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Monday, May 21, 2018
Thursday, March 15, 2018
All Things Mule at the TS Mules Clinic in Angels Camp, CA.
Welcome to the 2018 Season of The Mule Chronicles. Wondering why we're starting so early this year, well sit back and let me tell you all about it.
Sometime ago we decided that when we had our own mules we would attend a TS Mules Clinic put on by Ty and Skye Evans. Ty and Skye traverse these fine United States teaching mule skills to people with mule problems and mules with people problems. We first encountered TS Mules through some of their videos and DVD's but later got a chance to meet them in person at the 2017 Bishop Mule Days. It just so happened that TS Mules came to California's Gold Rush area and we jumped on the chance to attend...what do I mean "jumped on" you ask??? The Father flew home from Texas and his travels with The Mother to attend this clinic...That's right, The Father interrupted a vacation for this so it must be good.
So we loaded up Millie and Calamity Jane and headed for the hills of Angels Camp. I should probably note that since The Father flew home, I am in charge of transportation and towing of the aforementioned mules. Some of you might recall a trip two years ago where The Father let me drive home and the momentous event that was. It's like that, only slightly less exciting because we're driving my 2002 Ford F350 which is significantly less plush and comfortable than The Father's new Ford F150...BUT! I'm being allowed to drive and while towing the mules nonetheless.
We arrived in Angels Camp and found our way to the Calaveras County Fairgrounds. The Calaveras Fairgrounds are famous all the world round for the Calaveras County Fair and Frog Jumping Jubilee that is held here annually...yes it really is a Frog Jumping Jubilee - https://www.frogtown.org/about - and yes they really jump frogs - https://www.frogtown.org/untitled-cz6x.
With the mules tucked in for the night, we scurried off and got settled in our room for some desperately needed shuteye...I may have been both a tad excited about this trip to mingle with other fine mule folk and simultaneously worried about forgetting something leading me to a fitful prior night's feeble attempt at sleep. We awoke somewhat glazed over, lukewarm, and sluggish at the crack of 0615 hours, which for a semi-retired guy is dang early let me tell you. We had our coffee, packed our lunches and headed back to the fairgrounds to feed our trusty steeds. Mules fed...check....checked into the clinic...check....signed our lives away with required waivers....apparently they've heard about our rides before...but, yes, check that one off too. While wandering the grounds waiting for the mules to finish breakfast I learned that the fairgrounds were playing host to another annual event this lovely winter's day when I was told about the 700 elementary age school kids set to defend upon us shortly for "Ag Day." It appeared that Ag Day was a chance for not so city kids to get out and see various farm type exhibits, poke fluffy animals, and get a lecture on fire safety from Smokey Bear. I will just say that 700 elementary age kids are pretty dang loud even when in the great outdoors. The mules did not seem terribly impressed either and took to braying in what I can only assume was an attempt to drown the kids out...it didn't work and only served to wind the kids up and make them even louder...if that's possible.
We gathered the mules and headed into the arena where we were greeted by 13 other participants and their respective mules. In the lull before the big show I found myself fighting with CJ over her attempts to eat the pine shavings that were covering the arena floor. About the third time she managed to sneak a mouthful...seriously, this is like trying to keep a 2 year old from eating anything that even sort of resembles food while crawling on the floor...I see what I think is a chunk of shavings sticking out of her lip. Upon attempting to remove it I quickly realize that not only is it not a piece of wood shavings, but it is actually attached to her and...of...course...it's a tooth! Yep, sometime overnight CJ managed to rip one of her lower teeth out and it was now hanging by a chunk of gum out of the side of her mouth. Now mind you, this isn't dissuading her from trying to eat shavings and she generally doesn't seem too bothered by it but it does look mighty nasty and I, being a barely post-virginal mule owner, feel slightly panicked by this turn of events. I'd post a picture but I'm afraid we might lose readership.
Multiple consultations with various onsite mule experts all results in the same..."huh, I've never seen anything like that before"... followed by a call to the closest emergency ranch vet. I'm promised a rapid response and begin tabulating the available credit on every credit card I own in an effort to plan how I am going to fund this latest mule adventure. This doesn't stop me from working my way through the clinic and CJ generally plays along and at least sort of goes with the program...well at least until it's time to leave...and then all hell breaks loose because Millie got too far ahead of her and she was certain she was going to be left behind. I'm pretty sure the devil himself possessed CJ as she set to bucking, kicking, and rearing all while hollering what sounded like the armies of satan's death march. More than once she proceeded to drag me through the fairgrounds in an effort to close the gap between her and Millie...We call that being herd bound or buddy sour and any way you look at it, it really sucks because it can make your mule act like a petulant child or be possessed by the devil...like happened in my case. Did I mention that I'd been holding my back my need to pee since about 5 minutes into the clinic? Look, don't be all "you're an adult, can't you take yourself to the potty, whatever potty joke you want to insert here" with me...I told you, I was excited and I've reached that point in life where my bladder has two modes...I don't have to potty and I needed to potty five minutes ago...there is literally nothing in between, so we more or less have two emergencies on our hands at this point. Oh, did I also mention 700 screaming children with the requisite mothers with small children and fathers accompanying them as chaperons? At this point there was literally a mother with two small children that leaped a fence to get away from me with CJ in tow...well more like CJ with me in tow. Yes I was polite, I even said "That's probably a good idea ma'am, I apologize for any inconvenience"...well, at least thats what it sounded like in my head. It was probably closer to..."Holly Hell, run for your lives!" Regardless, I was giving warnings right?
I no sooner get CJ back to the pen, strip out of my now sweat soaked jacket, and start high stepping it to the little boys room when I see the father waving me down from afar while yelling that the vet had arrived...don't need to go potty, needed to potty now 3 hours and 45 minutes ago...guess we aren't going to potty now.
The lovely, kind and patient Dr. Wulzer arrived from Angels Camp Vet Hospital and set to examining CJ while I filled out the required paperwork, credit check, and title to my first born child. Dr. Wulzer relays her findings and inquires as to CJ's future show potential. Apparently a missing tooth is a big no go in equine show requirements and the good doctor is inquiring as to the level of concern that I have with that possible outcome. I reassure the vet that it is equally possible CJ will kill me before we ever get to the show stage and reassure her that a missing tooth isn't going to offend anyone on any of the trails we ride. We, and I do mean we because mule tooth extraction is not a one person job, now set to making preparations for field surgery...yep...$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$....did I bring the title to my truck with me and will they take that as partial payment?
I really cannot say it enough, Dr. Wulzer was wonderful, very calm, explained everything and asked lots of questions...pretty much made me consider appointing her on the spot as my primary care physician what with the current state of health care in America. Two rounds a sedation, a local anesthetic block, lots of irrigating, and what seemed like a mountain of meds, extremely detailed aftercare instructions, and a whole crap-ton of stuff I'm forgetting because I was faint with worry about the price of this venture and I am now the proud owner of a mule with a funky smile and a missing tooth. Fearing the worst as the bill was detailed and added up, I was pleasantly surprised when the total only came to a little over three hundred bucks. Seriously folks, that'll barely get you a ranch call in our neck of the woods. I even got to keep the tooth, though The Father brought up a legitimate question. Does the tooth go under her pillow or mine?
Well that pretty much wraps not only day one but my entire three day clinic experience because CJ and I will be riding the pine as she recovers from what had to be a very traumatic experience. I know it was traumatic for me at the very least. Have you ever seen a mule with a hangover? Looks pretty much the same as a person...head resting against the fence, drool coming out of the corner of the mouth, mumbling something about I swear I'll never do this again...and that doesn't even start to tell you what was going on with CJ.
Get along little doggies and tune in next time for the exciting continuation of...So you had to go to a mule clinic.
Sometime ago we decided that when we had our own mules we would attend a TS Mules Clinic put on by Ty and Skye Evans. Ty and Skye traverse these fine United States teaching mule skills to people with mule problems and mules with people problems. We first encountered TS Mules through some of their videos and DVD's but later got a chance to meet them in person at the 2017 Bishop Mule Days. It just so happened that TS Mules came to California's Gold Rush area and we jumped on the chance to attend...what do I mean "jumped on" you ask??? The Father flew home from Texas and his travels with The Mother to attend this clinic...That's right, The Father interrupted a vacation for this so it must be good.
So we loaded up Millie and Calamity Jane and headed for the hills of Angels Camp. I should probably note that since The Father flew home, I am in charge of transportation and towing of the aforementioned mules. Some of you might recall a trip two years ago where The Father let me drive home and the momentous event that was. It's like that, only slightly less exciting because we're driving my 2002 Ford F350 which is significantly less plush and comfortable than The Father's new Ford F150...BUT! I'm being allowed to drive and while towing the mules nonetheless.
We arrived in Angels Camp and found our way to the Calaveras County Fairgrounds. The Calaveras Fairgrounds are famous all the world round for the Calaveras County Fair and Frog Jumping Jubilee that is held here annually...yes it really is a Frog Jumping Jubilee - https://www.frogtown.org/about - and yes they really jump frogs - https://www.frogtown.org/untitled-cz6x.
With the mules tucked in for the night, we scurried off and got settled in our room for some desperately needed shuteye...I may have been both a tad excited about this trip to mingle with other fine mule folk and simultaneously worried about forgetting something leading me to a fitful prior night's feeble attempt at sleep. We awoke somewhat glazed over, lukewarm, and sluggish at the crack of 0615 hours, which for a semi-retired guy is dang early let me tell you. We had our coffee, packed our lunches and headed back to the fairgrounds to feed our trusty steeds. Mules fed...check....checked into the clinic...check....signed our lives away with required waivers....apparently they've heard about our rides before...but, yes, check that one off too. While wandering the grounds waiting for the mules to finish breakfast I learned that the fairgrounds were playing host to another annual event this lovely winter's day when I was told about the 700 elementary age school kids set to defend upon us shortly for "Ag Day." It appeared that Ag Day was a chance for not so city kids to get out and see various farm type exhibits, poke fluffy animals, and get a lecture on fire safety from Smokey Bear. I will just say that 700 elementary age kids are pretty dang loud even when in the great outdoors. The mules did not seem terribly impressed either and took to braying in what I can only assume was an attempt to drown the kids out...it didn't work and only served to wind the kids up and make them even louder...if that's possible.
