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.

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.

A bit of a morning snack and we were off to the industrial section of Salt Lake City in search of Kindig It Designs. Dave Kindig is a self taught car customizer who's shop is also the subject of the hit TV series "Bitch'n Rides." He is truly an artist and we couldn't come all this way without stopping into check it out in person. A few photo ops, some t-shirts, and lots of trying really hard not to seem like "those people." You know, the ones who make a scene when a celebrity happens to walk by or be in the general vicinity. We peruse the posters, art, and custom cars that fill the showroom all the while being ready to pounce on any unsuspecting TV star. In the end, we didn't make fools of ourselves and only saw famous folks from a distance. It was nonetheless a cool stop on this adventure.

A few other short stops and it was off to pick up Jay from the airport. We found Jay waving excitedly like a lost child while standing at the curb of the domestic terminal and scoop him up in short order before someone asks where his adult is. After the normal pleasantries, we make a b-line for A.A. Callister to do some introductory adventure shopping. With Jay now on board, shopping is truly an adventure sport. A new hat, some chaps, and a brand new, A-1 certified cowboy duster and I am all set to star in the next episode of Stuart Throws A Fit. Seriously folks, with my Duluth Trading pants, cowboy boots, western shirt, cowboy hat, cowboy vest, cowboy gloves, chaps, and a duster I am looking way authentic. I'm totally expecting random people to start asking me questions about my ranch, shoeing horses, the farmer's almanac, and the best type of dog for herding...Stay tuned for action photos and possible video to follow soon.

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

Yes, we went there again. It was "International" night so the menu was loaded with such international favorites as Swedish Meatballs, all types of pasta and several other exotic favors from far off lands. Don't worry, I still ate fried chicken, rolls, and jello (it's a rule after all). We returned to Elk Ridge to meet with Bill and start the trip discussions in earnest.

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.)

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

Say hi to Duke!

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

The Mule Chronicles...Travel Day 2 and Arrival In Elk Ridge, Utah Edition

Today's episode is brought to you by Union Pacific Railroad - Waking you up with a death rattling horn blast since 1862.

I was awakened from my 1lb. slab of beef coma at the bright hour of 0500 as the passing freight train was busy singing the song of its people. I'm thinking there has to be a better way to alert people that a train is coming or that we just accept that it is survival of the fittest if someone gets hit by a train.

I would like to thank Cabela's for making the finest sleeping bag I have ever used. Now wait just a minute there Scott, I thought you said you were traveling in the lap of modern luxury. We are, but the lap of modern luxury apparently doesn't include turn down service or something to combat my lack of desire to actually make a bed so the sleeping bag was the way I went. And let me tell you, I am a better man for it. Snuggled all up in my extra wide, extra long fleece lined sleeping bag which includes its own extra fleece blanket...makes you want to take off all your clothes and rub around naked on it...oh, sorry...too much for this hour of the morning probably. Anyway, you can take a look at it here and they will even ship it straight to your door if you're so inclined.

BEST SLEEPING BAG EVER...SCOTT SAYS SO, SO IT'S TRUE!

A leisurely morning of surfing the Internet, blog posting, and a light breakfast soon resulted in the "call of nature." I am now faced with a dilemma. If I use the RV potty, "The Call of Nature" will travel with us all the way to Utah. If I venture out to find a potty in the RV Park I have to waddle around the park looking for the potty in a rather urgent state because now I've waited too long debating my choices. "The Father," apparently having not yet lost that "my child is about to poop" parental radar sensing system intervenes and points me towards the park restroom. He even endorses said restroom as being very nice. Off I waddle in my nicest pair of Crocs (the kind with the fuzzy liners) in search of a place to...uh...leave my gift to the world. Needless to say, I'm really glad I didn't decide to bring that along with us because it was clearly "overdue," if you catch my drift.

I emerge from the potty feeling like a new man and quickly scurry for the exit door from the clubhouse (I don't want anyone to know I was responsible for the soon to become over powering odor that would likely result in a hazmat call out from the local fire department...I can see the headline now...SOURCE UNKNOWN IN NOXIOUS ODOR...SENDS THREE FIREFIGHTERS TO THE HOSPITAL). I make the mad dash back towards the rig only to find...NO RIG! At first, I'm convinced that I just can't see it because I'm suffering from some post-evacuation blindness and I continue walking. As I get closer I can see that the rig is, in fact, no longer parked in our camping spot. I'm urgently scanning the RV park looking for any sign of the RV all the while plagued by the memory of "The Father" threatening to "leave us behind" on so many trips growing up. I begin to plead with The Lord, saying that if I only knew that the getting left behind would happen in my mid-forties while trying to escape a crime scene in Elko, Nevada, I would have behaved better as a child. Please keep in mind that I am still walking towards our now empty camping spot like some kind of lost puppy on a Sally Struthers commercial for neglected animals in the demented belief that the RV has some kind of previously unannounced cloaking device and this is all just a terrible joke. My ears are also intently scanning for any sound that sounds like a Cummins Turbo Diesel idling nearby but I am created only with a silence that can only be heard in Elko, Nevada. Just as I have nearly lost all hope and started the 27 step grieving process that being left in Elko, Nevada wearing fuzzy Crocs instills, I hear the distant rattle know to diesel lovers and abandoned 46 year old eldest sons everywhere...IT'S THE RV...MY FATHER STILL LOVES ME AND WOULD NEVER ABANDON ME IN ELKO, NEVEDA!!!!

