Number 23

As busses go, it wasn't particularly big, not half as long as the one I rode every morning on my way to work, but it had the usual front and rear double doors on the curb side. The sign in the window over the driver's windshield read, 'Special'. It looked normal enough, but I did a double-take as it got closer.

All of the large passenger windows had been neatly covered with sheet metal blinders painted to match the original colours. As the thing came to a stop, I could make out the pop-rivets holding the blinders in place.

Above them was another row of small windows, each about the size of a loaf of bread. They were clearly more to let in light than to see out of.

There was the usual airbrake hiss, a momentary pause, then the driver emerged. In his 40s, he was wiry and deeply tanned. He wore sandals, jeans and a faded white t-shirt with the familiar red-and-green logo of the International Orienteering Federation. A well-worn ball cap and aviator shades completed his costume. A tablet in one hand, he stood by the open door and waited silently while we gathered around him. He didn't introduce himself or waste any time with effusive greetings.

"Sun-Chasers?" he asked.

We all nodded and he looked at the tablet.

"Smith, PD?" he called out. One of the men raised his hand.

"That's me."

The driver pointed over his shoulder at the door with his thumb.

"OK, on you get, then." He looked at the rest of us. "Suzuki, M?"

The middle-aged woman waved slightly and stepped up into the bus.

One by one, he checked us off his list. I was one of the last ones.

The interior was not quite dim, but hardly as bright as outside. The top row of windows had been frosted or something; light came in, which was nice, but we couldn't see out. I was relieved to see that everything was clean and that the seats, if worn, looked comfortable enough. The air conditioner seemed to work and that was a blessing.

While not apparent from outside, the back end of the vehicle had been extensively modified. On the driver's side was a door with the standard international symbol for a toilet. I hate them, but am always glad they're there when I need one.

A second, unlabelled, door was at the very end of the aisle, facing the front of the bus. It appeared to open into a small compartment of some sort. A third door was on the curb side, just about where the rear exit doors would be. This one bore the stylized symbol of a wire coat hanger.

There had already been some people on the bus when our lot got on, but there was enough room for everybody. The driver closed the front door, then turned to face us. I could see his forefinger move back and forth as he counted us one last time.

"Anybody up for a last-minute change of heart?" he asked. We looked at each other. Not likely!

He looked at us for a few seconds, then flatly announced, "We'll be about half an hour to the first drop-off."

He obviously wasn't one for excess chatter.

With that, he turned and pulled a heavy curtain across the front of the bus, blocking any view we might have had out the windshield.

+

"There's no chance to study the ground in advance or cache stuff," Erin had said. "Everybody's on an equal footing."

+

The bus started up, paused, then sped up sharply as if turning into traffic.

I was excited, but wasn't sure of Sun-Chaser etiquette and, as a first-time newb, figured I should keep quiet until somebody else said something. It turned into a long wait and I spent my time examining my fellow participants.

Most were fairly young, in their 20s or 30s. There were some middle-aged people and the one very old woman. There were a few more men than women. All of them looked fit enough and most had the kind of tan you don't get in a booth. Clothes were uniformly light and casual -- except for footwear. There were no cheap shoes on the bus, not that I could see. I wiggled my toes in my own special Inov-8s and smiled inwardly.

The bus slowed, turned, then drove on at a somewhat lessened speed. After a while, it turned again. We were moving slower now; the road seemed to have more curves in it and I could hear the crunch of gravel under our tires. A slight smell of dust became apparent.

I wondered how we decided who got out where. Nobody had said so far and I'd been saving my questions for Erin.

The road became bumpier, less comfortable for us. One of the other women gave a slight shriek as the bus hit a fair bump. Everyone began holding on tight to whatever they could.

Maybe twenty minutes after that, the bus ground slowly to a halt. I could hear the parking brake being engaged, then the driver swept his way through the curtain. I caught a momentary glimpse of conifers and dirt road ahead.

"OK, who's first?" he asked. I realized that there wasn't a protocol. We looked back and forth at each other, nobody jumping up to volunteer.