We gathered the mules and headed into the arena where we were greeted by 13 other participants and their respective mules. In the lull before the big show I found myself fighting with CJ over her attempts to eat the pine shavings that were covering the arena floor. About the third time she managed to sneak a mouthful...seriously, this is like trying to keep a 2 year old from eating anything that even sort of resembles food while crawling on the floor...I see what I think is a chunk of shavings sticking out of her lip. Upon attempting to remove it I quickly realize that not only is it not a piece of wood shavings, but it is actually attached to her and...of...course...it's a tooth! Yep, sometime overnight CJ managed to rip one of her lower teeth out and it was now hanging by a chunk of gum out of the side of her mouth. Now mind you, this isn't dissuading her from trying to eat shavings and she generally doesn't seem too bothered by it but it does look mighty nasty and I, being a barely post-virginal mule owner, feel slightly panicked by this turn of events. I'd post a picture but I'm afraid we might lose readership.
Multiple consultations with various onsite mule experts all results in the same..."huh, I've never seen anything like that before"... followed by a call to the closest emergency ranch vet. I'm promised a rapid response and begin tabulating the available credit on every credit card I own in an effort to plan how I am going to fund this latest mule adventure. This doesn't stop me from working my way through the clinic and CJ generally plays along and at least sort of goes with the program...well at least until it's time to leave...and then all hell breaks loose because Millie got too far ahead of her and she was certain she was going to be left behind. I'm pretty sure the devil himself possessed CJ as she set to bucking, kicking, and rearing all while hollering what sounded like the armies of satan's death march. More than once she proceeded to drag me through the fairgrounds in an effort to close the gap between her and Millie...We call that being herd bound or buddy sour and any way you look at it, it really sucks because it can make your mule act like a petulant child or be possessed by the devil...like happened in my case. Did I mention that I'd been holding my back my need to pee since about 5 minutes into the clinic? Look, don't be all "you're an adult, can't you take yourself to the potty, whatever potty joke you want to insert here" with me...I told you, I was excited and I've reached that point in life where my bladder has two modes...I don't have to potty and I needed to potty five minutes ago...there is literally nothing in between, so we more or less have two emergencies on our hands at this point. Oh, did I also mention 700 screaming children with the requisite mothers with small children and fathers accompanying them as chaperons? At this point there was literally a mother with two small children that leaped a fence to get away from me with CJ in tow...well more like CJ with me in tow. Yes I was polite, I even said "That's probably a good idea ma'am, I apologize for any inconvenience"...well, at least thats what it sounded like in my head. It was probably closer to..."Holly Hell, run for your lives!" Regardless, I was giving warnings right?
I no sooner get CJ back to the pen, strip out of my now sweat soaked jacket, and start high stepping it to the little boys room when I see the father waving me down from afar while yelling that the vet had arrived...don't need to go potty, needed to potty now 3 hours and 45 minutes ago...guess we aren't going to potty now.
The lovely, kind and patient Dr. Wulzer arrived from Angels Camp Vet Hospital and set to examining CJ while I filled out the required paperwork, credit check, and title to my first born child. Dr. Wulzer relays her findings and inquires as to CJ's future show potential. Apparently a missing tooth is a big no go in equine show requirements and the good doctor is inquiring as to the level of concern that I have with that possible outcome. I reassure the vet that it is equally possible CJ will kill me before we ever get to the show stage and reassure her that a missing tooth isn't going to offend anyone on any of the trails we ride. We, and I do mean we because mule tooth extraction is not a one person job, now set to making preparations for field surgery...yep...$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$....did I bring the title to my truck with me and will they take that as partial payment?
I really cannot say it enough, Dr. Wulzer was wonderful, very calm, explained everything and asked lots of questions...pretty much made me consider appointing her on the spot as my primary care physician what with the current state of health care in America. Two rounds a sedation, a local anesthetic block, lots of irrigating, and what seemed like a mountain of meds, extremely detailed aftercare instructions, and a whole crap-ton of stuff I'm forgetting because I was faint with worry about the price of this venture and I am now the proud owner of a mule with a funky smile and a missing tooth. Fearing the worst as the bill was detailed and added up, I was pleasantly surprised when the total only came to a little over three hundred bucks. Seriously folks, that'll barely get you a ranch call in our neck of the woods. I even got to keep the tooth, though The Father brought up a legitimate question. Does the tooth go under her pillow or mine?
Well that pretty much wraps not only day one but my entire three day clinic experience because CJ and I will be riding the pine as she recovers from what had to be a very traumatic experience. I know it was traumatic for me at the very least. Have you ever seen a mule with a hangover? Looks pretty much the same as a person...head resting against the fence, drool coming out of the corner of the mouth, mumbling something about I swear I'll never do this again...and that doesn't even start to tell you what was going on with CJ.
Get along little doggies and tune in next time for the exciting continuation of...So you had to go to a mule clinic.
Thursday, September 14, 2017
We've Officially Landed...
Howdy folks! Welcome back to our repeat readers and a big how do to our new ones. I apologize that this post has been a little slow in coming but things have been busy since we landed here in Utah. I'm going to do my best to catch you up in a hurry. So here we go...
Monday - Day 1
Up early and lots of driving.
Tuesday - Thursday - Days 2 - whatever
Shopping and Chuck-A-Rama
Too fast? Ok fine, I'll through in some details...
The start of the trip followed our normal path with an up at 0500 to be ready when "The Father" came to get me at 0600. Dressed, last minute items gathered, coffee and a light breakfast onboard...wholly crap it's 0615 and there's no sign of "The Father!" This is highly irregular and am caught totally off guard when I hear the soft knock at the front door that clearly says "I'm here, but don't want to wake anyone still sleeping." Thank heavens it's "The Father" and we can finally be on our way...well, at least to the grocery store. You see, in the pre-trip planning we decided that we each needed a shinny new Yeti cooler just in case we actual managed to "harvest" (that's Fish and Game speak for kill) an elk this season. Now mind you that I've seen exactly ZERO elk or any other wildlife on our past trips and typically see more deer in town before we leave than I've ever seen in the field. I am assured this is the trip that all changes...I sure hope so because the hours of watching elk quartering and skinning videos has got to count for something. Not that I think there's any way I can successfully do anything other than turn a perfectly good elk into fajita meat sized pieces laden with bits of unwanted fur, dirt, and anything else nearby that might get caught up in the frenzy that is sue to follow any actual "harvesting." Oh, yeah, back to the grocery store. "The Father" has decided we need more dry ice to get the food we are hauling to Utah there without risking food poisoning because the only thing worse than being wet and cold in elk camp is being wet and cold and trying not to die from a gastrointestinal suicide attack brought on by spoiled beef stew.
So here I am hanging out in the parking lot, which is being refinished as I watch, when an older gentleman yells at me from across the parking lot..."Is everything ok in the store?" This might be strange to some but given my previous profession in municipal legal garbage collection, it is actually a routine question, except I'm no longer doing that job and I'm certainly not working at this current moment. I look around trying to figure out who could this man possibly be talking to when the man yells again asking, "is the store open?" Now it about 0630, the lights in the store are on and there's a number of cars in the parking lot. I'm thinking this is pretty obvious but who knows, maybe I've just found the one guy on the planet that likes to walk less than I do and ,before committing to the 200 foot stroll across the barren landscape that is a FoodMaxx parking lot, need a little positive reassurance that his physical exertion will not be in vain...I mean come on, it's not like that 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon is going to walk itself out of the store. I give the man the universal sign that he is good to go, 👍 In case you didn't know, to which he replies..."so it's open?" I quickly decide that the trip doesn't need to start with slapping someone silly and simply reply with a quick but loud "yep" just in case this poor wayward soul's hearing is as bad as his perception.
"The Father" returns and we are off on our journey to the promised land of mule adventures. Traffic, road construction, and the requisite lack of potty stops pretty much round out the trip. I did learn that "The Father" is perfectly happy to stop for potty stops and roadside rest stop vending machine snacks if you ask...I know, right?...who knew? We made it into Salt Lake just in time to plan our traditional dinner stop at the Lehi Chuck-A-Rama. It's a trip ritual that I imagine the founding pioneers would have likely observed had there been Chuck-A-Rama at the end of there trek across the heartland of America in search of greener pastures and a fresh start. Nonetheless, it is a pretty welcome sight after the bleak I-80 corridor threough Nevada. I'd also like to say that we here at The Mule Chronicles have become somewhat known for our support of the Chuck-A-Rama brand and we consider the Lehi location to be a flagship example of the fine buffet dining available in the great state of Utah. It's been described as the finest example of a Mormon potluck dinner to be had in a public dining establishment. I suppose you could pretty much insert any religion's traditional group dinning in that explanation but it does have a certain homey, just like grandma used to make flare that one would expect. I could go on and on about Chuck-A-Rama and most of you would think I'm nuts or gluttonous or maybe both...yeah, probably both...but I was thinking about what the draw was for me and I think it comes back to my Grandma Tic Tock. You see, when we were little Gram would take us to the most fabulous dining experience in all of Contra Costa County if we behaved in church. What is this glorious oasis of food of which I speak you ask? Piper's Smorgasbord! It's a real thing, well WAS a real thing. I swear, look here's a picture even.
So for me, a good buffet brings back found memories of my ever lov'in Gram and those happy days when you could have anything your heart desired for dinner. For a kid, that's heaven, at least for me it was, and Chuck-A-Rama reminds me of those times. So if you're ever in the area and need some good stick to your ribs eats give Chuck-A-Rama a try. I'd tell you to tell them The Mule Chronicles sent you but they don't seem to have accepted our official endorsement yet.
There's certainly more to fill you in on but it's all the usual pre-adventure stuff of shopping and eating and shopping and sleeping and shopping and shooting and shopping and mule test drives..Oh! Yeah! I almost forgot! I made a new friend. Yes and actual person, that's just not nice. His name is...wait for it....wait....for....it....GUS! Seriously! I met and was befriended by a not so little old man named Gus...but that's a story for another time.