I rush to the RV as "The Father" is slowly idling out from behind a bush in the run that only a middle aged man with more than a few extra pounds, a heart condition, a bad knee, and a messed up back can do. "The Father" is now looking at me like I have emerged covered in blue dye waving a banner that says don't feed the animal. Now, just you cool your jets people. I'm not saying the RV was simply hidden behind a bush. That would imply I lack a certain base level of observational skills. I'm still going with "previously unknown cloaking device." Regardless, this is not the real story here. The real story here is that "The Father" didn't leave me in Elko, Nevada! Once again, the validation that only a tormented first born can understand.

The RV emerges, from its "cloaking device," and I grab onto the handrail. I ride the entry step of the RV with my free hand outstretched as the chorus of Hallelujah is sung in the background by an invisible angel choir of prepubescent boys. I'm riding the step like a glorious unicorn with the wind blowing my golden locks (stop laughing) like Christie Brinkley in a 1980's Pantene commercial when I notice "The Father" is staring at me through the still closed door. I am immediately brought crashing down from my radiant high when I open the door and he says, "I thought I was going to have to leave you here." So he may not have said that in as many words, but I'm pretty sure that was what he was thinking nonetheless. I get in and we are back on the road.

A quick stop for fuel at the Flying J Truck Stop results in a rather entertaining viewing experience as we watch an older couple trying to navigate the seemingly straight forward fuel pumps in order to fill their RV in what can only be described as a keystone cops routine. I should note that truck stops are a personal traveling favorite for me and Flying J is definitely near the top as they typically have excellent egg salad sandwiches ("The Family" can weigh in here on the issue of me and convince store sandwiches. They seem to think I'm taking my life in my hands, but I think they are a delightful little treat when someone is looking for a quick snack). With the rig fueled up and an assortment of beef jerky in hand we hit the road again.

We make it into Elk Ridge, Utah without any significant fuss and manage to get the RV setup and situated in short order. We have a quick visit with Bill (the keeper of the mules) to discuss schedules and destinations before heading out to get some pre-shopping shopping done. For those of you that are return followers you are well aware that any mule trip requires a great deal of shopping to procure any of the no less than 5,000 items required to successfully ride mules and look good doing it. It is also a great chance to checkout the latest western wear and outdoor offerings on the market. We decide that a quick trip to Cal Ranch should be our first stop as "The Father" is in search of a new duster coat. Of course I now need a duster as well since "looking the part" is as important as the trip and a duster looks the part in a big way. Seriously, "The Father" looked like he could tame the west one handed and blindfolded just trying it on in the store. I'm pretty sure I saw a lady faint nearby, likely from the high level of cowboy rugged awesomeness wafting through the air.

After Cal Ranch we decide it's time to eat and promptly set our sights on none other than...say it with me now folks....

CHUCK-A-RAMA

Seriously, they have the best rolls and fried chicken ever (sorry KFC, but you've been outdone). We work our way through traffic and find a nice parking space appropriately place for convenient access...you know, just far enough away from the front door so as not to look desperate but close enough that you don't have to waddle too far after you've gorged yourself on fried chicken and jello...yes jello, it's a rule...ask anyone, that's who...whenever you eat at a buffet you have to eat the jello...no, not all the jello, just a responsible portion...I don't know how much that is, it differs from person to person. Ok fine, here....you take half your weight multiplied by your shoe size divided by your inseam and that gives you the amount of jello you are required to eat to satisfy "the rule." No not pieces, it's by weight...ounces, not pounds, good lord what are you thinking. I will let you make up your own mind about "The Father's" rule that requires mayonnaise on jello...sorry, I just vomited in my mouth a little...I don't understand either and all I can guess is it spawned out of a pre Cool Whip era...you know, kind of how some casseroles are a "mid-west thing."

We enter the Chuck-A-Rama and find the typical Provo, Utah Saturday night sized crowd replete with a large number of huge groups and a bazillion small children. Dad is off to wash up and I hatch my plan to pay for dinner. I should note that this is a constant battle when traveling with "The Father," as he wants to pay for everything. Having reached a reasonable state of self sufficiency at this point in my life, I like to try to pay at least sometimes. I get in line, calculate the likely total bill in my head, and then hide enough cash in my hand so I can slip it to the host like I'm some sort of mob boss greasing a politician's hand. The line is taking forever! First a group of like 76, probably a non-english speaking traveling circus. Then two old people, probably the highlight of their week. Followed by 16 assorted unattended children recently flown in from the set of "Lord of The Flies 2." CRAP! "The Father" has exited the restroom and is scanning for me in line. I know, drop to the floor in a full crouch and start waddling like a duck to avoid detection...yeah, I know....it could've worked but there wasn't any room to hide in front of the pencil thin guy behind me in line. I mean really, why is he even in a place like this anyway. Probably just going to eat salad and they only thing that does is make the kitchen staff have to put out more salad because no one eats salad at the buffet...yes, it's a rule as well, trust me. So now I have to battle mano-a-mano with "The Father" in an effort to pay the bill and not feel like a freeloader. Of course, you're right, it doesn't work. Come on, you could see that writing on the wall a mile away. I even try to tell "The Father" that if I pay, he is still paying in a way. This results a curious look and inquiry as to what I mean. I explain that since I'm working for "The Mother" it is kind of like I'm using her money to pay, which based on California Community Property Law is pretty much his money too. His response? "You're right, I should've let you pay." At the very least I figure we've discussed the salary structure and payment of employees so the entire trip should be tax deductible. "The Mother" doesn't like when I play attorney or tax consultant or any other "official advice" giving type role as she thinks I'll get us in trouble. She clearly fails to realize that I've been giving unsolicited free professional advice for years under the "Buyer Beware" philosophy.