"The routes are all about the same length and difficulty," he said. "You might as well take one as another."

He waited for a few more seconds, then pointed at one of the men in the front seats. I got the feeling his choice was almost random.

"OK, chum. You're it." He pointed at the door with the coat hanger sign. "You've got three minutes before the rest of us take off."

The man looked a little uncertain, but stood up and headed to the back of the bus. A couple of people spoke for the first time, soft mutters of "Good luck!" He paused with his hand on the doorknob, then stepped inside. The door closed behind him and the driver slipped up front.

I could feel the bus shift as the man moved around inside the change room. A few minutes later, I could hear the rear doors open. There was a short pause, then they closed again. The driver re-emerged, looked at the rest of us.

"Next?" he said. "No? OK, we'll do it in order of seating.

"You," he said, pointing at a blonde woman sitting in another front seat. "You're next. Go now, please, get started. I really don't want to have to come back here every stop."

She nodded somewhat hesitantly, rose and moved back. The driver pointed at the man across the aisle from her.

"Then you, right?"

The man nodded. The driver looked at the rest of us. The expectation was clear enough.

He smiled, slipped through the curtain. I looked at the blonde woman he'd chosen standing outside the change room. She swayed a little as the bus began to move and I could sense her trying to work up her nerve. She took a deep breath, went inside and closed the door behind her.

I wondered to myself if all the other people were as turned on as I was.

Maybe ten minutes later, the bus slowed, stopped. The light through the top windows was very bright now.

I could hear the back doors open almost as soon as we had coasted to a halt. A few seconds later, they closed and I felt the bus begin to move. The man in the front aisle was already outside the change room door; he looked confident and stepped inside without hesitation.

Another man was already moving to take his place. He was solid, this one, with wide shoulders, a just-there beard and curly brown hair.

I was surprised to find myself blushing a little.

OK, I'll admit to my having a fantasy moment about the two of us, but no, that's not why I blushed.

I'd just realized that the first one to get to the finish point would be alone, event organizers and staff excepted perhaps. She'd be able to get dressed almost in private, but would be able to watch as the second showed up robed only in shoes, sunblock and dust. Together, they'd then be able to watch Number Three, and so on.

Call me silly, but it was suddenly very important to me that I get to the finish point before this handsome boy...

The bus crawled to a stop, the doors opened and closed, then he stepped inside and shut the door.

It wasn't so much about him not seeing me. I suddenly wanted to see him  coming into the finish wearing just sneakers and a tan.

I suddenly wanted that so much that it hurt.

Maybe I could offer him a cool drink or something...

There was already a woman moving down the aisle, but I stood, held my hand up towards her.

"If you don't mind, I'd really like to go next. Please?"

She shrugged, nodded. Instead of returning to her seat, she stood in the aisle, swaying with her hand in a strap above her.

The bus again started to slow down. It stopped.

I heard the exit doors close, heard a whispered, "Good luck!" from someone.

I don't know now why I was surprised, but the cubicle was much smaller than I would have thought; I could easily have touched opposite walls with my elbows, let alone my fingertips and half the floor was taken up by the steps down to the exit doors. There was an opening in one wall at floor-level, at the back. One end of a metal box was already protruding from it.

The bus jerked as it started to move. I looked at the sign, fingers reaching for my blouse.

+

The sound of the bus faded away, leaving me in the most perfect silence I'd ever been part of. For a moment or two, there wasn't even the sound of the wind and all I could hear was my heart pounding.

I looked around. The gravel road, while passable enough, was narrow and rutted, like a seldom-used lumbering road. Second-growth pine trees rose on either side and I didn't think I could see twenty feet through them.

I unbuckled the bag, pulled out the map and unfolded it. I checked my control sheet, found where my start point was supposed to be on the map and ran my forefinger from there to the two concentric circles indicating the finish point. Presuming I was standing where I thought I was, the finish point was no more than a quick hour-long hike.

Only an hour, but that was if I didn't bother hitting hit any of the control points - and I needed them. I looked around for a better place to spread things out. Nope -- no flat rocks, no logs, no convenient stump. I shrugged, stepped off the road and spread out the map on the dusty grass.