Happy trails and smooth sails my friends. Stay tuned for more updates to follow.
Monday - Day 1
Up early and lots of driving.
Tuesday - Thursday - Days 2 - whatever
Shopping and Chuck-A-Rama
Too fast? Ok fine, I'll through in some details...
The start of the trip followed our normal path with an up at 0500 to be ready when "The Father" came to get me at 0600. Dressed, last minute items gathered, coffee and a light breakfast onboard...wholly crap it's 0615 and there's no sign of "The Father!" This is highly irregular and am caught totally off guard when I hear the soft knock at the front door that clearly says "I'm here, but don't want to wake anyone still sleeping." Thank heavens it's "The Father" and we can finally be on our way...well, at least to the grocery store. You see, in the pre-trip planning we decided that we each needed a shinny new Yeti cooler just in case we actual managed to "harvest" (that's Fish and Game speak for kill) an elk this season. Now mind you that I've seen exactly ZERO elk or any other wildlife on our past trips and typically see more deer in town before we leave than I've ever seen in the field. I am assured this is the trip that all changes...I sure hope so because the hours of watching elk quartering and skinning videos has got to count for something. Not that I think there's any way I can successfully do anything other than turn a perfectly good elk into fajita meat sized pieces laden with bits of unwanted fur, dirt, and anything else nearby that might get caught up in the frenzy that is sue to follow any actual "harvesting." Oh, yeah, back to the grocery store. "The Father" has decided we need more dry ice to get the food we are hauling to Utah there without risking food poisoning because the only thing worse than being wet and cold in elk camp is being wet and cold and trying not to die from a gastrointestinal suicide attack brought on by spoiled beef stew.
So here I am hanging out in the parking lot, which is being refinished as I watch, when an older gentleman yells at me from across the parking lot..."Is everything ok in the store?" This might be strange to some but given my previous profession in municipal legal garbage collection, it is actually a routine question, except I'm no longer doing that job and I'm certainly not working at this current moment. I look around trying to figure out who could this man possibly be talking to when the man yells again asking, "is the store open?" Now it about 0630, the lights in the store are on and there's a number of cars in the parking lot. I'm thinking this is pretty obvious but who knows, maybe I've just found the one guy on the planet that likes to walk less than I do and ,before committing to the 200 foot stroll across the barren landscape that is a FoodMaxx parking lot, need a little positive reassurance that his physical exertion will not be in vain...I mean come on, it's not like that 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon is going to walk itself out of the store. I give the man the universal sign that he is good to go, 👍 In case you didn't know, to which he replies..."so it's open?" I quickly decide that the trip doesn't need to start with slapping someone silly and simply reply with a quick but loud "yep" just in case this poor wayward soul's hearing is as bad as his perception.
"The Father" returns and we are off on our journey to the promised land of mule adventures. Traffic, road construction, and the requisite lack of potty stops pretty much round out the trip. I did learn that "The Father" is perfectly happy to stop for potty stops and roadside rest stop vending machine snacks if you ask...I know, right?...who knew? We made it into Salt Lake just in time to plan our traditional dinner stop at the Lehi Chuck-A-Rama. It's a trip ritual that I imagine the founding pioneers would have likely observed had there been Chuck-A-Rama at the end of there trek across the heartland of America in search of greener pastures and a fresh start. Nonetheless, it is a pretty welcome sight after the bleak I-80 corridor threough Nevada. I'd also like to say that we here at The Mule Chronicles have become somewhat known for our support of the Chuck-A-Rama brand and we consider the Lehi location to be a flagship example of the fine buffet dining available in the great state of Utah. It's been described as the finest example of a Mormon potluck dinner to be had in a public dining establishment. I suppose you could pretty much insert any religion's traditional group dinning in that explanation but it does have a certain homey, just like grandma used to make flare that one would expect. I could go on and on about Chuck-A-Rama and most of you would think I'm nuts or gluttonous or maybe both...yeah, probably both...but I was thinking about what the draw was for me and I think it comes back to my Grandma Tic Tock. You see, when we were little Gram would take us to the most fabulous dining experience in all of Contra Costa County if we behaved in church. What is this glorious oasis of food of which I speak you ask? Piper's Smorgasbord! It's a real thing, well WAS a real thing. I swear, look here's a picture even.
So for me, a good buffet brings back found memories of my ever lov'in Gram and those happy days when you could have anything your heart desired for dinner. For a kid, that's heaven, at least for me it was, and Chuck-A-Rama reminds me of those times. So if you're ever in the area and need some good stick to your ribs eats give Chuck-A-Rama a try. I'd tell you to tell them The Mule Chronicles sent you but they don't seem to have accepted our official endorsement yet.
There's certainly more to fill you in on but it's all the usual pre-adventure stuff of shopping and eating and shopping and sleeping and shopping and shooting and shopping and mule test drives..Oh! Yeah! I almost forgot! I made a new friend. Yes and actual person, that's just not nice. His name is...wait for it....wait....for....it....GUS! Seriously! I met and was befriended by a not so little old man named Gus...but that's a story for another time.
Happy trails and smooth sails my friends. Stay tuned for more updates to follow.
Monday, May 22, 2017
We're Riding...And Going To The ER
The Mule Chronicles...We're Riding...And Going To The ER
Today's episode is brought to you by Morphine...taking the sting out of bad decisions since 700 AD.
Today is the big day. All our preparation has been with this end goal in mind. We are going to ride mules...finally.
We awoke at dawn because that's apparently what cowboys are required to do when engaged in the act of cowboying. A legit cowboy breakfast of eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and muffins followed in order to be properly fueled for the day. Then we set about donning all the appropriate "outfits," which I'm sure all y'all recall Jay's rule of having to have the proper outfit for whatever activity in which we are engaging. Just so you get an idea of what that looks like, here are a couple of day one photos.
We then headed out with our guide, who had been riding the area we were headed to since he was sixteen years old and now looks to be about a hundred years old, in search of the trail head. It is also during this time that we get our first warning about this being "varsity level riding." While this has no real context in the beginning, it will mean significantly more shortly. We, of course, dismissed this warning as our guide having no clue about our mule riding or cowboying prowess. We got to the trail head and commenced to saddling mules and making lunches because this was definitely the 6+ hours tour.
It is my understanding (now, not at the time) that the area we were riding in is called Snow Canyon in the Red Cliffs Desert Reserve, which is located to the east of Saint George, Utah. Here's a map for a little more insight, but it really doesn't do the area justice. I would also later learn that Bill put this ride in his top ten most difficult rides and Wade put it in his top three...So, yeah...it end up being a little more than I bargained for to say the least.
Our saddling is all checked and double checked under the tutelage of Bill (owner of the mules) and Wade (more on Wade in a little bit). Infractions are noted and remedial training is provided before being corrected. With everyone receiving the blessing of Bill and Wade, we were off on our adventure...and oh what an adventure we would have...or at least I would have quite the adventure.
While all of the scenery was beautiful, it was also deceptively benign from a difficulty standpoint. This didn't stop me from having a few "dust ups" with Freckles right out of the chute. The first of which was Freckles trying to be the one in charge of where we were going, speed of travel, and all other manner of things that can come into a mule's mind. This gave me the immediate opportunity to employ the skills I learned from the Ty Evans' Mulemanship videos I recently acquired and dutifully reviewed prior to this journey. Each time Freckles got out of line, I employed the "One Reign Stop" that Ty Evans expertly demonstrates in a deceptively simply fashion. I was fully prepared to come flying off Freckles, but somehow manage to complete the one reign stop and circling maneuver without being thrown into next week. My ego now bolstered by my expert level mule skills, I become more bold in my application of the technique and begin to demand more control from Freckles. Freckles apparently had a different agenda and decided he was going to go for his first attempt to buck me off. I dug deep into the left reign and pulled Freckles' head around nearly to the point we were looking eye to eye (I'm pretty sure Freckles looked into my soul and saw my resolve). What I was unaware of was that I had pulled a little too hard while applying a little too much spur to Freckles left flank which exponentially increased the speed of the circle maneuver associated with the one reign stop. I felt my right foot start to come out of the stirrup and my weight started to shift in a manner that I keenly recall from the hat trick of ejections that I experienced from Stuart last season. This caused me to pull even harder on the reigns and latch onto the saddle with my free hand like some crack fueled third spider monkey hanging onto the side of Noah's Ark after being rejected at the loading dock. I can hear gasps behind me, which I later realize is "The Father" and Bill watching this advanced rodeo maneuver from a safe distance. Ultimately my resolve exceed Freckles' and I was able to regain my purchase in the saddle and bring Freckles to a screeching halt. As I turn and see the World Series size crowd standing in awe of my mule prowess, I fully expect to see nothing but perfect 10 scores from the judges. What I actually get is "I thought you were going off for sure" from both "The Father" and Bill, followed by a "good job" that had just a little bit too much surprise in its tone to be an actual complement. I decided that I'd better simmer down as this was a full day of riding and I'd nearly gone off in the first 15 minutes of actual riding.
We ventured on and started getting closer and closer to the red slick rock outcroppings that have no visible evidence of clear passage. Of course right up the side of what feels like sheer cliffs is where our guide led us. I'm really not kidding here folks, these are places I wouldn't walk, much less try to take a mule through. Again, beautiful scenery, scare the living daylights out of you difficulty. We worked our way through narrow canyons and passages that would eat the skinniest guy for lunch. As soon as we started working our way through the aforementioned canyons, we started getting beat to shreds by every tree branch, dead stump, and loose rock in the area. People are dropping things, saddle bags are taking a beating, and I start to wonder if we were being led into the depths of the canyon so our guide can kill us. It is also clear that the crowd has developed an every man for themselves mentality as there is absolutely no warning from those ahead of me prior to encountering a tree that attempts to remove my groin and right leg in some kind of combat surgical hip reduction move. I'm not kidding, the tree grabbed hold of my knee and rotated my knee horizontally farther than an Olympic level stripper working a crowd for a two dollar bill. I'm pretty sure my man bits let out a high pitched yelp that only Freckles could hear. Which was followed by a real life Sasquatch sized yelp that bellowed out from deep inside me. I initiated the only "in the saddle" first aid I know and rapidly started Lamaze breathing that would make a midwife proud. The conversation that followed went something like this...