We stuff ourselves well beyond full on all manner of buffet goodies and are left contemplating the ever important "last plate." The last plate is usually desert, but really could be anything from the buffet that you'd like to end your meal on prior to calling for the buffet equivalent of Uber...Wheelbarrow...and being carted from the establishment. I decide to go for the "Strawberry Shortcake" featured in the lovely cardboard advertising tent on the side of our table. Saying this was either strawberries or shortcake is a huge stretch. This was a cake like product with whipped cream (probably fake) and red goo...oh, and one strawberry slice...bad form Chuck-A-Rama...bad form...

We exit the Chuck-A-Rama and decide to walk to a nearby Sportsman's Warehouse. Along the way, "The Father" comments..."This walk should help us burn like 2 of the 2,000 calories we just ate." Pretty much Chuck-A-Rama summed up in one sentence.

I procure a few items from Sportsman's Warehouse that I am sure I cannot live without and we return to the truck for the drive back to the RV. Along the way, we spot the first winner of The Mule Chronicles 2017 Advertising Participation Trophies...Let me paint you a picture...

On a dark desert highway...cool wind in my hair...oh, wait....sorry...wrong mental loop...

Empty parking lot of an abandoned shopping center. A parked 40 foot box truck that looks like it was painted by hand with white house paint after being purchased at auction from the ATF. Temporary chain link fencing surrounds the box truck with a large white vinyl sign with giant red letters that reads...

20 steaks for 20 bucks!

Totally seems legit to me...at least if by steaks you mean cat and other assorted roadkill.

We make it back to the RV and unload our day one purchases before cuing up another episode of Ty Evan's Mulemanship videos...this time the all important ground work and desensitizing procedures. Feel free to check out one of Ty Evan's videos below for more information on how mule riding is really supposed to work.

That pretty much concludes our travel days and sets us up for another pre-shopping shopping day tomorrow. What is this pre-shopping shopping you ask? It's preparation for shopping with Jay when he gets here. We need to practice and get warmed up because it really is a world class Olympic level sport to shop with Jay.

Tune in tomorrow for another day of pre-shopping shopping and a trip to the long distance range where we'll load up on testosterone and bad decisions.

Happy trails until the next episode buckaroos.

Roll'n Roll'n Roll'n

The Mule Chronicles...Travel Day Episode 1

Today's episode is brought to you by ISIS's Consumer Fraud Division...Renting unwanted cars without your permission since 1999.

Yep, that's right folks. I awoke today to the good news that my credit card had been used to rent a car in some far off land where I am not presently traveling at. Thanks to the lovely folks at Visa, the transaction was stopped and I was saved any real pain other than being on the road without my credit card...oh bother...

We now return you to your previously scheduled broadcast.

Yes folks! it is true. The Mule Chronicles are ON THE ROAD AGAIN and posting from beautiful Elko, Nevada...where dreams go to die. In all seriousness, it is a gorgeous Saturday sunny morning here in Nevada and an excellent opportunity to embrace my inner millennial and stay inside on my computer in order to up date my fans around the world (stop laughing, I have Facebook friends that live overseas so I am now calling this an international blog.). We even have a logo.

Yesterday started like any trip normally starts..waking up at 0500 in the morning because you're so excited you can't sleep. Even "The Wife" woke up early, which I'm taking as she's excited for me too not that she's excited for me to leave...stop it, that's just not nice. I got around and packed the 47 things I forgot to pack in last night's load and prepared to be at the "The Parent's" house no later than the pre-appointed 0800 hours. You see, in my family when "The Father" says 0800 he really means more like anytime after 0600 but definitely no later than 0730. Being the good son that I am, I know that breakfast treats for the road are always a welcome addition and of course I'm going to stop for the favorite blueberry old-fashioned donuts cuz I'm pretty sure they are "The Father's" favorites and I am the "desperately seeking affirmation, over achieving" first born after all.

"The Wife" agrees to drive me to "The Parent's" so as to avoid leaving stray cars strewn about Brentwood and lovingly helps me pack all of the last minute items I couldn't live without. WAIT!!!!!

I just remembered I need to rant a little!

MCDONALDS STOPPED MAKING THE GRAND MAC HAMBURGER!!!!!! SERIOUSLY? I was totally craving the Grand Mac because it is the Big Mac of my childhood...you know...before the Big Mac became two puny regular hamburgers crammed together with special sauce and a smattering of what they imply is lettuce and pickles. So the exchange goes something like this...