There was nothing that I could see to take a bearing on and nothing on the map to suggest one, either. Why make it easy, right? On the other hand, the bus had indeed turned around a bend in the direction shown on the map, so I was pretty confident that I was where I was supposed to be. I hadn't noticed any mosquitos, which was also encouraging.

I checked the map for information on magnetic declination, did some mental math. The world revolves around its axis, the true north pole. Compass needles on the other hand point to the magnetic  north pole, a different place which is constantly moving. Right then, it was maybe 350 kilometers south of Santa's Palace. Depending on where you are, that difference and some dense bush can get you thoroughly lost. I was happy to see that my compass had already been adjusted. Never taken anything for granted.

I marked my control points on the map with the pencil. Finished, I rechecked everything; this would not be a good time to be heading in the wrong direction. I tried to see if the best route automatically suggested itself. It rarely did and today was no exception. I guessed I had eight or ten kilometers ahead of me, if I didn't get lost or take any detours.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, smiled.

Piece of cake, Katie! You'll be first in.

Then, I wonder what his name is?

I took a sip of water, packed everything up, slung the bag over one shoulder and, keeping my ear open for approaching vehicles, started trotting down the road.

When I got around the curve 500 meters later, I saw the T-junction I'd expected not far beyond. I dug out the map again, kept the compass handy.

The first control point — and here I checked my list to be sure — was almost due west of where I was, maybe a kilometer away. The map showed two reasonable-sized hills; the control point should be behind the larger, northern one. I looked up, smiled as my eyes found them dead ahead of me. It would be obvious to just head between them, yet it seemed too simple somehow.

There was no river, creek, pond or marsh showing on the map, but just the way the ground was shaped had me concerned. The ground between such hills is often wet and I really didn't want to go bog-bashing if I didn't have to, especially this early in a long day.

Looking at the map again, I decided to head north a bit, then follow around the bottom of the northern hill. It would maybe take longer, but I doubted there would be a swamp there.

I stretched and took a sip of water. The sun was well up and I decided to get moving.

I took a bearing from the map, set the compass and plunged — in a careful, deliberate manner — into the dense trees. Given the sun and the shape of the ground, I was confident I wouldn't get too lost. Another road was shown on the map just beyond the hills. If I kept going west, I was certain to run into it. The map showed a bit of a bend in the road which would confirm my location once I did.

The going was easy enough. The trees were dense, but not particularly scratchy and there was no undergrowth to either slow me down or hide icky stuff like poison ivy.

In due course, I hit the expected road. I looked around, saw the bend and walked to it. The grid reference on the contact sheet indicated my first contact point should be just over... there. The map showed a small creek crossing the road. All I had to do was follow that north for about 200 meters and I'd be on first base. I smiled, stepped off.

Half an hour later, I sat on a rock by the side of the road. I looked around me, frustrated beyond belief. I'd followed that creek a lot further than 200 meters. Twice. There was no sign of any marker.

I looked at the map again, took a calming breath. Start again, Kat.

I'd been careless, overconfident. The creek was there, easy to find - once I'd gone 75 meters past the one I'd been following. There were two of them and only one was shown on the map. Maybe something had happened upstream since the map was printed, maybe the aerial survey had been done in a dry season. It happens. I, of course, had been following the wrong stream.

Ten minutes later, I was in a clearing, looking down at a post driven into the ground. Nailed to it was an orange and white plate with the number '12' written in large numerals.

Grinning happily, I took out my pencil and carefully wrote '12' on one corner of the map. I needed to remember it.

+

"You put all your clothes in a box on the bus," Erin had said, "fastened with a combination lock. Each of your control points has one of the numbers to open the lock. You could cut straight to the finish line if you had to or wanted to, but you couldn't open the lock."

She giggled. "And they probably wouldn't give you your clothes until everybody else arrives."

