosity-he needed this week away from murder and mayhem. Fred was the first to suggest they call it a night, in spite of the early hour. Either the old man's age was showing or Emma Blanding was waiting. Dean moseyed off to set up his tent while Fred tried to call Mrs. Porter one more time. Dean was surprised just how tired he was and happy to get a decent night's sleep before tackling the next day's 60-mile run to Pagosa Springs-leg two of the "Ride the Rockies Tour."