Slicker than Picker

Well, after going to three different addresses throughout a very long day of driving, finely at our fourth stop, we found where he was hiding out. The key phrase here is hiding out, he still was. George nor I could figure this one out. We had two objectives on this treck, foremost, George had saved and was intent, on purchasing a new camera. We had made plans for later that summer, to meet in the Southwest. We would spend a few weeks on the Colorado Plateau photographing. I was living in Venice at the time, and planned attending a workshop in Taos. This trip would be the shake down cruise for that journey. George had about six grand cash with him, ready to throw down on a 4by5 camera, lenses, tripod, etc. I had come back to W.C. on an early summer visit with my Family. We took off late morning, heading North to New England. Our plan was to camp that night somewhere in the Green Mountains, the next day he would buy his camera. There was no Moon as night fell, and we traveled the dark mountain roads, until about ten, finley pulling off to set up camp. We were out there, not a car on that old road, not a soul to be found. My father was working with Coleman at the time, and had a garage full of gear, lanterns, tents, cook stoves, we left the Canoe behind. George brought the mood lighting, small little oil lamps, lamps he used on his boat down on the Sassafras. We pitched our tents on the banks of a mountain stream, where the water tumbled down through river stone. Later, we found out, the Rainbow Festival was on the other side of the mountain, an explanation for why there was not a person to be found. We broke out the camp stove, cracked some eggs, popped the cork on some fine wine, and sat down to enjoy “a real” mushroom omelet. Now this was the kind of feast, you enjoy for hours! That Rainbow Festival had nothing on us! After cleaning up a little, we killed the big lanterns, settled in, just relaxing by the stream, as we listened to all the sounds of the forest. This place was lush, thick with growth, and very dark. The lamps George had brought really set a mood. At some point, George felt the mood could be improved. He began to place the lamps behind shrubs and bushes in the forest. It was a beautiful thing, we were off! For hours on end we would “hide the light”, taking turns, then stepping back, fascinated by these illuminated sculptures we’d create beaming through the underbrush. As the sun came up, we went down, caught a little sleep, for what would be a very long day, trying to find Fred Picker. We had an address on him, but found out, he had been gone from that location for quite some time. We asked some of the store owners in town about him, and got a lead. I guess I can’t say it was a dead end, but we didn’t find him there either. We were told of a farm house on a state road, where we would find him, then came up empty again. As we were pulling back onto the highway, a UPS truck was pulling in, We flagged the driver down and asked if he knew where Picker was. We were feeling a bit discouraged by this time, but soldered on to the fourth location, and finley found success. We go walking up a flight of stairs and on the door we see ZONE VI. Feeling a little giddy finding this place, we walk through the door, and see this old little man cower into a back office, closing the door behind. Now George had cash in hand, ready to through down. Fully expecting, upon telling the young woman inside of his intent, that Fred would gladly reappear. You know this guy just didn’t want to be found. The girl in front got him on the phone, told him why we were there, and he didn’t budge, just told her to sell George the camera. We left scratching our heads, empty handed, wondering how one could be so rude. He may have felt the same about us, searching him out, coming to his place of business, but you know it WAS his place of business.