Micky D - Welcome to McDonald's, what can I get you? 

Scotty D - I'll have the Grand Mac, sandwich only please.

Micky D - Yeah, so we stopped serving that like two weeks ago (In a tone that clearly conveys I'm an idiot for not knowing that.

Scotty D - ......long silence followed by deep sigh......

Micky D - Sir? Are you still there?

Scotty D - It's a drive-thru Mr. Wizard where else would I be? (so this was in my head, but still...duh!)

Micky D - Sir?

Scotty D - You're freaking kidding me right?

Micky D - No sir. I'm sorry. Would you like a regular Big Mac?

Scotty D - ...fine...And a Filet of Fish...and don't be skimping on the tarter sauce!...I know where you work! (Ok, so maybe this is a little bit of a Falling Down movie inspired dream of my interaction with Micky D but I really wanted a Grand Mac dammit!)

Ok, enough, I'm starting to have flashbacks and meat sweats. 

So I arrive at "The Parent's" fully expecting to see the father sitting in the driver's seat of the RV ready to go and yelling "Where have you been, I've been ready since 4 am." But, this is not what I find. I find the motor home still parked in it's birth, the truck parked nearby and the father nowhere to be found. I immediately panic and demand that "The Mother" tell me what she has done to "The Father." Of course I get, "How should I know what he's doing. He's out there somewhere" as she lazily motions to the backyard with her craned pointy finger. 

Upon finding "The Father" and inquiring about not finding him idling in the street waiting for my arrival he tells me "yeah, I just don't get that worked up about getting down the road anymore. I figure it will still be there when I get there." 

Of course...I am utterly dumbfounded by this. Seriously people. This isn't my father. My Father was the king of "making good time" and the 0'dark thirty traveling start. Like literally everything would be gone if we didn't get on the road and get moving in short order. 

MY ENTIRE CHILDHOOD WAS A LIE!!!!!!!

I quickly adjust to this new, alternate "reality" and pitch in to get things loaded and hooked up and we are able to hit the road at the crack of....wait for it....NINE...TWENTY....SEVEN.....sigh. Clearly I have some adjusting to do. 

We be bop on down the road with the familiar traveling music that is SirusXM's old-timey county music station. I quickly realize that the real reason for "The Father's" new found patience with travel schedules is that you don't get anywhere quickly in the motor home. While the motor home provides a high degree of "Cowboy Comfort" it comes at a cost to travel efficiency and speed. Thus, I learn yet another lesson from "The Father"... If you can't travel the speed you want, you better want the speed you can travel at. Touché father, still taking me to school 46 years later. 

We make one scheduled detour for a stop at the D bar M Western Store in Reno, Nevada. Those of you that tuned in over the off season for the Reno Nevada special episode might recall the D bar M as the birthplace of Scotty D learns to rope and an encounter with a very attractive clerk whose roping skills truly cut my "City Slicker" cowboy ways to the quick. Lucky for me she was not there, but there was what was clearly a ranching family discussing their son's bull riding awards. Needless to say I felt very inadequate looking through the western shirts in my Real Tree camo hoodie, Duluth Trading blue jeans and New Balance sneakers. It didn't keep my from buying a new vest and a horn bag. Hey, I need some stuff for the trail. I might need to start a chain of "city folk" western stores where us common folk can play cowboy all we want without the fear of judgement from those who earned the title of cowboy as the result of generations of hard won battles with the land and the beasts the roam upon it.

We arrived in our RV stop for the night and quickly got settled before indulging in a steak dinner. I should point out that "The Mother" acquired the steaks for said dinner and they were awesome. So awesome that it would've taken the power of the sun to cook them through had we not decided to butterfly them. Seriously, these things were like 3" think and about a pound each...oh, and they were Fillet's....I know right....like I said....AWESOME FESTIVAL OF BEEF ON TOP OF THE MULE CHRONICLES PLANNED ADVENTURE!!!!!!! Totes lucky me!

A little Ty Evans "In The Saddle" mule riding videos wrapped up a great day and thus ends another episode of The Mule Chronicles. Tune in tomorrow for the harrowing account of our arrival in Utah.

Oh, I almost forgot. We have a destination for this mule adventure...MOAB!!!! Seriously! Bucket List!

ps - "The Father" proclaimed the blueberry old-fashioned donut "the best of all the donuts." YES! I am validated again. 

Today Is The Day!!!

The Mule Chronicles...Preparations Day 2

Preparations day 2 began with a crazy schedule of errands before locking myself in the bedroom to pack. First stop was a quick waxing to remove the Sasquatch like hair that has taken up residency on my back because one simply does not go Mule riding in a disheveled condition. I've had this argument with "The Mother" as she has declared me an idiot for the back waxing commitment to which I respond that it is clearly her fault. "What," she typically exclaims resulting in me pointing out that there is a distinct lack of hair on my head and an over abundance on my back which clearly indicates that she hit me on the head too much as a child causing the redistribution of hair follicles from my head and to my back. This usually results in a scoff from the "The Mother," but sometimes elicits the always entertaining "whatever!"

