BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

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 one in the series…

Wednesday. Fourth day of vacation. Evil Kat has now tortured us all mercilessly with “pre-hikes” leading up to her plan for today – The Death March. Seriously. She actually had it on the itinerary. She didn’t call it a death march because she didn’t want us to know that’s what it was, but hey, we figured it out right quick…

After a quick breakfast at the restaurant for Colter Bay Village in the Grand Tetons, where we had been staying in a cabin, we were packed and ready to set off to West Yellowstone, Montana, which would become our base camp for the rest of the vacation. That way we would have a place to crash and be able to make excursions into Yellowstone National Park. Good plan, but as I mentioned, there was this death march with which we needed to contend.

Before heading north to West Yellowstone, E K wanted to hike the “Hidden Falls Trail” at Jenny Lake. Some of you may remember my status update:

At Jenny Lake. Forest is here too… JEH-NAYYY! 10:59 AM 6/15

On Death March at Jenny Lake. Help ME!

That was more or less my “Blair Witch Project” swan song. By that I mean, less than twenty minutes later, Her Supreme Redheaded Evilness had us on the trail. Thing about it is this – we were already at high altitude, so next thing you know we were going up the side of a mountain, then down the side of a mountain, then around a lake, back up, back down, along the lake, switched back, up, down, around, down, up, up, up, around, down, up, up, UP, and then we came to the washed out bridge. Yeah. So then we had to go up some more – through two feet of snow. Melting snow. The kind where you take a step and then one leg crashes through and you end up doing the splits and having deadly pine needle infused snow crystals all up in your BVD’s. No, I’m not kidding. Yes, I ended up with deadly pine needle infused snow crystals all up in my BVD’s. Well, actually it was my Fruit of the Looms, but you get the idea. (BTW – Make note of the “do rag” I’m wearing in the picture above… It comes into play later.)

Hidden Falls. Not so hidden once you get there...

Anywho, on with the story… After seeing The Hidden Falls, and playing photographer for other folks who wanted their family photo taken in front of it (I really should have set up a concession stand, I’m tellin’ ya’…) we hiked up, up, down, down, down, around, through, up, down, up, down, through, around, down, down, DOWN until we came to the dock. What dock? The dock on the other side of the lake where the boat met us and took us back to where we started. Then it was back into the rental vehicle and off to West Yellowstone.

Now… To get to West Yellowstone coming from where we were, one had to pass through Yellowstone proper. Well… not just one… all of us, actually. But that’s not my point. My point is that we had to go through Yellowstone, so why not take some time to stop, look at Old Somewhat Faithful, and walk at least a portion of the loop before heading on into Montana. I mean, after all, it’s not like we had done any walking yet for the day, right? <– [Gratuitous Sarcasm]

However… There had to be some shopping too. After all, when you have a tween o-spring, she will be all about the souvenir thing.

Something you might not know about me – unless E K and I are out doing the “Pretty Woman” thing, I don’t shop. I hate to shop. When I go to the store I know what I want, I get it, and then I get out. ‘Nuff said.

But on with the show… We arrived at the “Mercantile” or whatever they call it there in the Old Somewhat Faithful area of the upper geyser basin. They want to go shopping. I want to sit. Fortunately, someone at the “Mercantile” already knew I was coming, because there were 409,345 rocking chairs lined up along the boardwalk in front of the place. I found one and I sat in it.

Here’s where the importance of the “do rag” comes in…

The motor-sickles showed up. Apparently all these dudes and dudettes on said motor-sickles took my “do rag” to mean I might possibly be of the two-wheel ilk myself, so instead of sitting in any of the other rocking chairs, they joined me in my row. They introduced themselves. The chatted with me like I was a long lost pal. They showed me their tattoos. Of course, when they asked me what sort of bike I rode I couldn’t lie, so I told them, “Well, I used to have a Schwinn, but now I’ve just got a K-Mart Special 10-speed.”

I figured they’d probably decide I wasn’t all that cool at that point, but apparently they thought it was funny. Not sure how much comedy they get to see out on the open road, so I was glad to at least give them a laugh. At any rate, instead of running off, they hung around and we commiserated about the fact that I was stuck there waiting for my “old lady” while she shopped, and all that good stuff. I mean, we had ourselves a grand ol’ time there on the Group Motor-Sickle Boardwalk.

Schwinn, K-Mart Special, or not… And it was all good.

Fear This!

But that, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with “Yes, Dear…”

You see, that part finally happened after all of my newly found friends with the motor-sickles headed up and moved out, offering to take me with them since my “old lady” was still on a spending spree.

It was tempting. I mean, touring Yellowstone on a Motor-Sickle and all… But since they were my new friends I didn’t want them to get hurt. So, I explained to them that they really had no idea what they would be getting into if I came along, then mentioned the name “Evil Kat.” They all suddenly became very nervous, and then said that, as much as they liked me, I was on my own. Seems they were familiar with The Supreme Evil Redhead’s reputation.

But back to the “Yes, Dear…”

A nice young couple came out of the ice cream shop and settled themselves into chairs next to me. As friendly tourists will do, we struck up a conversation, talking about the scenery, geo-thermal events, and ice cream. Eventually, when things reached a lull I simply stared off into space, or parking lot, or whatever. Suddenly I heard a sharp, “MURV!”

