It had taken Tom two weekends to get his Shack functional.
Now, when he went fishing, he’d ride his motorcycle to the shack, put down whatever he’d carried, get his gear, and go to ‘his spot’ by Big Rock.
On every possible day he could, Tom would go fishing. He often didn’t catch anything, but it gave him time to ride his bike, to be in ‘his’ environment.
Years ago, just after they had moved into his house, he had taken Verna to his fishing spot.
She babbled, complained, wanted to go home after thirty minutes.
They had walked the distance from his house. They were young then, a mile was just a walk.
She never went fishing with him again, nor did he ask.