A quick stop at the camera store results in the new to me battery (don't ask), a new flash, and a new 50mm lens to ensure we have proper photo documentation for the episodes to follow. If you're in need of a good brick and mortar camera shop I can highly recommend the folks over at Camera West in Walnut Creek. They have a nice selection of used gear as well high is nice because holy crap good camera gear has gotten expensive.

I returned home a began the daunting task of packing for two polar opposite trips. The first and, as I'm sure you're aware, The Mule Chronicles 2017 Spring Series. The second a business trip to Baltimore. I'll let you decide which one I'm more excited about...but here's a hint, there ain't no blog called Scotty Goes To Baltimore. In truth, I'm really excited for both and see the potential for a The Mule Chronicles...Scotty and Stuart Go To The National Mall episode. I wonder what the rate is for taking a mule on Southwest.

The packing was completed with minimal fuss, well, other than my screaming match with Kaiser over a missing medication which if I go without will have my shaking more than an epileptic on crack in a strobe light factory...but I digress. I manage to wrestle all 237 bags of gear into the living room and start to asses that my lime green Prius C will likely collapse under the weight of all this gear. I press on through my uncertainty and start immediately recalling everything I've forgotten to pack. Why didn't I make a list you ask? I did...it got packed and I couldn't find it to finish packing. Clearly I've been work with "The Mother" for too long.

"The Wife" arrives home and helps me shoehorn everything into the back of her car because now I'm too tired to mess with my truck and she has concurred that this quantity of stuff will sure make the doors fall off the Prius...I'm pretty sure the Prius piddled a little oil when it saw us loading the other car. We make it the parents' house and start to unload everything when I am pleasantly surprised to find that my gear is once again dwarfed by all the gear we are hauling up for Jay. Oh! Did I mention that the RV is back from the shop and ready to roll? IT IS! IT IS! Oh happy day! My delicate flower self won't have to sleep in a tent and will have all the necessary camping comforts like indoor & outdoor TVs, heating and air conditioning, and fresh warm pie and ice cold ice cream...basically everything a cowboy needs to survive in the wild. Now before you get all crazy about the TVs, please note that they are part of this year's plans. You see I found some of Ty Evans' Mule training videos and have watched them repeatedly in order to improve my chances for success with Stuart. I'm also planning to tie Stuart to the side of the motor home and make him watch the videos so he is clear on the expectations that will lead to his success. I figure this "dual" approach will help cement the key roles in the man, mule relationship.

Needless to say everything that was going to get done got done and I eventually slipped off to sleep and dream about what generations of cowboys have dreamt  about...WARM PIE AND ICE CREAM.

Yeeee haaawww little doggies.

The Mule Chronicles Spring 2017...Preparations Day 1

It's official folks, as of 6:30 pm yesterday I was on vacation and preparing to engage all resources in prepping for the pending mule adventure when I was met with some concerning news. Apparently, the RV Tour Bus scheduled to be our conveyance to mule mecca was displaying some undesirable traits. Namely, the RV was not playing well with the tow vehicle which, it seems, might result in fire, death, and/or total destruction. "The Father" rushed the RV to the nearest Freightliner dealer for emergency repairs only to be met with someone who clearly fails to see the urgency in our predicament and the gravity that failure would represent because he only pledges to "do his best" to get it repaired and back before we are scheduled to leave on Friday. Now while The Father assures me that "do his best" really is a good thing, I failed to see how this situation didn't require the higher, and more urgent, "move heaven and earth to save the day" response from the repairman. The Father worked tirelessly to calm my panicked protests and assured me that we were still going on the mule adventure regardless of whether or not we had the RV Tour Bus. When I inquired as to sleeping arrangements I was told we would use a...tent. A TENT? I am a delicate flower. I require a certain level of comfort and a surrounding of leisurely air. How will we ever support the rather large supply of electronic documentation equipment that is now a very real and necessary part of The Mule Chronicles?

A SMALL sampling of the electronic
equipment planned for the coming episodes.

Again, I am reassured by The Father that everything will be just fine and the adventure will continue without any issues. Upon trying to point out that this trip has already been placed into jeopardy by his recent bought of the death flu, I quickly get "the look" and abandon my line of inquiry as The Father clearly expects me to take this whole challenge in stride while relying on some deep source of previously unrecognized source of inner faith. (I should note here that "The Mother" was present for this exchange but sat motionless and silent like some kind of headlight stunned deer fearful of being sucked into the vortex of worry that I was wrapped up in. The Mother will likely deny this account or claim she was empowering some secret source of inner therapist zen, but don't be dissuaded from the truth.)

A rather uneventful night followed, with a pre-preparations dinner of Indian Food (proudly sponsored by India 4 U, conveniently located in the Slatten Ranch Shopping Center on Lone Tree Way near Highway 4. Seriously, some of the best Indian Food around, check it out. The Chicken Tikka Masala and Aloo Gobi are the bomb!) and a quick trip to Target to secure some provisions. It wasn't until we got home that I realized it was 9 o'clock at night and thus what I thought had been the mule gods parting the crowds to prepare the way for the glory that is about to follow was simply my complete and utter loss of time and lack of awareness of reality...Hey! Don't knock me, I am in a pre-mule adventure euphoric state...and I'm a delicate flower.