When my name is said in such a way by Her Supreme Evilness that generally means she has now had to repeat herself.

I instantly responded, without even looking in her direction, “YES, DEAR!”

The couple next to me chuckled.

“We’re ready to go,” E K barked.

“I’m glad somebody is…” I mumbled.

The couple next to me chuckled again.

I pushed myself up out of the chair, and with all of the camera equipment, water bottles, and other necessary hiking about items for three people strapped to my person, began to trudge away, following the one of red hair.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the couple and said, “Y’all enjoy those chairs for me, okay?”

This, of course, elicited yet another chuckle from the pair.

But, let’s face it… I mean, it’s not like THEY were going to save me. The bikers had hauled a$$ out of there at the mere mention of “The E K,” so an ice cream eating couple from some small town in east wherever definitely wasn’t about to mount a rescue op.

Oh well, judging from their chuckles at least I entertained them for a few seconds… I wonder if they blog…

More to come…

Murv

On any given day my life could be a sitcom. Or a soap opera. I guess it just depends on the day. Personally, I prefer the sitcom days because I don’t do drama. I laugh at drama. I shoot spitwads at the llama. But I don’t do drama. I even send friends packing when they bring their drama to my home.

Rule number 1437.5 – If you bring drama to my house, leave it in the car with your llama.

But, sometimes drama sneaks in the back door when someone leaves it open, and you have to chase it out with a broom. Been there, done that. But let’s run around a different block. As I said, I prefer the sitcom days, and I have way more of them than I have accidental soap opera days.

Now, if you follow me on Facebook (there we go with The Zuckman’s social network again… talk about drama…whewww…) Anywho, if you follow me over there you hear me mention E S. No, not E K… E S. No, E S is not Evil Stephanie, EKay’s heretofore unknown half-sister just announced on national TV. (How’s that for a gratuitous Oprah reference?)… But back to the story – E S stands for Ethical Society.

Yes Virginia (Fred, Joe, Sandy, Arlene, Bob, Carol, Ted, Alice, etc…) I am a Secular Humanist. Thought I was Pagan didn’t you? Not for quite a long, long time now… I have my reasons, but that’s another blog. Suffice it to say, I’m not anti-pagan, just like I’m NOT anti-Christian, anti-Semitic, anti-Muslim, etc. I’m good with all of ’em, but I’m not any of them either.

But, like I said, different blog.

So, anyway, the O-spring has friends at E S, as do Her Supreme Evilness and I. And we hang out at E S on Sunday’s, and even at other times. Like recently. Right after that foot of snow dropped on us. We even had some more falling from the sky to top it off a bit. Get where I’m heading? Good, because I don’t either.

Wait… Maybe I do. You see, after E S this past Sunday, the O-spring went home with one of her friends so they could hang out and do tween o-spring stuff. What with all the snow they did sledding and all that general wintry fun crap we used to do when we were young enough to be able to get back up off the ground after slamming into a snowbank at the bottom of the hill. Anyhow, as will happen they ended up snow covered, and as the snow melts the coat, etc ends up wet.

Fast forward to that evening. This is actually where the sitcom moment comes in. The Redhead and I hop into the Evil Mobile and head over to retrieve our kid. We arrive, business as usual, our friend – we’ll call her Alison because I promised I wouldn’t use her real name –  invites us in and calls the girls down from upstairs. While we wait for the kids to actually make it to the main floor, what with them being tweens and all, we stood around in the sitting room – yeah, I know – chit chatting.

Alison eventually says, “I’d better get o-spring’s boots. They were wet so I’ve been drying them out over here.”

The Hottest Thing In Kids Shoes

She takes a step over to the fireplace and when she turns back around she is holding a suede girls boot. Nothing terribly odd about this, except that smoke is rolling out of and off of it. Literally. In fact, it looks just like one of those smoking shoes that is left behind after Larry, Moe, Curly, or Shemp is blown out of his socks…

We all looked at it. No drama. No excitement. No nothing.

After a moment of us all staring at the smoking boot, in a calm, even voice Alison said, “I think I burned it.”

I replied, just as calmly, “Burned? Actually I think it’s still burning.”

It was. Smoke was still rolling off of it. Out of it. Around it. There even appeared to be some glowing embers spreading along the side around what used to be a buckle. And the rubberized sole was looking just a bit drippy.

The smell of a tire fire was beginning to permeate the room.

We all looked at it again. Calmly. No exclamations. No hurry. Just standing there staring at the hottest thing in fashion footwear for kids, so to speak.

“Yep,” E K finally said with a nod. “It’s definitely on fire.”

Alison said, “I think I’d better put it out.”

“Well, at least the kid’s feet will be warm on the way home,” I offered.

“Well, the other one didn’t burn,” Alison said as she headed out of the room with the smoking shoe with no more urgency than if she were just going to  grab a drink. Over her should she added, “Just this one.”

I shrugged. “I guess we need to move it closer to the fire then.”

I guess that makes me a bad parent.

Moral of the story? There isn’t one really. The kid ended up with a new pair of boots, and I ended up with a story. Of course, I guess I need to remember to ask Alison the next time I see her if the house still smells like someone tossed a steel belted radial into the fireplace.

More to come…

Murv