BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Back in the 70’s, C. W. McCall (Bill Fries) along with Chip Davis (Yeah, THAT Chip Davis) wrote a song called Green River. If you’d like to listen to the original, here’s a link:

I suppose you are  probably wondering why I am even bringing up an almost 40 year old song. Well, you see, it’s like this: Evil Kat.

Come on… You knew The Supreme Redhead had to be involved in this somehow…

Back in the days when it was just E K and her leashed pets – that being two canines and one husband (I can’t complain, she bought me a really nice collar with an engraved tag that said Property of Evil Kat on it) we used to go on float trips CONSTANTLY. For non-Missourians – as I have found that the term “float-trip” is not universal – a float trip is where you rent a canoe, get dropped off with it and your coolers, and paddle/float yourself down a river to the “take-out point,” which can either be where you parked originally, or a different place where they pick you up and bring you back to your car.

This is intended to be fun. As a rule, it usually is. Like I said, back in the day, E K would leash us up, put us in the car, and off we’d go. There was one year I recall that we went on float trips almost every weekend for the entire summer. AND, truth be told, a float trip was EKay’s and my first official date – and she still married me anyway. But that’s a different blog that I’ll tell sometime in the future.

At any rate, back to the here and now. For several years after the O-spring came along, we stopped “floating” – primarily due to time constraints. However, now that she is older and can come along with us, and can swim, and all that good stuff, E K has made it her mission in life to see to it that we go on at least one float per summer, if not more. With that, she has started scheduling an end of summer float with friends for the past two years. One more year and it becomes a tradition…

Last year’s float, while it had a couple of mildly harrowing incidents, was almost completely unremarkable as compared to this year’s canoeing odyssey – which occurred just yesterday,  Saturday August 27…

I knew it would become a blog when we were less than a mile into the float. Why? Because Steve, Mary, and Tammy flipped. Not as in “flipped someone off,” or “flipped out”… Although, they DID flip out of the canoe, so I guess in a way they DID flip out. Basically, Mary’s sunglasses “flipped” off her head, Steve tried to grab them, they all shifted in the canoe, and… Well… Moments later we were standing on a gravel bar emptying water from their craft and then reloading it with their coolers.

But what REALLY told me this would be a blog was that while we were reloading their “boat,” some other canoers came around the bend, merrily singing “Row, Row, Row your boat.” To this, a waterlogged Mary muttered under her breath, “I’ll show you row, row your f*cking boat… Quit your damn singing.”

After that, it was all over for us. The river proceeded to exact revenge upon each and every member of our group. E K, O-Spring, and I flipped – something that literally has NOT happened since the second time E K and I went floating (We are actually pretty damn good “canoe drivers”). Mary was taken down by a slippery rock and banged the crap out of her knee. Same thing then happened to the O-spring. We were caught in a snag and I had to bail out of the canoe and fight the current to get us free. Later, during a similar operation I was sucked under the canoe while E K and the O-spring were still aboard and became a speed bump after I loosed it – then the current popped me back up above the surface, but still had hold of me and I tumbled over rocks for several feet until I could get a handhold. Of course, E K and the O-spring were now 300 yards down the river and I had to walk the rocks to get to them. There was plenty more, actually, but this blog is already over 1000 words, so I need to give it a bit of a rest… Instead, what I will try to do is recount our adventure through rewriting C. W.’s tune…

Meramec River

It was daylight on the river but we weren’t having any fun
And we couldn’t find our cooler cups no more
But we felt the boilin’ current and the spring was runnin’ cold
As we headed down the river two plus four
And the rocks were kickin’ our asses
On the day we ran the rapids of the Meramec

[Chorus]
And we died a thousand times in that nine miles of hell
The longest day of life we’d ever seen
But we lived to tell the story and we know the story well
Then we ate some dinner at a truck stop

We were four plus two in number when we gathered on the shore
And we loaded up our coolers full of beer
But we summoned up our courage an’ we said we wouldn’t scream
And we ran that rocky river without fear
Yeah, the logs were kickin’ our asses
On the day we ran the rapids of the Meramec

Echoing Shouts:
Steve – Paddle RIGHT!
E K – HANG LEFT!
Mary – WHAT THE FUUUU–
Tammy – GODDAMIT!
Murv – Here, hold my beer…
O-spring – Squeeeeeee!

And we saw a thousand floaters hung up on the snags and logs
As we fought to keep ourselves from their fate
And we saw the bobbing beer cans and we heard the ghostly cries
Of the drunks who ran the river long ago
And the rocks were kickin’ our asses
On the day we ran the rapids of the Meramec

Echoing Shouts:
Steve – Paddle LEFT!
E K – SERPENTINE! SERPENTINE!
Mary – STOP SINGING!!
Tammy – GODDAMIT!
Murv – Here, hold my beer…
O-spring – Squeeeeeee!
Steve – Whatever…
Mary – Dammit, Steve!
E K – Those assholes just threw trash in the river!
Tammy – GODDAMMIT!
Murv – (clunk clunk) … I’m okay… I think…Gimme a beer…
O-Spring – Squeeeeee!