The Father...You OK there?
Me...That tree tried to rip my leg out of the socket.
The Father...So...you're OK then?
Me...Yup, I'm good (I'm no dummy and don't want to be sent back to the truck for being a wimp).
The Father...Then why are you trying to hyperventilate yourself?
Me...Just trying to catch my breath.
The Father...Stop using all the air, there's other people riding with us.
Me...10-4, sir! (I then commenced to clenching my potty parts to control the pain)
We continued riding and I noticed that Freckles was starting to sweat and breathe pretty hard. Each time we stopped, Freckles seemed to catch his breath and appears good to go. We continued to traverse the rocky landscape, crawling over boulders and hopping down ledges without Freckles so much as baulking at the task at hand...until it becomes obvious, at least to any seasoned muleskinner (not me kind you, but some seasoned muleskinner somewhere) that Freckles was starting to wear out. Did I mention this was an intense and difficult ride? Freckles started to show some difficulty and lost his footing a number of times. I, of course, am full of myself and fail to think that this could spell trouble for me in the future. Freckles front legs collapsed underneath him several times during particularly challenging parts of the ride, but I press on in the face of danger because, lets face it, I'm an idiot. When confronted with a particularly steep and difficult stretch of trail, Freckles refuses to continue to climb. I whip Freckles on the rear with my reigns and give him a full measure of my spurs, but Freckles is having none of it. I really am giving this section hell and pushing Freckles to make the climb, employing the one reign stop and circle each time Freckles attempts to depart from the desired course. Finally Wade came to my rescue and the decision was made to walk Freckles up this stretch of trail. I think this is an appropriate place to detour for a moment.
Wade is a "well seasoned" mule rider. In fact, I'm not sure that "well seasoned" really does justice to what Wade is capable of in the saddle of a mule. Wade is able to hop on and off his mule like a butterfly flittering from flower to flower, crane around in the saddle, ride backwards, standing or sitting, one foot in the stirrups, he probably quit the carnival trick riding circuit because it was too easy kind of mule rider...lets just say he is the Chuck Norris of mule riding as far as I'm concerned. If Wade says do it, you do it. If Wade says your doing a good job, quit now while you're ahead, you'll never get better.
I dismount and grab Freckles' reigns. I give the reigns a good yank and scream "get up" (mule speak for let's go for the mule novices following along at home). I then start trying to drag Freckles up this Grand Canyon like ravine. Freckles still refuses to budge. Wade whips at Freckles rump and starts yelling some kind of secret mule language but Freckles still refuses to move up the trail. Wade then announces that he's going to lead Freckles and sends me up ahead on foot. Even with Wade's stallion of a mule attempting to drag Freckles up the trail, there is no luck. A new plan is hatched and we put a mule and rider ahead of Freckles on the trail in an attempt to lead him up the trail while Wade whips and drives Freckles from the rear. Finally Freckles recognizes Wade's mule superiority and bends to his authority. Wade then tells me...now get this..."Grab my mule's tail and I'll drag you up the trail.".......YOU WANT ME TO DO WHHHAAAAAT?????????? Wade hollers at me again to grab his mule's tail and I grab his mule's tail because based on the stories I've heard, when Wade says to do something, you do it. I'm now convinced that I will be kicked to death by Wade's mule while being drug at high speed up a trail that the average person wouldn't walk. You know those times as a kid when you get to running down hill so fast your legs start taking giant strides trying to keep you upright? Yep, that happened to me going up hill. I'm pretty sure I could read the manufacturer's imprint on the soles of my cowboy boots as my feet missed past my head. We somehow made it to the top of the climb intact, well mostly at least. I'm was pretty sure eat the time that I'd need a hip replacement when the swelling subsides from my prior encounter with a tree and my legs stop circling my body like windmills from being drug by Wade's mule. I get back on Freckles and we made the final climb to our lunch stop.
I jump off Freckles...who am I kidding, I pretty much fall off at this point because my legs are like rubber noodles. Upon hitting the ground, I immediately realized that I'm in big trouble because of the involuntary muscle tremors that have seized control of the major muscle groups of my legs. I grabbed hold of Freckles for dear life out of fear of falling to the ground before attempting to tie him to a nearby bush. The Father clearly senses something is amiss and came over to help me...likely because I was literally trying to tie my 1000 pound mule to a tumble weed sized bush...seriously, I've seen larger dandelions in my front yard. I work to retrieve my sandwich from my saddle bag while clinging to Freckles' side like an ant in a tornado. I realize this is futile and instead drink like 17 gallons of water in an effort to regain control of my legs. This gives me enough strength to recover my sandwich, following which, I get bold and attempt to walk on my own. Have you ever experienced that 'I've worked my legs way too hard' feeling following an especially intense workout? Yes? Well, this was nothing like that. It was way worse. I'm pretty sure there was some supernatural voodoo going on because my legs looked like something out of a Gumby or Mr. Bill cartoon. I mustered the strength to waddle over to where "The Father" was sitting eating his lunch and collapsed like a pile of goo. I was immediately overcome with involuntary muscle tremors that made my normal essential tremor look like a hiccup. I laid there trembling in my own sweat for 20 minutes before I decided I needed to document my condition with a video. It was at this point that I discovered that my GoPro battery was dead...NOOOOOOOOOOO! (Yell all you want, it won't make GoPro video magically appear.) I revert to my cellphone and am surprised to find that I still have cell service. In my compromised state I decide this would be a good time for a Facebook Live video. Later I would find out that "The Mother" was certain that I was dead based on the poor quality and abrupt ending when I lost signal. Lunch completed, we remounted our trusty steeds and prepared to head back to civilization.
I head down in the middle of the pack because I've decided that first or last is the way wrong place to be during this journey. We made it about 100 feet before I had my first unscheduled dismount of the trip...and in a particularly unspectacular kind of way nonetheless.
Freckles was headed down a steep, but not terrible, stretch of trail of smooth red slick rock when his front legs buckled underneath him. I'm caught totally unprepared and go off over Freckles' head. I have enough wherewithal to realize I needed to get out of Freckles way because he was likely continuing down hill behind me. Freckles and I had clearly bonded by this point because he slammed on the breaks and managed to avoid mowing over me as I lay pathetically on my back like a stuck turtle. I rise to my feet and am met by cries of "are you OK" from everyone behind me on the trail. I wave off the sympathizers, suck it up and stuff brush off my pride before telling everyone I was good. I lead Freckles down to the next flat spot and jumped (more like drag myself) back into the saddle. I then pointed Freckles in the right direction and headed toward the descent that was such a problem on the way up. I leaned back way back in the saddle and pushed my feet forward in the stirrups and started to descend the grade. Freckles was moving slowly by surely and I started thinking I've got this licked (Karma is, indeed, a bitch).
About two-thirds of the way down, Freckles front legs buckled again and my weight was thrown forward faster than I could recover from. Over Freckles' head I went followed by a sharp stabbing pain in my back as I fell onto the jagged rocks that makeup this especially nasty part of the trail. I quickly see that Freckles is unable to stop his descent along the trail and begin to realize this isn't like falling in a parking lot or muddy trail. I raise my arms to my head in an attempt to protect my giant melon as Freckles continues over the top of me. I feel every ounce of breath leave my body as Freckles steps squarely in the center of my chest. The searing pain in my back is now overwhelming and I think I might pass out. I am pushed further down the trail before becoming wedged in-between two large rocks resulting in me being folded in half like a taco...Not a nice Taco Bell kind of taco, more like a nasty food illness born roadside taco stand kind of taco. While I didn't notice it at the time, the hoof print on my inner left knee tells me that Freckles managed to step on my leg on the way down as well. I've long since dropped Freckles reigns and have lost all conscious awareness of where Freckles might be as I'm left gasping for air like a fish out of water. I manage to get out strained vowel sounds as "The Father" arrives to find me wedged between rocks gasping for air. I'm now making that god awful gulping noise that so often accompanies someone having the wind knocked out of them. "The Father" has now rushed to my side. After what seems like 13 hours, I am finally able to muster an "OK" to repeated inquiries about my welfare. I also start grasping at rocks in a futile attempt to pull myself upright, but am met with nothing but searing pain in my upper back and shoulders. "The Father" helps push me upright as I continue to try to regain my breath. A crowd has now started to gather as word has spread that there has been an "incident." I'm sitting somewhat upright when I realize I've lost my hearing aids and my brand new (like literally just bought it on this trip new) knife. Those not performing the essentially duty of keeping me upright begin frantically searching for tan hearing aids and a tan knife in the...yep, you guessed it....tan soil. I begin clawing at my hat because it feels like I'm being choked by a midget before I realize that it is just my hat lanyard wrapped firmly around my throat. Someone returns with a solitary hearing aid like the village hunter returning with a prized antelope, but alas that wound be the only lost item to be found on this trip.
I regain enough of my wits to perform a quick head to toe survey of what hurts and find that...well...everything hurts. I apply pressure to various body part...not those body parts, dirty minded bunch of...and find that nothing I can reach appears obviously broken. With a great deal of assistance, I make my way to my feet and hobble over to a flat spot. It dawns on me that Freckles is nowhere to be found, but I am quickly reassured that Freckles was stopped just up the trail when he encountered the rest of the group. Which, coincidentally, alerted the rest of the group that there might be a problem when my mule showed up without me. Still struggling to regain my breath, I am besieged with inquires about what happened. I manage to spit out fragmented bits of the story in between gulps for air. It is also about this time that I realize that I can't really raise my arms or hold them out in front of me. While it's been awhile since I was a paramedic, I remember enough to know this might be a problem. I am a long way from contemplating anything other than the now intense pain I am experiencing when a new line of questioning begins...essentially, can I get back on the mule. You see, herein lies an important lesson. If you ride four hours into the back country, you have to ride four hours to get out of the back country. If you get hurt 15 minutes into the return trip, you have to ride three hours and forty five minutes out of the back country while in excruciating pain. If it wasn't for the fact that I have been repeatedly subjected to CT scans, I would swear my missing knife is located firmly stabbed into my back.
