Prepper

Chapter Nine

I come upon a table full of objects, interesting and deadly. Knives, axes, spearheads, primitive tools, masterfully crafted by hand. Behind the table is a bearded gentleman, looks like he just got back from an expedition. He is expertly sharpening a Forester's ax while debating blade material with a customer. The customer happens to be Jake.

"Hi Jake." I say.

"Hey Connor. You gotta own a knife right?" Jake says. Both he and the man behind the table look at me expectantly.

"Uh, I have a couple."

"What blade material?"

I pause, look thoughtful for a moment and say. "I haven't got a clue Jake. Steel of some kind." They both laugh.

"Well, he's not wrong." The bearded guy says.

"I'm telling you, I have never had an issue with any blade made from 440C." Jake says to the guy.

"1095 is better in every way. You can not find a better steel. You get a razor edge, good retention - it's the best of all worlds. Ninety percent of what I make is 1095 steel." The bearded man counters.

"But it corrodes."

"With a little proper care, some mineral oil and common sense that will never be an issue."

I get the feeling that this discussion could go on for some time. Now doesn't seem to be the time to press Jake about a bike trailer. I'm sure the conversation is fascinating, but my main concern about knife metal is whether or not it is dishwasher safe. As far as I am concerned, once someone sticks a knife in you, the blade material is immaterial.

I notice a bit of a commotion going on behind the table. "What are they doing back there?" I ask.

"Oh, that's our primitives class. They are doing fire making right now. Flint and steel, tinder, bow drills all that good stuff."

A bunch of kids are gathered around another man, while some parents look on. He's lanky, weathered and wears a wide-brimmed leather hat. I can picture him living in a cave. He's operating a bow drill much to the kids' amazement. In no time at all, a trail of smoke climbs up from the spinning shaft. After a few delicate movements arranging his tinder and some gentle fanning with his hand, the smoking bundle ignites. The kids all cheer.

"Wow." I say. "That's pretty cool."

"We sell bow drills too, or you can come to a bushcraft workshop and learn some of these skills."

"Or do what the real survivalist does. Never go into the bush without multiple methods of fire making." Jake adds pulling a Bic lighter from his pocket. "I always have one or two of these handy."

Mental note: bic lighters

"I gotta run." I say. Before I even depart, Jake and the bearded man are back to arguing over steel, or sharpening methods, or the best place to stab a charging elephant. I return to my bike, passing by the apple vendor again, she gives me 'one for the road' and wishes me well. I kind of wish I had more time to catch up, (and flirt) but I continue on my way.

I head out of the city, out to the pastoral farm lands that surround it to see what is being harvested, it's getting late in the season, not too many crops left in the fields, mostly corn. I cruise past road-side stands and check the prices, they're high, but lower than the grocery stores which have far more limited selection.

It's the last leg of my circuit and I'm suppose to really push myself, according to Ari. Easier said than done. At least when I'm jumping rope (I haven't found a way to get out of that accursed activity yet) I get Ari coming in regularly to berate me for jumping too slow or too high or too much like an irate drunken monkey. I don't have to push myself, Ari is more than happy to do it. Anytime I do establish a rhythm and start to look less like a complete idiot, he knocks me down a peg by making me skip backwards.