Now the memories are swirlin’ down the campground shower drains
But the waters of the Meramec flow like tears
And the rocks and snags and crashes will be a long remembered tale
To be told around the campfires through the years
Yeah, the rocks were tryin’ to kill us
On the day we ran the rapids of the Meramec

[Chorus]
And we died a thousand times in that nine miles of hell
The longest day of life we’d ever seen
But we lived to tell the story and we know the story well
Then we ate some dinner at a truck stop

Echoing Shouts:
Steve – Paddle RIGHT… NO, LEFT!
E K – O-spring, give me the paddle!
Mary – I can’t bend my knee…
Tammy – GODDAMIT!
Murv – We should have brought Scotch…
O-spring – Squeeeeeee!
Steve – Lookit that fish…
Mary – How does our canoe look?
E K – Look, Mary, a snake…
Mary – (SCREAM)
Tammy – GODDAMMIT!
Murv – There’s a blog in this…
O-Spring – Here, hold my Gatorade…

Fade out

And there you have it. We made it home alive… Late. We’re bruised and battered and sore and blood was shed (I’m not kidding)…

Funny thing is, I have a physical tomorrow. Before you ask, there’s nothing wrong. It’s just a “coming up on 50,000 mile” service check sort of thing. I suspect the doc won’t even mention the bruises and scrapes. He’s used to seeing me after E K has been “in a mood”…

More to come…

Murv

As promised, I am throwing together a few blogs about our adventures on vacation. Please make note that they won’t necessarily be in chronological order as far as the vacation itself went. They are actually in “transcribed jotted down note order,” which makes sense to me, but not really everyone else. At any rate, this is number four in the series…

In the movie Die Hard, John McClane (Bruce Willis) takes one look at the utter lunacy in the baggage claim area of LAX and with a resigned confusion, exclaims, “California…” (see the scene HERE)

This pretty much sets the tone for McClane’s view of the 31st state, that being that folks on the left coast aren’t right in the head. Obviously, having seen Die Hard more times than I can count, I’ve noticed this “bit” before. I’ve just never really taken it to heart. Then I went on vacation…

No, not to California. I’m not exactly sure they will let me into the state, to be honest, and after this blog post I think my chances will be even more slim.

You see, as you will recall, in Part Two of the Vacation Chronicles, Neither Does Murv… I mentioned the Horn Honkers. As it happens, the Horn Honkers were from California – Or, that’s what it said on their license plates, anyway, and their car definitely did NOT look like a rental.

Our first encounter with the Horn Honkers – the first one that sticks out in our minds, at least – occurred while we were waiting around on the side of the road for a glimpse of “das cinnamon bayer.” We had been waiting there for all of five minutes, maybe even less. With cameras and binoculars poised, we scanned the treeline below, searching for something big, furry, and wearing no pants – just a t-shirt and carrying a jar of honey.

However, before we had a chance to locate said creature, the roar of a car engine came from above. We turned to see the fancymobile, tagged with California plates, speeding around the curve – way too fast, I might add – then accelerating and racing toward us even way too faster. Dangerous kind of fast. At about 100 yards out, the horn began to blare.

A scant moment later the California Fancymobile slid to a halt on the turnout between our vehicle and someone who was parked up ahead of us. We all abandoned our quest for “cinnamon Pooh bayer.” Why? Well, initially we thought it was because someone was in distress and needed help immediately. We perceived that there must be some sort of emergency. After all, they had come down a narrow, “switchbacking” mountain road at a dangerous speed, blaring their horn. What else were we to think?

Seems, however, that we had misinterpreted their situation. Apparently we not only didn’t speak German (See Neither Does Murv…) we also didn’t speak California. The reason they were speeding down the mountain at a dangerous rate is that… Well… we still aren’t sure about that. The horn, though, we did figure out. Fact is, they did want to get our attention, but it was just so that we would “get the f*ck out of their way” because they were from California. We figured that out because before the car had even stopped skidding to a halt, their doors were open and they were jumping out, cameras in hand. Like cockroaches startled by a light, they proceeded to scurry back and forth, running between us, pointing their cameras – sometimes without even looking at what they were pointing them at – then snapping pictures. Thirty-seven point four seconds later, they were back in the California Fancymobile and slinging gravel as they literally peeled out of the turnout and sped off.

We all stood there dumbfounded for a moment, then wandered back to the Jeep and climbed in. We knew better than to believe Pooh would be hanging around after that little display…

And that would be the end of the story if it weren’t for the fact that for the rest of the day we played leapfrog with the F*ckin’ Californians. Well, it wasn’t so much leapfrog as just us meandering into their way, I guess.

Seriously.

We would be standing there admiring the view, waiting for wildlife, eating a sammich, taking a leak, whatever… Suddenly, out of nowhere the California Fancymobile would roar into view and come screeching into whatever parking area we were inhabiting. They didn’t always use their horn, but every single time, without fail, the two bald surfer dudes would jump out of the car, scurry around like they were running late for an appointment with an expensive hooker, and snap random pictures in a half-assed fashion.

But who am I to complain? Odds are they “saw” wayyyyyy more of Wyoming than we did. Still, all of our pictures were in focus. Not so sure about theirs…

More to come…

Murv