I begin the internal debate over whether or not I think I can ride out while Wade begins pressing for an answer about riding out. Now before you get all up in Wade over pressing for an answer that doesn't seem as important as my potential injuries, keep in mind that he has ten other people to worry about getting out before dark. I've done a fair amount of back country trips, I one thing you never want to be is stuck in the wilderness after dark with a bunch of unprepared folks. So the debate continues...
Me...I don't think I can ride
Wade...Do you want to walk out
Me...That's not happening for sure
Wade...Well we need to ride out then
Me...I'm not sure that's gonna happen either
Wade...Do you need Life Flight
Me...I'm not paying for that and lord knows Kaiser won't either
Wade...Well, I guess you're riding out then
Y'all know I'm not a small guy by any conservative measure, but I am now faced with figuring out how to haul my fat rear back into the saddle...OH! which is now like 70 feet in the air because Bill has deemed that I shall ride his mule, MOSES (capital letters added for effect), which is a ginormous mule...probably like 27 hands...that's really big, especially if you have big hands. I manage to contort my foot into the stirrup and start to attempt to heave my wide load up and onto Moses' back. This is when I feel a rather strong push on my rump and am nearly thrown over the top of Moses and back onto the ground. Seems Wade had decided that I needed some help and gave me a well timed shove. I get situated and try to grab the reigns only to find that I am now plagued with T-Rex arms with less strength than a 12 month old on muscle relaxers. I manage to whimper out that this might be a problem and Wade offers to lead Moses and I out. I gladly accept this offer, as well as what was likely an overdose quantity of Tylenol being offered to help quench the pain and we are on the move again. Wade proclaims that we need the fastest way out and our guide acknowledges with "All righty then."
Up and down, back and forth, jumping, hopping, and bumping along we go on what I can only describe as the most painful experience of my life. When my back wasn't screaming from being jarred by a particularly rocky descent, my groin was piercing with pain as my twig and berries where being shoved way up yonder by the saddle horn because I couldn't stabilize myself in the saddle properly. Our guide claims we are nearly to the flat part but that we have one "kind of tight spot" up ahead. We ride out onto an elevated peninsula when the guide points to what looks like twelve inch wide fissure off the side of the trail and says, were going down that way. We all laugh until he says he's serious and we realize there is not other way off this ledge other than the fissure or a 50 foot drop off. Our guide declares he'll ride down first but that we might have to lead the mules down. Wade asks me if I want to ride or walk and I nearly let my first F'bomb slip in a manner I'm sure you can imagine. I slide off the side of Moses and stand wobbly legged watching as our guide manages to sit on top of his horse like a circus monkey and ride down this small jagged opening. His horse was literally having to wiggle to get itself through the opening because it was so narrow. Wade attempts to ride down next it what I can only describe as some kind of mule tornado...a mule-nado if you will...with his mule putting up one heck of a fight not to go down this ravine of death. I'm pretty sure I passed out from the fear of being stranded because none of the mules wanted to traverse this path and because I don't really have a clear recollection of how we all got through that chute of horrors. All I know is that I ended up laying on my back at the bottom of the gorge of terrors when Freckles walked over to me and licked my face as if to say "I'm sorry for stepping on you buddy." That or he thought I as dead and he might get away with eating me...could've gone either way.
I get hoisted back into the saddle and we finish the trek back to the rigs. "The Father" relays that we are going to drive to our camp for the night and get everyone squared away with the location of the dinner fixings before taking me to the local ER. I am in total agreement with this assessment as it seems likely that gangrene may set in if I don't get checked out. Not to mention that I need to have my wedding tackle extracted from my nether regions at this point. "The Father" gets everyone settled while I undertake the herculean task of changing into some sweat pants and a t-shirt because I don't want my best cowboy outfit cut off me by the hospital staff. We then head off to Dixie Regional Medical Center in Saint George Utah.
If you haven't been following The Mule Chronicles then you probably aren't aware that we have a adopted a hospital rating system...it's kind of like Yelp...to rate the hospitals we visit while on our mule adventures. We rate based on speed and quality of service, as well as staff enjoyment of the story that lands us in the hospital in the first place. We follow a 1 to 5 rating scale that we refer to as the hay bale scale. Dixie Regional is a solid 4 hay bales, dropping one point due to the lengthy wait to be seen. Everyone we encounter is sufficiently amazed by the story and my heroic actions to save myself in spite of nearly having to chew my own leg off to extricate myself from the wilderness.
I am ushered into an emergency suite and dosed up on morphine for good measure...well after I relay the story to the doctor because IV morphine and me don't actually add up to an accurate tale if you know what I mean. The doc orders a CT scan and some blood work to make sure I haven't popped any internal organs and that my ticker is still slugging away circulating go juice throughout my now swollen body. The doc returns with a look of amazement and proclaims that somehow I have escaped this adventure with only some "major" internal bruising and fracturing the transverse spinal processes of my T4 through T7 vertebrae. While especially painful, the doc reasons that I should heal up without any lasting issues with the assistance of a specially fitted brace. Now calling this thing a brace really doesn't do it justice because it really is quite a contraption. I can now safely say I know what it feels like to be bound up in a corset, having all my innards forced up into my chest restricting my breathing. Another dose of morphine, some Toradol, and a couple of prescriptions for the road and I am set free to return to a life of physical abuse on the back of a mule.
I encounter my first corset related emerged on the way out of the ER when it becomes time to urinate. You know how when you rush home because you have too pee and the need to pee gets so much stronger as soon as your keys come out of your pocket at the front door? Pretty much that but worse because I have to somehow free myself from the midsectional binding system the doctor has strapped me into. My depth perception and eyesight are seriously affected by the morphine at this point and the race is one to see whether or not I will wet myself before getting my britches undone enough to avoid the fire hose of death at the urinal. I debate pulling the "emergency cord" thoughtfully located in all hospital restrooms while simultaneously debating whether it is worse to have a stranger help me potty or take the walk of shame back to the car with urine piddled down the front of my pants. Thankfully divine intervention intervened and I was able to deliver my "payload" to the porcelain receptacle without significant spillage.
We returned to camp and found everyone sound asleep from the days adventure. I bed down for the night and promptly pass out from the last dose of pain medication only to have a fitful night dreaming of being squashed by a herculean sized mule.
I had an easy next day of lounging around camp while everyone else spent the day riding before heading back to the real world the next morning and facing the prospects of having to fly back to California. I forgot to tell you...I had to fly back early so I could fly out to Baltimore the next morning for a work conference. Yep, that was lots of fun with a busted up back. Fortunately, while Southwest may treat you like cattle they are more than happy to give you pre-boarding status and all the snacks and drinks you want when you show up looking like you got the short end of a mule in Southern Utah.
That pretty much wraps up the spring 2017 maiden voyage of The Mule Chronicles and sets us up to launch into the much anticipated Bishop Mule Days. I am sitting in Bakersfield as I write this preparing to make the journey into Bishop for what is sure to be a mule filled week with all kinds of fun sights and activities. For the record, my back continues to heal but this definitely takes the cake for the most painful injuries I've experienced.
I want to give a shout out to Jay, Bill, Wade, "The Father," "The Mother," and "The Wife" without whom these trips wouldn't be possible. I still fail to see any logic in Bill continuing to expose his mules to me, but hey...I'm not kicking a gift mule in the face.
Happy trails and stay tuned buckaroos, Mule Days starts tomorrow.
Today's episode is brought to you by Morphine...taking the sting out of bad decisions since 700 AD.
Today is the big day. All our preparation has been with this end goal in mind. We are going to ride mules...finally.
It is my understanding (now, not at the time) that the area we were riding in is called Snow Canyon in the Red Cliffs Desert Reserve, which is located to the east of Saint George, Utah. Here's a map for a little more insight, but it really doesn't do the area justice. I would also later learn that Bill put this ride in his top ten most difficult rides and Wade put it in his top three...So, yeah...it end up being a little more than I bargained for to say the least.
The Father...You OK there?
Me...That tree tried to rip my leg out of the socket.
The Father...So...you're OK then?
Me...Yup, I'm good (I'm no dummy and don't want to be sent back to the truck for being a wimp).
The Father...Then why are you trying to hyperventilate yourself?
Me...Just trying to catch my breath.
The Father...Stop using all the air, there's other people riding with us.
Me...10-4, sir! (I then commenced to clenching my potty parts to control the pain)
We continued riding and I noticed that Freckles was starting to sweat and breathe pretty hard. Each time we stopped, Freckles seemed to catch his breath and appears good to go. We continued to traverse the rocky landscape, crawling over boulders and hopping down ledges without Freckles so much as baulking at the task at hand...until it becomes obvious, at least to any seasoned muleskinner (not me kind you, but some seasoned muleskinner somewhere) that Freckles was starting to wear out. Did I mention this was an intense and difficult ride? Freckles started to show some difficulty and lost his footing a number of times. I, of course, am full of myself and fail to think that this could spell trouble for me in the future. Freckles front legs collapsed underneath him several times during particularly challenging parts of the ride, but I press on in the face of danger because, lets face it, I'm an idiot. When confronted with a particularly steep and difficult stretch of trail, Freckles refuses to continue to climb. I whip Freckles on the rear with my reigns and give him a full measure of my spurs, but Freckles is having none of it. I really am giving this section hell and pushing Freckles to make the climb, employing the one reign stop and circle each time Freckles attempts to depart from the desired course. Finally Wade came to my rescue and the decision was made to walk Freckles up this stretch of trail. I think this is an appropriate place to detour for a moment.