An early evening crash from all the excitement was inevitable and thus I was completely passed out by 10 pm ("The Daughter" is going to claim that this is way past my normal bedtime normally). The problem that would soon follow is being awake at 0213 in the AM when I awoke in a full sweat and panic thinking I had missed the departure for the mule adventure. Being unable to sleep despite all of the crafty make my self tired tricks I have picked up over the year, I resigned myself to getting up and getting an early start.

I did my best to not awaken "The Wife" out of fear of being beaten within an inch of my life for unnecessarily waking her on a work night (which, despite what she might think, I really am sorry about). I tip toe around in the dark, quiet as a church mouse when I am confronted by a scene from the Exorcist as "The Wife" sits bolt upright in bed and says "what are you doing" in the most frightening guttural demonic tone. I apologize profusely for waking my beloved spouse while backing slowly out of the room and promising to "keep the ruckus to a minimum." I'm not sure why or how she decides to tolerate my antics, but I'm not one to question luck or divine intervention, so I'm just going with it.

So there you have it. Day 1 preparations are underway and the Spring 2017 Season of The Mule Chronicles has started with only a few minor giddy ups in our hitches. I hope you'll tune in for the for all the antics over the next several episodes. Don't forget to like and share in order to expand the reach of The Mule Chronicles...we wouldn't want to keep a gem like this from everyone now would we?

Thanks for tuning in...Scott

P.S. I almost forgot! @RebeccaGracePhotography is designing a logo for The Mule Chronicles so save your pennies, there might be merchandise options in your future.

P.P.S. Do you think Stuart goes through as much advanced planning for my arrival as I do?

The Mule Chronicles 2017 Season Teaser...Preparations Continue

Howdy y'all! Preparations are well underway for the 2017 season of The Mule Chronicles. The rabid shopping and crazy packing cycle is in full swing and paranoia about forgetting any small items occupies my every resting moment.

I have gone back and posted all of last season's episodes of The Mule Chronicles on this blog for your enjoyment.

http://themulechronicles.blogspot.com

I apologize up front as they are out of order and the formatting is a little wonky, but they are all there and labeled. I even put in a few updated photos as well. So hurry up and get caught up as big things are afoot with the 2017 Spring Season of The Mule Chronicles kicking off this Friday, April 21, 2017.

Thanks for tuning in and happy trails,

Scotty D and Stuart The Petulant

PS, We also have a late spring episode series scheduled and talks have begun for the fall season as well. Make sure you stay tuned for future updates.

The Mule Chronicles...Episode 5...Part 3

When we last left our dashing leading man he was descending into the valley of darkness and was about be set upon by government thugs.

Upon seeing the Idaho Fish and Game trucks, my first thought is, "maybe they're busy and won't see me." Yep, that was my first thought. Hedge my future on luck and the you can't see me if I move slowly defense. Clearly I've seen Jurassic Park too many times. I bring the iron steed that I am riding to a slow crawl in an effort to avoid detection (you might recall that I am riding Brad's 4 wheeler - if Brad is even his name - if this is even his 4 wheeler). I am greeted by a truly ruggedly attractive fish and game warden (we'll call him Morgan. Again, I don't know his actual name, but Morgan seems to fit). Morgan flashes his pearly whites and bats his excessively long lashes, before tussling his hair and saying, "Hi there." Clearly stunned and mesmerized by his wildly good looks, I stop the 4 wheeler dead in its tracks and immediately accept that this man can see directly into my soul and is likely able to read my mind. Morgan follows up by asking me how I am doing in a very polite and nonthreatening manner causing me to look up sheepishly from under my cowboy hat's brim and say, "not well sir." Morgan clearly doesn't expect this response and for a brief moment I think I might escape jail time. Of course I was totally unprepared for Morgan's follow up question of, "what's wrong" and I naively respond that I have been bucked off my mule three times in the last two days (the sympathy ploy always played well when I was dating and Morgan is good looking enough that I figure it might work here). Without skipping a beat Morgan responds with, "do you need medical aid?" A number of things now rush through my mind - "probably so, yes," "this has worked for a number of arrestees that I have seen in my time," and "oh, crap, that will definitely result in a call to my mother and wife and I'll be in deep crap." Having reviewed my options, I tell Morgan that I will be fine and that I just need to rest. Morgan seems to buy this line of crap, at least for the moment.

At this point, Morgan turns his attention to the dead deer strapped to the back of the 4 wheeler and says, "nice looking deer you have there." Now, I've seen this line of questioning before. In fact, I've used this line of questioning before. I immediately realize that I am in deep crap and momentarily consider trying to just sulk away slowly. I quickly decide that Morgan's bulging muscles clearly indicate that I will lose that fight and acquiesce to his inquiry. I go with the tried a true defense used by thousands for drug addicts everywhere...No officer, these aren't my pants (or in my case, deer)! I also decide that my only hope is to quickly and clearly advise Morgan that I am a retired cop from California, confess that I have no clue what I'm doing because this is my first hunt (despite the rather extensive hunting outfit that I am wearing that screams avid hunter), and sing like a canary about Brad and his doe. I should probably note that upon hearing that I have never hunted before Morgan asked if I had any questions. I responded (I kid you not) "nope, I'm pretty sure I'm all done hunting at this point." Looking back on it, I should have asked if Morgan knew any good mule therapists because clearly Stuart and I have issues that need to be worked out with the help of a professional.

