"Can you hand me that flathead screwdriver?" While they worked on the two-door soft top four-wheel drive, Smoke told a story about when he was young he loved a girl for whom he bought an engagement ring. That year snow on the nearby mountain melted as it does only about every thirty years. The profoundly scenic route leading up the mountainside opened so Smoke drove there for a memorable backdrop to propose to his beloved. At the road's end an expansive meadow superbloomed with wildflowers in front of a matchless view of the unspoiled snow-capped summit in all its epic glory.

As the marriage material at least two levels above his station picked a bouquet, Smoke set a small box containing the ring inside the hollow place of a petrified tree for a surprise. Suddenly a severe snowstorm appeared. In their haste lover boy left the ring behind in the stone tree that was slanted and gnarled in seeming defiance of gravity. Before he could buy another one he received a letter from Uncle Sam and was sent off to war. During his service in the expeditionary forces, watching training films on avoiding athletes foot, scrubbing the side of aircraft carriers with a toothbrush, Smoke purchased a second wedding band. When Greatest Generation returned from the mess he wasted no time asking the girl to spend the rest of their lives together. Decades later the road thawed once more. He went up the breathtaking alp to search for the lost ring, but another storm blew in tossing fitful gusts of wind and snow.

Now Smoke knew that the ring was certain never to be found, and with one foot in the grave could not make a trip up the rugged mountain path. But the snowpack had receded to open the roadway one last season during his lifetime. Here was a young woman with use for parts that had been worthless for years. The downtown merchant felt compelled to ask Janaki if she would travel to the majestic keeper of secrets and look for the first ring that he had wished to give to the love of his life.