Wade is a "well seasoned" mule rider. In fact, I'm not sure that "well seasoned" really does justice to what Wade is capable of in the saddle of a mule. Wade is able to hop on and off his mule like a butterfly flittering from flower to flower, crane around in the saddle, ride backwards, standing or sitting, one foot in the stirrups, he probably quit the carnival trick riding circuit because it was too easy kind of mule rider...lets just say he is the Chuck Norris of mule riding as far as I'm concerned. If Wade says do it, you do it. If Wade says your doing a good job, quit now while you're ahead, you'll never get better.
I dismount and grab Freckles' reigns. I give the reigns a good yank and scream "get up" (mule speak for let's go for the mule novices following along at home). I then start trying to drag Freckles up this Grand Canyon like ravine. Freckles still refuses to budge. Wade whips at Freckles rump and starts yelling some kind of secret mule language but Freckles still refuses to move up the trail. Wade then announces that he's going to lead Freckles and sends me up ahead on foot. Even with Wade's stallion of a mule attempting to drag Freckles up the trail, there is no luck. A new plan is hatched and we put a mule and rider ahead of Freckles on the trail in an attempt to lead him up the trail while Wade whips and drives Freckles from the rear. Finally Freckles recognizes Wade's mule superiority and bends to his authority. Wade then tells me...now get this..."Grab my mule's tail and I'll drag you up the trail.".......YOU WANT ME TO DO WHHHAAAAAT?????????? Wade hollers at me again to grab his mule's tail and I grab his mule's tail because based on the stories I've heard, when Wade says to do something, you do it. I'm now convinced that I will be kicked to death by Wade's mule while being drug at high speed up a trail that the average person wouldn't walk. You know those times as a kid when you get to running down hill so fast your legs start taking giant strides trying to keep you upright? Yep, that happened to me going up hill. I'm pretty sure I could read the manufacturer's imprint on the soles of my cowboy boots as my feet missed past my head. We somehow made it to the top of the climb intact, well mostly at least. I'm was pretty sure eat the time that I'd need a hip replacement when the swelling subsides from my prior encounter with a tree and my legs stop circling my body like windmills from being drug by Wade's mule. I get back on Freckles and we made the final climb to our lunch stop.
I jump off Freckles...who am I kidding, I pretty much fall off at this point because my legs are like rubber noodles. Upon hitting the ground, I immediately realized that I'm in big trouble because of the involuntary muscle tremors that have seized control of the major muscle groups of my legs. I grabbed hold of Freckles for dear life out of fear of falling to the ground before attempting to tie him to a nearby bush. The Father clearly senses something is amiss and came over to help me...likely because I was literally trying to tie my 1000 pound mule to a tumble weed sized bush...seriously, I've seen larger dandelions in my front yard. I work to retrieve my sandwich from my saddle bag while clinging to Freckles' side like an ant in a tornado. I realize this is futile and instead drink like 17 gallons of water in an effort to regain control of my legs. This gives me enough strength to recover my sandwich, following which, I get bold and attempt to walk on my own. Have you ever experienced that 'I've worked my legs way too hard' feeling following an especially intense workout? Yes? Well, this was nothing like that. It was way worse. I'm pretty sure there was some supernatural voodoo going on because my legs looked like something out of a Gumby or Mr. Bill cartoon. I mustered the strength to waddle over to where "The Father" was sitting eating his lunch and collapsed like a pile of goo. I was immediately overcome with involuntary muscle tremors that made my normal essential tremor look like a hiccup. I laid there trembling in my own sweat for 20 minutes before I decided I needed to document my condition with a video. It was at this point that I discovered that my GoPro battery was dead...NOOOOOOOOOOO! (Yell all you want, it won't make GoPro video magically appear.) I revert to my cellphone and am surprised to find that I still have cell service. In my compromised state I decide this would be a good time for a Facebook Live video. Later I would find out that "The Mother" was certain that I was dead based on the poor quality and abrupt ending when I lost signal. Lunch completed, we remounted our trusty steeds and prepared to head back to civilization.
I head down in the middle of the pack because I've decided that first or last is the way wrong place to be during this journey. We made it about 100 feet before I had my first unscheduled dismount of the trip...and in a particularly unspectacular kind of way nonetheless.
Freckles was headed down a steep, but not terrible, stretch of trail of smooth red slick rock when his front legs buckled underneath him. I'm caught totally unprepared and go off over Freckles' head. I have enough wherewithal to realize I needed to get out of Freckles way because he was likely continuing down hill behind me. Freckles and I had clearly bonded by this point because he slammed on the breaks and managed to avoid mowing over me as I lay pathetically on my back like a stuck turtle. I rise to my feet and am met by cries of "are you OK" from everyone behind me on the trail. I wave off the sympathizers, suck it up and stuff brush off my pride before telling everyone I was good. I lead Freckles down to the next flat spot and jumped (more like drag myself) back into the saddle. I then pointed Freckles in the right direction and headed toward the descent that was such a problem on the way up. I leaned back way back in the saddle and pushed my feet forward in the stirrups and started to descend the grade. Freckles was moving slowly by surely and I started thinking I've got this licked (Karma is, indeed, a bitch).
About two-thirds of the way down, Freckles front legs buckled again and my weight was thrown forward faster than I could recover from. Over Freckles' head I went followed by a sharp stabbing pain in my back as I fell onto the jagged rocks that makeup this especially nasty part of the trail. I quickly see that Freckles is unable to stop his descent along the trail and begin to realize this isn't like falling in a parking lot or muddy trail. I raise my arms to my head in an attempt to protect my giant melon as Freckles continues over the top of me. I feel every ounce of breath leave my body as Freckles steps squarely in the center of my chest. The searing pain in my back is now overwhelming and I think I might pass out. I am pushed further down the trail before becoming wedged in-between two large rocks resulting in me being folded in half like a taco...Not a nice Taco Bell kind of taco, more like a nasty food illness born roadside taco stand kind of taco. While I didn't notice it at the time, the hoof print on my inner left knee tells me that Freckles managed to step on my leg on the way down as well. I've long since dropped Freckles reigns and have lost all conscious awareness of where Freckles might be as I'm left gasping for air like a fish out of water. I manage to get out strained vowel sounds as "The Father" arrives to find me wedged between rocks gasping for air. I'm now making that god awful gulping noise that so often accompanies someone having the wind knocked out of them. "The Father" has now rushed to my side. After what seems like 13 hours, I am finally able to muster an "OK" to repeated inquiries about my welfare. I also start grasping at rocks in a futile attempt to pull myself upright, but am met with nothing but searing pain in my upper back and shoulders. "The Father" helps push me upright as I continue to try to regain my breath. A crowd has now started to gather as word has spread that there has been an "incident." I'm sitting somewhat upright when I realize I've lost my hearing aids and my brand new (like literally just bought it on this trip new) knife. Those not performing the essentially duty of keeping me upright begin frantically searching for tan hearing aids and a tan knife in the...yep, you guessed it....tan soil. I begin clawing at my hat because it feels like I'm being choked by a midget before I realize that it is just my hat lanyard wrapped firmly around my throat. Someone returns with a solitary hearing aid like the village hunter returning with a prized antelope, but alas that wound be the only lost item to be found on this trip.
I regain enough of my wits to perform a quick head to toe survey of what hurts and find that...well...everything hurts. I apply pressure to various body part...not those body parts, dirty minded bunch of...and find that nothing I can reach appears obviously broken. With a great deal of assistance, I make my way to my feet and hobble over to a flat spot. It dawns on me that Freckles is nowhere to be found, but I am quickly reassured that Freckles was stopped just up the trail when he encountered the rest of the group. Which, coincidentally, alerted the rest of the group that there might be a problem when my mule showed up without me. Still struggling to regain my breath, I am besieged with inquires about what happened. I manage to spit out fragmented bits of the story in between gulps for air. It is also about this time that I realize that I can't really raise my arms or hold them out in front of me. While it's been awhile since I was a paramedic, I remember enough to know this might be a problem. I am a long way from contemplating anything other than the now intense pain I am experiencing when a new line of questioning begins...essentially, can I get back on the mule. You see, herein lies an important lesson. If you ride four hours into the back country, you have to ride four hours to get out of the back country. If you get hurt 15 minutes into the return trip, you have to ride three hours and forty five minutes out of the back country while in excruciating pain. If it wasn't for the fact that I have been repeatedly subjected to CT scans, I would swear my missing knife is located firmly stabbed into my back.
I begin the internal debate over whether or not I think I can ride out while Wade begins pressing for an answer about riding out. Now before you get all up in Wade over pressing for an answer that doesn't seem as important as my potential injuries, keep in mind that he has ten other people to worry about getting out before dark. I've done a fair amount of back country trips, I one thing you never want to be is stuck in the wilderness after dark with a bunch of unprepared folks. So the debate continues...
Me...I don't think I can ride
Wade...Do you want to walk out
Me...That's not happening for sure
Wade...Well we need to ride out then
Me...I'm not sure that's gonna happen either
Wade...Do you need Life Flight
Me...I'm not paying for that and lord knows Kaiser won't either
Wade...Well, I guess you're riding out then
Y'all know I'm not a small guy by any conservative measure, but I am now faced with figuring out how to haul my fat rear back into the saddle...OH! which is now like 70 feet in the air because Bill has deemed that I shall ride his mule, MOSES (capital letters added for effect), which is a ginormous mule...probably like 27 hands...that's really big, especially if you have big hands. I manage to contort my foot into the stirrup and start to attempt to heave my wide load up and onto Moses' back. This is when I feel a rather strong push on my rump and am nearly thrown over the top of Moses and back onto the ground. Seems Wade had decided that I needed some help and gave me a well timed shove. I get situated and try to grab the reigns only to find that I am now plagued with T-Rex arms with less strength than a 12 month old on muscle relaxers. I manage to whimper out that this might be a problem and Wade offers to lead Moses and I out. I gladly accept this offer, as well as what was likely an overdose quantity of Tylenol being offered to help quench the pain and we are on the move again. Wade proclaims that we need the fastest way out and our guide acknowledges with "All righty then."