Morgan patiently follows my story despite the fact that I am now talking like Alvin the Chipmunk on crack. I also keep pointing over my shoulder saying, "really sir, they should be coming over that rise any minute now." I'm pretty sure I could see Morgan's mind saying, "sure son, sure they will. You are so going to jail." What followed was what felt like a thousand questions about Brad, the deer, Brad's camp, our camp, my hunting license, my driver's license, my police ID (I'm not an idiot, I knew that s%$t would save my butt), the speed of an unladen African Swallow in June, the ignition timing on a 57 Chevy with a 350 c.i. motor, epigenetic theory...ok, you get the point, it was a lot of questions. Meanwhile, I keep pointing over my shoulder like some kind of demented kid at fat camp pointing to where he ate the case of Snicker's bars as he's being shamed by the camp counselor. Much to my relief, my mule riding partners and Brad crest the hill into view after what felt like the three hundredth time Morgan asked how I know Brad. I started screaming, "look, there they are, look" like a prepubescent teenager at a One Direction concert.

I can see the look of terror on Brad's face as he sulks over to the warden. I get off the 4 wheeler and walk over to take Stuart's reigns and slowly back away from the scene of the Spanish Inquisition. I am immediately encircled by Dad and Jay who start peppering me with questions. I calmly explain what happened and Jay suddenly becomes my self appointed legal defense and claims we need to just leave. I explain that I don't think we're free to go, to which Jay asks if we are being detained. I tell Jay that I'm pretty sure we are past that point, to which he responds, "I'm not detained, I'm leaving." I quickly realize that rural hunting legal aid is about as useful as the public defender's office back in California. Jay starts walking away and I turn to Dad to only get the shrug of the shoulders that signals "you're screwed." I muster the courage to confront Morgan's awesomely wild manliness and ask if I can go. Apparently Brad did the right thing and confessed enough for Morgan to realize that I was telling the truth and he released me from his stunning grasp.

Not waiting a second for Morgan to rethink his decision to let me leave, we tuck tail and make for camp hoping to put this unfortunate experience behind us. After walking a short distance further down the road, Jay decides that we need to take another shot at riding the mules out. Dad seems somewhat hesitant, but agrees to give it a shot before looking at me for my vote. Looking back, I think Dad was expecting me to wuss out and say there was no way I was getting back on Stuart that day. Of course that's not what I say or do because I have a new cowboy persona to uphold, so I muster my inner John Wayne and say...sure thing partner, I'll get back up on this possessed evil animal that is trying to kill me at every turn. Ok, so maybe not is so many words, but you get the gist. Jay swings himself onto Ben with the grace and poise of a San Francisco Ballet star before proclaiming that we are good to go and the mules are fine. Dad is up next and things are not going anywhere near as well as they did for Jay. Of course, no one has any idea just how bad Dad is actually hurt at this point so the struggle appears to be completely the mule's fault. After about three half hearted attempts Dad declares that Annie is still too spooked and that he will just walk. I breathe a sigh of relief and quickly say that I am good walking back as well while trying to maintain the appearance that I am taking one for the team. Jay is having none of this and says we will try again when we reach the top of the hill at the main road.

We reach the top of the hill and are trying to lash the mules to the flimsiest gate on the planet when Brad comes riding up on his 4 wheeler with Fish and Game following closely behind. Brad stops and offers us our game bag back and we politely ask him to jut drop it at camp on his way by. Clearly none of us gets the fact that Brad is screwed at this point or stop to consider that maybe extra stops isn't what Fish and Game had in mind. Nonetheless, Brad agrees and he, and Fish and Game, are off in a cloud of dust. This is just enough commotion to spook the mules again. Of course the other possibility is that the mules realized upon seeing Fish and Game that we were idiots and were now trying to orchestrate their escape.

Jay continues riding and Dad and I fall in line to start the 700 mile journey back to camp. Stuart takes the walk back as an opportunity to continue to test my commitment to this journey but fails to recognize that I now have my 45-70 Government level action rifle back and that it's loaded with rounds rated to fell and elephant. Taking a cue from my mother's play book, I begin to lecture Stuart about his behavior and ask him if that is how he wants to represent himself in public. Stuart continues to push his luck and I soon realize that if I grab Stuart's lead rope right at his harness, his head has to go wherever I point it. I momentarily consider doing my best Saturday Night Fever routine, but the childhood lectures about being kind to animals quickly comes to the forefront of my mind. I decide for the more humane method of of questioning Stuart's intentions and staring him in the eye..yes eye..no, Stuart is not a pirate mule, he has two eyes, but his head is huge and I can only level my steely stare at one eye at a time. Somehow in my head I imagine this makes me more intimidating to Stuart because I am able to out number his staring power two to one using this method. I don't think it actually made any difference because Stuart made several attempts to run me over or push me off the side of the road on the way back to camp after this stern lecture and "eyeballing" technique. Amazingly enough, stopping and telling Stuart that he was on a "time out" and explaining that he would be the last one back to camp causing the other mules to make fun of him had little to no effect on his behavior either and I was left to the continued battle of the wills for the entire walk back.