+

I was feeling pretty good now. Yes, it had been a silly mistake, but I'd figured it out. That was in fact one of the main reasons I enjoyed this sort of thing. Not only was it good exercise out in fresh air, but it also made me think.

Not entirely to my surprise, I also found my libido was returning. The frustration of thrashing up and down the wrong creek had locked it away in its own ammo can, but, lying there in a clearing full of wildflowers, I felt that old tingle returning.

I looked around - nothing, nobody, nada. I smiled, ran my hands over my tummy, higher, cupped my breasts. I caught my nipples between forefingers and thumbs, rolled them softly, pulled them for a second before releasing them, felt them swell and harden.

I covered them with my palms, listened to my heart beating.

I looked around at the trees, took a deep breath. No, not the time for this, Kat. Not yet...

I stood up, shook myself a little to loosen up, bounced on my toes a couple of times. The sun was well up now and the day was indeed becoming warmer. I looked at my shoulders and saw a little redness. I push down hard with a fingertip, lifted and watched the white mark fade.

Oops! I had forgotten another basic. I dug through the sack, found the sunblock and began smearing it over my body, head to foot. I had some problems between my shoulder blades, but thought I'd got myself properly covered.

The second control point was only a kilometer away as the crow flies. My problem was the long, skinny lake between me and it. I oriented the map, laid it down on the ground and examined it carefully. I had three choices, none of them particularly good. I'm not a great swimmer, so scratch the direct route. Going around the south side of the lake would take me through what looked like pretty rugged forest and it would be easy to get lost. Circling to the north seemed a better idea, but the ground was wide open, a field in fact, at least a kilometer across. Once across it, the map showed another track leading almost directly to a small pond, on the shore of which would be my second control point. But crossing the field would mean I'd be completely exposed...

Think this through, Kat.

Yes, I'll admit that I was turned on by the riskiness of the whole affair, but as soon as I stepped out into that field, I'd be out of the trees, without cover and visible to anybody in the neighbourhood. I was having to balance the risk of getting caught against the fun I could have — would have — taking that risk.

There had been maybe twenty or thirty other participants on the bus. How did I feel about being seen by one of them? I wasn't entirely sure, frankly. Yes, right now, they were all as bare as I was. And, like me, it wasn't likely that they would be here were they not just slightly bent. Birds of a feather, so put them aside.

I might be seen by the event organizers. I crossed that off my fret list. They posed no threat, not even of embarrassment. They were staging the event and could hardly mock or sneer.

Then my mind turned the gravel roads and rutted dirt tracks criss-crossing the area. They'd been made to be used, driven on by people with legitimate business - lumber trucks, surveyors, other hikers, naturalists, picnickers. Normal people, in other words. Whether or not they reported me, they were likely to have cameras or cell phones. The thought of my bare tush being posted on Facebook had very little appeal.

Worst of all, I might be seen by wardens, rangers or cops and that would spell very bad news for Mom's little girl.

OK, I'd admit it. Standing there in the buff, the struggle between thrill and risk was turning me on still more. I idly pulled on one nipple, then the other, ran my hand through my hair.

I closed my eyes, concentrated on... silence. The breeze had died down and about the only sound was a raven flying over me. I listened to the low flapping of its wings until it was out of hearing and silence returned.

I peered down the road, examined the edges of the field, looking for parked vehicles, people, dust. Nothing.

I decided to take the open way rather than flog around through the bush. Yeah. And, come to think of it, hell yeah!

I wasn't going to sprint across the field. Yes, I'd done a lot of sprinting while orienteering, but this was different. Out here, by myself, breaking an ankle or something would be a serious problem. Pain aside, if I had to trip the beacon. Rescue would find me... yeah, starkers. No joy, no thrill, just pain and embarrassment.

Tingle or no tingle, a certain amount of caution was advisable.

I began a slow dog-trot, my attention flipping back and forth between the ground and the other side of the field. My boobs swayed in the sunlight and I smiled at the feeling, smiled again at the warmth of a fine day. Even without my being slightly twisted, sun on bare skin is always a good reason for being outside. My confidence back, I grinned to myself, completely content in every way.