If you haven't been following The Mule Chronicles then you probably aren't aware that we have a adopted a hospital rating system...it's kind of like Yelp...to rate the hospitals we visit while on our mule adventures. We rate based on speed and quality of service, as well as staff enjoyment of the story that lands us in the hospital in the first place. We follow a 1 to 5 rating scale that we refer to as the hay bale scale. Dixie Regional is a solid 4 hay bales, dropping one point due to the lengthy wait to be seen. Everyone we encounter is sufficiently amazed by the story and my heroic actions to save myself in spite of nearly having to chew my own leg off to extricate myself from the wilderness.
I am ushered into an emergency suite and dosed up on morphine for good measure...well after I relay the story to the doctor because IV morphine and me don't actually add up to an accurate tale if you know what I mean. The doc orders a CT scan and some blood work to make sure I haven't popped any internal organs and that my ticker is still slugging away circulating go juice throughout my now swollen body. The doc returns with a look of amazement and proclaims that somehow I have escaped this adventure with only some "major" internal bruising and fracturing the transverse spinal processes of my T4 through T7 vertebrae. While especially painful, the doc reasons that I should heal up without any lasting issues with the assistance of a specially fitted brace. Now calling this thing a brace really doesn't do it justice because it really is quite a contraption. I can now safely say I know what it feels like to be bound up in a corset, having all my innards forced up into my chest restricting my breathing. Another dose of morphine, some Toradol, and a couple of prescriptions for the road and I am set free to return to a life of physical abuse on the back of a mule.
I encounter my first corset related emerged on the way out of the ER when it becomes time to urinate. You know how when you rush home because you have too pee and the need to pee gets so much stronger as soon as your keys come out of your pocket at the front door? Pretty much that but worse because I have to somehow free myself from the midsectional binding system the doctor has strapped me into. My depth perception and eyesight are seriously affected by the morphine at this point and the race is one to see whether or not I will wet myself before getting my britches undone enough to avoid the fire hose of death at the urinal. I debate pulling the "emergency cord" thoughtfully located in all hospital restrooms while simultaneously debating whether it is worse to have a stranger help me potty or take the walk of shame back to the car with urine piddled down the front of my pants. Thankfully divine intervention intervened and I was able to deliver my "payload" to the porcelain receptacle without significant spillage.
We returned to camp and found everyone sound asleep from the days adventure. I bed down for the night and promptly pass out from the last dose of pain medication only to have a fitful night dreaming of being squashed by a herculean sized mule.
I had an easy next day of lounging around camp while everyone else spent the day riding before heading back to the real world the next morning and facing the prospects of having to fly back to California. I forgot to tell you...I had to fly back early so I could fly out to Baltimore the next morning for a work conference. Yep, that was lots of fun with a busted up back. Fortunately, while Southwest may treat you like cattle they are more than happy to give you pre-boarding status and all the snacks and drinks you want when you show up looking like you got the short end of a mule in Southern Utah.
That pretty much wraps up the spring 2017 maiden voyage of The Mule Chronicles and sets us up to launch into the much anticipated Bishop Mule Days. I am sitting in Bakersfield as I write this preparing to make the journey into Bishop for what is sure to be a mule filled week with all kinds of fun sights and activities. For the record, my back continues to heal but this definitely takes the cake for the most painful injuries I've experienced.
I want to give a shout out to Jay, Bill, Wade, "The Father," "The Mother," and "The Wife" without whom these trips wouldn't be possible. I still fail to see any logic in Bill continuing to expose his mules to me, but hey...I'm not kicking a gift mule in the face.
Happy trails and stay tuned buckaroos, Mule Days starts tomorrow.
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
The Mule Chronicles...Preparations Complete, We Are In Camp.
Howdy y'all! So great news tonight in that we have internet service and have made some big changes. The Mule Chronicles has its own Facebook page now so be sure give us a like and stay tuned in for the latest happenings. You can find us here. I will continue to share posts between both pages but will migrate to just The Mule Chronicles page soon. Go check it out if you haven't yet and watch our live videos.
So today was a big day as everyone has now arrived and we headed out for our camp and riding location. A busy morning of loading gear, mules, and all the associated support equipment had us ready to go and on the road by about 10:30 am. A quick stop at Mavericks resulted in a beverage , a breakfast burrito and my first Facebook Live Stream. Unfortunately that live stream was in part to announce some bad news...Stuart has been left behind this trip so our antihero won't be playing a central role in these episodes...something about concern for the rider...or maybe the Mule...I'm not sure. That said, please rest assured that there will be plenty of new stories because we have three first time riders, a never before ridden area (by any of our group), and we already have at least one great story...but more on that in a minute.
Apparently everyone was in a huge hurry to get into our camp for the night because "The Father" and I had a little trouble keeping up as the lead vehicles raced to Saint George...and we took a rather substantial hit to the fuel mileage on the RV averaging somewhere around 3 miles to the gallon. We arrived in Saint George in the early afternoon and found our host in short order. We're in an interesting part of Saint George in what looks like a post card from a bygone era. We're staying on part of a small ranch nestled amongst new track homes. While not the typically camping The Mule Chronicles experiences, it does have paddocks for the mules and we have internet service so taht's a plus.
After setting up the rigs we started working to unload the mules. The mules were definitely ready to get out and this resulted in some fancy footwork and battles of wits to see if we can get mules out of the trailers without them squashing us in the process. It got bad enough at one point that one of the mules kicked manure at Jay in disgust as he was taking too long to unload. We all stood and watched as the Mule proceeded to buck and kick and run crazy once they were loosed in the corral. I'm not sure what our new comers thought about this, but I'm pretty sure I saw some worried looks and wide eyes.
Wade, Donna, and "The Father" set out to scope out our Thursday night camping/Friday riding locale with the owner of the ranch, who also happens to be our guide. He is exactly what you'd want in a guide...weathered look, tanned skin with sun baked wrinkles, tough hands, and eyes honed sharp by the sun. Upon the group's return, I am informed of what is probably not the first, and certainly not the last story of this adventure. Seems our guide inquired if we had any single young men in our group because apparently he has a daughter that he's looking to marry off and is in search of suitors. He described his daughter as 28 years old and "real pretty, but she's got a bit of a limp." So there you go...truth in advertising still exists.
The whole group loaded up and headed into town in search of some grub and a quick stop to pick up some ointment for one of the mules. While there, Jay found an exciting new product that could be put to good use on Stuart if he were here.
Jay purchased the calming cream and we are now all on high alert to make sure it doesn't seruptisiously end up in someone's beverage. There was also a battle over hand cream in the parking lot of the Cal-Ranch store with one side admiring the lotion's ability to treat rough skin and the other arguing that man hands are supposed to have rough skin. I think some lotion was slung on the ground at one point as well. We returned to Chuck-A-Rama for a record setting fourth time. We're still loving the food and we now have the bonus ability to rate different locations as a service to our readers. So in preferred order there's the Lehi, Provo, and the. Saint George locations. Lehi Regina supreme both for food quality and the diorama of a real life chuck wagon in the restaurant. Saint George dropped the ball on the fried chicken, mash potatoes, and it lacked a diorama to add the points it would need to overcome the food. So there you have the Official Mule Chronicles recommendations for Chuck-A-Rama. We're hoping for some kind of sponsorship or at least a bulk discount in the future.
We returned to our camp and had a rousing came of Cover Your Assests, which is always a battle to the death...or 2000 points, whichever comes first. A quick powwow about tomorrow's plans followed before we all retired to our sleeping quarters for the night.
So now for the other bad news...looks like we're headed into a more remote camping location in the morning and updates my not be available as originally planned. I'll do my best to not keep you waiting, but will make sure to gather adequate documentation to be posted upon my return to the civilized world.
Happy trails, warm campfires, and toasty marshmallows.
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
The Mule Chronicles...The Eagle Has Landed
Today is an exciting day because today is the day Jay comes to play. Now don't get me wrong, this is a heck of a lot of fun without Jay but, Jay brings a certain...how should I say...je ne sais quoi to the equation that amps up the adventure value by about 10 fold...and I know that all of you tuning in from home are all about the adventure value.We got a somewhat late start today, late being a relative term as Mr. Incredible was up to his usual early morning antics...which, but the way, is referred to as braying (I had to look it up, but hey my cowboy knowledge is still in what you might call an infantile state...mama always said you're never too old to stop learning new tricks or wasn't learning is like a box of chocolates?). I've included a clip for your enjoyment...but to get the full effect, lock yourself in a closet and find the loudest speakers you can to play the following video at full volume. If you really want the "true experience" then I recommend you have someone else play this for you while you are sound asleep.
By this time we're getting hungry and the topic quickly shifts to food. I bet you can't guess where we went.........say it with me!
CHUCK-A-RAMA
Upon meeting with Bill we quickly learn that Moab is scheduled to have cold, rain, and wind making for a less than enjoyable camping experience. A quick call to Wade (a new member to this series) and the destination is changed to somewhere near Saint George, Utah where the weather is reportedly sunny and 75. It's amazing what a little change in latitude will do as snow is in the forecast for Elk Ridge this week. Plotting and planning continues with the topic quickly changing to who is riding which mule. I am asked repeatedly if I plan to ride Stuart again. I relay the great deal of studying and research I've done during the off season and proclaim that I am ready to take Stuart on again. Plus it doesn't seem fair to deny my dedicated followers the hilarity that will likely ensue when I meet up with Stuart. The story telling continues and we all have a good laugh at my prior follies with Stuart before Bill announces that he doesn't understand what happened because Stuart has always been great for him. Bill then proceeds to tell me there are two options when a mule is involved...you can ride the mule or go for a mule ride...Bill continues that in the case of the later, you'd be better off going down to the grocery store and dropping a quarter in the pony ride out front. (I sleep on this information and upon seeing Bill for breakfast the next morning tell him that I'd like to revisit the two options discussed last night because I think there is actually a third, previously unknown option...you can let the mule ride you...which is pretty much what happened last time I road Stuart.)
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| Everybody say Hi Stuart! |
I burned the candle at both ends last night staying up until well after midnight to get the blog updated with a new post because "The Mother" claimed she was receiving death threats because of the lack of a new post. With a new blog post completed, I turned my attention to bed. I tossed and turned trying to sleep but between the hail, thunder, wind, and Mr. Incredible, sleep eluded me most of the night. Temperatures dropped significantly overnight and shortly after morning it started to snow...evidently because just me and a mule isn't enough drama, we need to throw in some snow for good measure.
