Akiko's #1 Best Buddhist Bed & Breakfast lies about 15 miles north of Hilo. Along the way, the landscape is mostly rural, with narrow turnoffs and the occasional roadside house or liquor store. I only passed a single gas station, which, under the circumstances, did little to ease my mind.
In the glow of my headlights, the scrub bushes and nondescript trees I passed didn’t look esp. exotic. I found it hard to believe I was in Hawaii. I could've been traveling through the Plains states or the Mid-West. Given my own upbringing, I was reminded of Michigan, particularly the Upper Peninsula. Matter of fact, the longer I was on Hawaii, the more I made that association, though, at other times, I felt so far away from Michigan that I could’ve been… well… on a Pacific Island.
Still, speeding through the darkness, I knew my view was incomplete. There were a few signs of something more fantastic around me. Here and there, the roadside rose up in walls of rock and dirt. These were lined with moss, small bushes and a dense network of roots. At their apex grew a dense mixture of trees and other plants.
What I didn't know was that I was driving past some absolutely spectacular views of the Pacific. When I first left Hilo and was closer to sea level, I'd caught glimpses of something like the movement of water. I'd assumed it was the ocean and regretted missing it in the dark.
Something else I missed in the darkness: I was up high and climbing higher. I'd noticed a gradual slope, but didn't realize how drastic it was until my ears started popping.
The rain had diminished to a light drizzle. Pretty soon, the buildings and crossroads disappeared. I lost the moon, and it grew even darker. I had an ugly suspicion that I'd missed the road to Akiko’s, but could find no-fucking-where to turn around. 19 is a 2 lane highway pretty much all of the way. There are very occasional, very short lanes where slower traffic can move off to the right and let everyone else pass them. (I was amazed to find that people actually used these lanes.) But these weren’t going to help me much if I needed to make a U-turn.
I had no idea how long it'd been since I'd passed a house or a turnoff. The slope of the road was pronounced now, and occasionally I passed a road sign telling me my altitude. (I think I was somewhere in the vicinity of 3,000 some-odd feet at this point.) Judging by the mile markers, I'd overshot Akiko's #1 Best Buddhist Bed & Breakfast by around 30 miles, and it was an hour later than the time I'd said I would arrive.
The road was twisting and narrow, and unless I had no other choice, I didn't want to risk a U-turn. Still, I'd pretty much resigned myself to it when a car came up behind me. Its headlights seemed especially harsh to me after driving in the dark for so long. I sped up to accommodate it, hoping for a turnoff. There was nothing. I tried moving over to the right, slowing down and flashing my brights. My friend slowed down and stuck with me. I finally pulled onto the thin strip of turf that served as a shoulder, half-expecting the car to pull over behind me. I watched it disappear and then cautiously went about making my turn.
I was only about halfway back when the rain started again. It was dousing me in waves, and I had the windshield wipers whipping and whapping in a panicky sorta way. They were almost comically unequal to this downpour. It was, of course, more difficult to see, and I was about 99.763% sure that I'd miss the turnoff again, but this time I got lucky.
The 14-mile marker comes up just before an elevated pedestrian bridge across highway 19. It's not very well marked on your way out of Hilo, but on the way back in, there's a shiny new green road sign, directing you toward the village of Wailea. (Another shiny new sign has since been added on your way out of Hilo as well.) I was sure I was gonna fuck up the next part—a fork that occurs immediately after the turn. I was supposed to take the left branch—not Chin Chuck Road on the right. (Yes, that is really the road’s name.) Again, I lucked out. Though the turn was sharp, and the pavement was wet, I skidded only a little, and managed to stick to the proper fork.
I cruised on into Wailea, passing a small park with a baseball diamond. It looked sloppy and wet. Masses of damp leaves were spread all over the road.
Houses began to spring up. Most of them were large and well maintained—less humble than Akiko's directions and their references to a "wee village full of Japanese elders” had led me to believe. Each house appeared to have a lot of land, as well as lush, complex gardens. Although I drove slowly, the sound of the motor and the glare of the headlights felt like fingernails on a chalkboard. Every single place was completely dark, and I couldn't escape the feeling that I was disturbing various someone’s.
Further up the road, I ran into something that seemed more like a traditional village. Lit by ordinary streetlights, it was really only about the size of a city block. It felt like one of those Old West tourist type towns that you find all over the American heartland. Instead of Dodge City ‘tho, this place seemed to be a historical preservation of a very small town from the late 40s or early 50s.
Like many of the houses I’d seen in Hilo, these buildings had clapboard walls with shingled or tin roofs. (A design scheme I would find was extremely common on the Big Island.) There were a few old shops that, for the most part, appeared to've permanently closed some time ago. There were only two brightly lit buildings. They had been a gas station at one time, and between them lay a narrow courtyard that was lit by powerful security lamps. I could see banana trees where the light fell off beyond it. A bright yellow banner identified this place as Akiko’s # Best Buddhist Bed & Breakfast.
One of the buildings was cream-colored and very wide. In front of it, plastic lawn furniture was scattered across a long strip of concrete. A large stone Buddha stood in one corner, and a low, overhanging roof sheltered this entire porch area. An open garage door led into darkness. (Later I'd find that there was a small Buddhist temple inside.) Several cats scattered away from my headlights, but a couple lay unphased in the plastic chairs.
The second building was bright yellow. It had a shingled roof, with a short, wide gravel lot underneath its overhanging edge. A few cars were parked there, so I rolled into an open spot on the end. I cut the ignition and lights and got out of the car.
I hefted my bag onto the pavement next to me. It seemed like I'd been driving forever, and standing still there, I felt almost vertiginous. The force of the rain surprised me. I was calmer, but dazed.
Then a small, very thin woman approached me. The light was behind her, so I had trouble seeing her at first.
She said, "You must be Steve Forceman, P.I."
TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT EXCITING INSTALLMENT OF A MORON IN PARADISE!!!