About half way back to camp, I am stopped by who I now recognize as Ralphy, who is now driving an Idaho Fish and Game truck. Ralphy gets out and starts asking me questions about Brad. My initially response is, "you are a sneaky little guy." In retrospect, "little guy" was probably the wrong choice of words because Ralphy bristled at the insinuation of his stature. For the record, Ralphy seemed even more like a little guy when he was out of his truck and I realize that he must have actually been riding a Honda Trail 50 rather than a full on dirt bike when I encountered him earlier at the trailhead. Realizing my gaff, I quickly tell Ralphy that I was a retired cop and that he had me fooled when we met him at the trailhead earlier thereby complementing his law enforcement stealth. Ralphy pointed to his green jacket and tried to explain that he wasn't that sneaky but I still have no clue what he was pointing out at the time. I'm guessing he thought he had a badge on his jacket or some other secret "Fish and Game" identification symbol to which I am unaware. Regardless, Ralphy takes this as his opportunity to barrage me with questions about Brad, the deer, Brad's camp, our camp, my hunting license, my driver's license, the speed of an unladen African Swallow in June, the ignition timing on a 57 Chevy with a 350 c.i. motor, epigenetic theory...ok, you get the point, it was a lot of questions. Again, I dutifully answer until Dad returns and gives Ralphy his best F'off cop stare to which, Ralph succumbs causing him to quickly apologize and return to his truck. Apparently Dad still has some protective instinct for his eldest son and I won't be left to fend for myself in the wild like I thought.

We make it back to camp and unceremoniously unsaddle the mules. We then hobble into the trailer and begin comparing bumps, bruises, and stories. During this time, I notice Dad is rubbing his shoulder and saying it's "a little sore." I look and see what looks like a grapefruit being smuggled in the shoulder of his shirt. I ask if that lump is his shoulder and then immediately see "the look." If you don't know what "the look" is, well, imagine the good Lord himself looking into your soul and making you question you right to even exist in human form and you might have a clue as to what "the look" looks like. Un-dissuaded, I soldier forward by asking again about his grapefruit sized lump. Dad relented and admitted that it was indeed his shoulder. Let me say that if I knew as a child that asking the question twice was the kryptonite to "the look," my childhood would have been a lot different.

Upon asking if he could move his arm, Dad responded with his best impression of a mutant prehistoric lobster t-rex and brought his hand up into a claw like maneuver and snapped it open and closed. When I asked if that was all he could move, he responded by saying, "pretty much." Fortunately I have retained enough of my paramedic training over the years to recognize this as a symptom of a dislocated shoulder. I also know that there is a huge difference in being able to return a dislocated shoulder to its respective joint as soon as possible and letting it swell and stiffen further thereby typically requiring surgery. Quickly the discussion turns to finding a nearest hospital to which Dad offers no resistance (again, I should have recognized this as a warning sign that something was actually wrong). After much debate, consulting of maps, and amateur weather forecasting, we decide that a trip into Jackson Hole Wyoming is the best option. Dad and I head for the truck and Jay agrees to hold down the fort until Bill returns. Have you noticed that every day starts with Bill getting up early and riding far, far away from the rest of us? It's like he knows something I don't.

We head for the truck with Dad heading for the driver's seat. I calmly ask if he's "ok" to drive. I see the initial warning signs of "the look" starting to surface, but it is quickly quelled as Dad admits it would probably be best for me to drive. HOLD THE PRESSES!!!!!! Dad has just relinquished the driver's seat of his literally brand new Ford F-150 with less than 5,000 miles on it? Clearly we have entered the Twilight Zone and this is some alternate reality. Dad now heads for the passenger door and tosses me the keys with his one good arm. After twenty minutes of seat adjusting and checking my mirrors out of fear that if I crash Dad will surely kill me, we are off for the hospital.

The hour plus drive to Jackson seems to take days, but we eventually reach the hospital with only one near miss of a pedestrian in downtown Jackson. We enter the hospital and Dad heads for the check-in nurse as I rush to the bathroom...you didn't think we'd be allowed to stop just because I was driving did you? Upon exiting the restroom, I realize that I should probably let someone know we are at the hospital just in case and decide that my wife, Lynn Dansie, is the best option. My call is immediately answered with not hello, but "how do you have signal, why are you calling me, are you in the hospital?" I respond with, "funny you should say that," which Lynn quickly follows with "what did you do?" I am immediately overcome and choked up by her deeply caring and concerned inquiry which results in me being unable to immediately respond. The next thing I hear is Lynn saying, "do you need to let me talk to the nurse?" Oh great, now I'm in trouble and being treated like a child. My indignation overrides the lump in my throat and I respond with a firm, "no, I'm a big boy and can talk for myself." In reality it was probably more like, "IT'S NOT ME, IT'S NOT ME!" Which really explains Lynn's follow up question of "well, who got hurt then?" After obtaining her oath of secrecy because I have not yet received permission to notify "THE MOTHER," I briefly relay the story before cutting the call short because we are being rushed into the ER.

I really wanted to finish this episode tonight folks, but there is still a lot of Episode 5 left to etch into the permanence of Facebook lore. So, I will bid you adieu and ask you to tune in for Part 4 to hear the exciting conclusion of Episode 5...I hope.