A plan for today was hatched over breakfast and a list of destinations, menus, and shopping lists were created. While a simple mule ride/camp trip doesn't require as much shopping as a mule/hunting trip, there is still a lot to do. This is compounded by the fact that our group has grown to 12 as of this writing. Luckily for me, there are actually several first time riders in this group so I won't be the only one thrashing away at this mule riding thing. Though, if this ride is anything like my first ride with Stuart none of these folks may ever come back. Good thing I know someone in the therapy business cuz I'm thinking some folks are going to need it at the end of this trip.
A full day of shopping, loading the trucks, unloading the trucks only to reload them again, and picking up group members from the airport pretty much rounds out our day...well, at least until it was time to eat again....say it with me!!!!!
CHUCK-A-RAMA
Yep, we did it again. And in case you think this might be the last time, we just found out that there is a Chuck-A-Rama in Saint George.
So, now we come to that point in the trip where I have to give you a disclaimer. I'm really, really, really sorry because this is a total AMC thing to do to y'all, but I'm not really sure if I will have cellular service or not over the next couple days as I head into the wild to practice taming the west. I will give you a glimpse as to what is coming up so you have something to look forward to and I promise to write as soon as I am able in order to keep you all filled in. I really am sorry.
Tomorrow is an early start so we can load up and head for Saint George. Our caravan of three trucks with living quarters/mule trailers, the RV and truck, followed by an assortment of support and transportation vehicles will make their way south to the promised mule land where we will setup camp for the night. Thursday and Friday are planned for all day trail rides, with Thursday potentially being very interesting because we've hired a professional guide who is taking us on something he refers to as a "varsity trail." I may not make it back alive, but at least I'll die happy...oh, and please, I don't want to be buried with Stuart...He's going to need his own space.
Until the next episode, make sure your cinch straps are tight and keep your butt in the saddle at all time cuz things are about to get real.
p.s. I know "The Mother" claims I stretch the truth but here are some photos to verify the weather conditions here in Elk Ridge.
p.p.s. there's also a new puppy
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| Say hi to Duke! |
Monday, April 24, 2017
The Mule Chronicles...Pre-Shopping Shopping Day 2...The Adventure Continues
Today's episode is brought to you by Mr. Incredible...Making Alarm Clocks Obsolete since 2001...What do you mean you don't know who Mr. Incredible is?
This is Mr. Incredible...
And yes, he was making his alarm clock noise when I took the photo. That's pretty much all he does... all...the...time...well there is this other thing he does, but this is a family blog...mostly. Mr. Incredible is the donkey that is responsible for the breeding program here in Elk Ridge and I'm pretty sure this photo gives you a clue as to where Stuart learned his poor manners. But on a happy note, Mr. Incredible does an amazing job of awakening the world at 0500 every morning with his...well...whatever you call the noise a donkey makes...it's not pleasant...I imagine it's called something like the devil's yodel.
We awoke, again courtesy of Mr. Incredible, and had a leisurely morning before heading out for the Lee Kay Public Shooting Range to spend some time soaking up manliness and warrior mojo by shooting big guns at long distances. Our return followers might recall the purchase of a rather large caliber rifle for last year's ill fated hunt. Said rifle has been somewhat ill tempered despite several trips to the range and I didn't want to pass up an opportunity to shoot this mammoth beast out to 300 yards.
We arrived at the range only to discover that in my excitement this morning, I managed to leave my hearing protection and range bag in the RV back in Elk Ridge. We weren't about to drive the hour back to the rig so we figured we'd make do. A quick check in at the front desk resulted in the purchase of the worst foam ear plugs I have ever seen. Seriously, I could have gotten better protection from a 6 year old piece of discarded chewing gum...but, again, not being dissuaded. We also purchase the largest targets they have, which just happen to be small bore 100 yard targets that are about 16" X 16"...again, not being dissuaded. We drive down to the rifle range and I begin the trek to the target area. About this time, I start wishing I had packed a lunch and left a farewell note with my intended destination and travel route because OMG 300 yards is a long way to walk. It really was probably more like 5 miles because I had to walk to the far end of the range, walk 350 yards to the end of the range and then walk back across to the shooting lane where we intended to shoot so I could put up our targets on some kind of weird medieval torture device before reversing the trek back to the shoot location. Speaking of the torture device, did I mention that I didn't have anything to stick the paper targets to the target stand with...yup, back in the RV. I start hunting all over and try to evaluate my options. I decide that neither one of us can see or hear well enough that I can get away with yelling "Shoot" and throwing the target in the air for "The Father" to shoot at. Did I mention that it was 600 yards away...like 1800 feet...like 787,692 meters...seriously, it's a long freaking way back to the shooting position and I'm not about to go back without hanging the targets. I decide that the best way to go is to pry some of the old staples out of the target stand and use them to hold the targets in place by pushing them back in with my...BARE FINGERS! Seriously, there's a reason they sell staple guns, those little things are sharp. I manage to hang all four targets and start the long walk back looking like I've just been in a slap fight with a porcupine. About half way back I start looking for a taco truck because I surmise I can't be the only one in need of refreshments after this epic journey, but to my dismay no taco trucks (I left this as a comment in the suggestion box because I care about my fellow man and wouldn't want anyone to go down in the desert journey that is the walk to the end of 300,000 yard range). I return sunburned, dehydrated, and malnourished to find "The Father" all setup and happily ready shoot. "The Father" then asks, "did you put the targets up?" I say yes while gesturing down range. The confused look on "The Father's" face causes me to look down range and that's when it hits me...IT LITERALLY LOOKS LIKE WE'RE SHOOTING AT ANTS!!!!!! Dang it, I've made the trek out there and we're are going to shoot those minuscule targets if it kills us.
I load up my gun and get ready to send my first rounds down range. Three shots later and as near as I can see from my shooting position I haven't even nicked the target. Three more rounds and still nothing. I begin to scan for other targets thinking maybe I am shooting at the wrong target...nope, still nothing. Three more rounds, three more misses. And so it goes until I am down to my last four rounds. Finally, I manage to clip the very edge of the target before loosing the last three rounds to find their home...wait for it...IN THE BLACK....I AM ALL THAT IS MAN!!!!!!!!!!!! I should note that the rounds for my rifle (.338 Lapua Magnum) run about $6.45 per round...yep, you read that right, almost seven bucks a trigger pull. So those three rounds in the black cost about 140 bucks if you count the cost of the range time, targets, and the years taken off my life from the long walk down the range...did I mention it was like 800,000,00 yards, up hill, in the snow, both ways? We clean up and load up when "The Father" says he is going to walk down and get the targets. Having previously been on this journey I know that I must be the good son and intervene in order to save his life...did I mention it was like 3,287,900.7 miles to the end of the range? The one thing I learned on my journey to the end of the range, other than no taco trucks, was that you could drive down there...and most people were...like everyone else was...I was the lone idiot walking down there...some nice portly gentleman even offered my free candy and a ride back but I know better then to accept a ride from strangers...the candy was good though.
With the targets collected we set our sights on the first of what is to be many trips to Cabela's. For those of you that haven't been to Cabela's you need to be aware that the most dangerous place in the entire store is the entrance. This is where they try to sweet talk you with free gifts and rewards points for signing up for their Cabela's Rewards Visa. I need a Cabela's Rewards Visa like I need another hole in my head and thus have to run through the front doors, past the Rewards Visa Pimp like a greased turd on a water flume ride in order to avoid the sales pitch. All goes as planned and I make it into the store without being accosted by low interest rate pushers and go about my shopping. About three hours in I have to stop and take on provisions...ok, so that may be an exaggeration, but we were in there a long time. I also collected enough stuff that every employee that saw my cart started pushing the damn Rewards Visa..."you know sir, you would get a lot of points from a purchase like that"..."you know sir, we have great interest rates"..."you know sir, you'll only have to give up one kidney." Seriously people, chill out with the credit card offers.
I decide I've had enough of their pushy credit card offers and make my way to the check out stands. I am ushered over to a perfectly nice young lady with one incredible flaw...she is dumber than a bag of hair...in all reality that is doing bags of hair everywhere a disservice. I have never seen someone struggle with basic retail more than this poor young lady. Even the clerk behind her was shaking her head and rolling her eyes at the number of times she had to ask me to repeat my telephone number. I'm pretty sure that she isn't long for the retail world because she miscounted the cash I gave her by $100 extra...all I gave her was hundreds so it wasn't complicated. I will say that she was very impressed that I was from Brentwood, California, but I didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't the Brentwood she was thinking of so as far as she is concerned, yes, OJ was my neighbor. Well apparently I was feeling sorry for this clerk because when it came time for her to offer me a Cabela's Rewards Visa, I caved. This was a total mistake because it added about 17 steps to my check out process...seriously, "The Father" had to go for water at one point...it was bad. My purchase completed, she ushers me over to another check stand where I have to fill out a credit application. She then has to take the application and input it into the computer...did I mention she had trouble with my phone number? After a great deal of effort and many repeated questions, including asking for my telephone number multiple times until another clerk pointed out that it was on the form that was in her hand...seriously....the process was completed and I am now the proud holder of a new Cabela's Rewards Visa. Not only do they approve you right there, but they print out the actual card so you can go melt the plastic numbers off during your first shopping trip before the ink is even dry. We wisely fled the store while we still could.
A stop a Culver's (awesome hamburgers and crinkle cut fries, but even better root beer, sorry A&W) for a late lunch, followed by a trip through CAL-Ranch, and a brief stop at Shop-Ko ended our day of shopping. We returned to the rig to get some sleep for what will be an exciting Monday because Jay Wirig arrives and the true mule adventure preparations will begin in earnest.
Just remember...credit card pimp (just say no), bag of hair, and everyone caves eventually.
Keep your bedrolls warm and sleep tight, the wild ride starts soon.
ps. Did I mention there was a new baby mule????
Little hard to see behind a very protective mama
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