The Mule Chronicles...Episode 7

I know you've been waiting...waiting for a long time...but today is the day!!!!!!!

EPISODE 7 of The Mule Chronicles....

Waking from my death slumber on this, the final day of our mule adventure I find myself with a heavy heart. Too soon gone this great adventure has passed and now we are faced with the long drive home. Jay is opting for the less time consuming, but IMHO far more dramatic and emotionally taxing, commercial airline ride home. This of course necessitates a lengthy pre-packing briefing, followed by a packing briefing, followed by a post packing briefing, and rounding out with an on the way to the airport briefing. After all the planning was complete and all the equipment was sorted, we hit the road at the crack of about 8 am. Seriously, we were kind of beat up and tired. We dropped Jay off at the airport, hit the highway, and pointed the truck West towards California.

Still being able to recall the lack of bathroom stops on the way to Utah, I started limiting my fluid intake the day before. I also made sure that I went potty at every available chance before setting off on the drive home so i'm considering myself well prepared. We barrel on down the highway like a meteor screaming to Earth's destruction and soon reach the wild blue skies over Elko Nevada. A quick stop for fuel and snacks is in order since there is no telling when we might stop for chow. I hustle inside the fine minimart, potty, collect provisions, and emerge to be greeted by a sign that not many people will ever live to see. It was like the first snow of the year delicately blanketing the woodland meadow, a baby breaking out in its first fit of laughter, and newborn fawn taking its first steps, that scene in Disney's Fox and The Hound that always makes you cry..ok, sorry you get the point.

I emerge into the frigid cityscape from the warmth and protective sanctity of the minimart to find Dad safely buckled into the...wait for it...big build up here because it is SO unbelievable...PASSENGER SEAT!!!!!!!!! OMG!!!!!!! I HAVE DIED INSIDE A MINIMART!!!! PLEASE DON'T TELL ME I DIED ON A MINIMART TOILET!!!!!!!!

WAIT!!!! Dad must be dead. OH, great! How am I supposed to break this to "The Mother?"

Ok, so this is pretty much how this goes.

Me: What's going on?

Dad: Nothing. Why?

Me: I can't help but notice your seating choice.

Dad: Yep.

Me: You feeling ok? Do we need to go back to the ER?

Dad: I figured I'd let you drive for awhile.

Me: You feeling ok?

Dad: Are you going to drive or not?

Me: No, no, happy to drive.

Me: You're sure your feeling ok? Did something happen while I was in the minimart?

Dad: COP STARE OF DEATH LEVELED IN MY DIRECTION

Me: Yep, we're good. I'm just going to drive now.

And off we go. In classic male family communicative form, not another word of this decision is discussed...EVER! Seriously, this will be the only word of this decision making process ever brought to light. I will spend the rest of my days in bewilderment as to how bad my father could possibly be hurt to require that I drive AFTER we've already been scene in the ER two days prior. Now, I'm not complaining because driving the new Ford F-150 King Ranch Edition with less than 5,000 miles is better than rubbing your bare butt on a sheep skin rug. I mean it is smooth and peppy, hugging the road like I'm driving the Indy 500 in the Pole Position...

Dad: You need to start the truck if we're ever going to make it home.

Me: Yep, just adjusting the seat and getting comfortable.

Dad: Ok, well, let's get on with it then. We're not getting any younger.

Me: Yep, on our way now sir.

Off we go down I-80 like a teenage boys on their first driving lesson. Ok, maybe we weren't both having the same experience. It's clear Dad must have been on his death bed so it was probably more like a dog being driven to the pound on his side.

It's important to note that we had one last mission to complete. I had been previously advised by one Miss Lauren Gehring of a sporting goods mecca that lay in the land of Sparks Nevada. Having heard stories of the grand and glorious nature of Scheel's sporting goods, this is surely a stop that cannot be missed. They have a full size ferris wheel inside, big fish tanks, and guns out for anyone to handle without supervision she says. Must stop she proclaims. Your life will never be the same she confesses. Again, you get the point. This is a must stop on any modern sporting male's must see list and having gotten Dad to concur, we have planned for this stop the entire trip.

We arrive earlier than expected but nonetheless excited. Entering the Southern doors my eyes widen and my heart skips a beat as I am greeted to a glorious archway of Lexan fish tank marvel that frames the check stands. All manner of aquatic beast lay in this tank for all to gaze upon. I feel like Augustus Gloop setting foot into Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and am suddenly struck paralyzed in awe of this wonder with which I am faced. Where does one start? How does one begin such a journey? A flood of ADHD induced excitement overcomes my body and I have started to drool out of the corner of my mouth when the most attractive of all the check out ladies approaches me ask asks, "Are you ok sir?" And I am brought crashing back to reality by this thoughtless woman who clearly has never learned not to startle a wilderness explorer in his natural habitat. I quick cough and I eek out a timid "yes" before scurrying off like a field mouse running from a hawk.

Camping supplies is first on the list and before I make it down the first isle I have $100 worth of items in my hand. I don't even know what they are, but my inner caveman knows you have to grab the good stuff when you can because you might never seen it again. Hunting clothing, shooting supplies, ammo, OH MY! There are literally kids running around with shotguns and nary a parent to be found. Hours, possibly days pass while we wonder this oasis of wilderness engineering. Half way through the store we are confronted by an older gentleman who, clearly seeing that our hands can hold no more, offers us a cart in which to continue our shopping splendor. By the time we return to the check stand area I start to consider asking if they have a short term loan application and whether or not my credit cards will still work after all the "exercise" in Utah. The kind young lady at the counter is all too happy to offer a credit application, but realizing that this will surely not go over well with my account manager (Lynn Dansie), I politely decline before starting to asses what items I think I can live without if my card is declined. Much to my surprise, I haven't spent anywhere near what I thought I would and my card sails through like a Hillary Clinton breezes her way through a public speaking gig for the Clinton Foundation...sorry, too soon? Too soon....sorry.....

We exit the store an are blinded by the dawn's early light...ok, not really but we were in the store F..O..R..E..V..E..R.. I leave Dad under the protective overhang and run through the rain to retrieve the truck like a little school boy fleeing his first kiss. Lighter than air, my feet carry me fast and swift without a single drop of rain falling on my brow...ok, so I'm drenched because we were parked in the north forty and I was likely doing more of a Gene Kelly Singin' in the Rain kind of thing though the parking lot. By Gene Kelly I mean a drunken stampeding elephant kind of thing. I return to find the father warm and dry where I left him tending the cart and we commence to trying to fit our new found wares into the already overloaded truck. After some rearranging and compressing, everything fits and we are back on the road. I haven't eaten all day but my belly is full of joy and I feel fuller than post Thanksgiving Dinner. Did I mention that Dad is still securely fastened in the passenger seat? No? Well, yes, he is. Curious I know, but true I tell you.

We barrel over the California border still recalling from our shopping spree when we are shortly confronted by the most freighting of all of California's law enforcement divisions...the dreaded fruit inspection station. RUT ROW SHAGGY! What if they are looking for imported sporting goods and nobody knows? I instantly go into a state of paranoia that would make the most seasoned LSD user proud. Imagine my relief when we are motioned through without even a second glance. Clearly two middle aged white guys are not on the top of the fruit terror watch list.

We whisk ourselves back home to Brentwood beat, battered, and bruised but full of tales of adventure to last a lifetime. My loving wife merely shakes her head as I bring bag after bag of goodies in from the truck before kissing me on the cheek and saying she's happy I'm home safe. To say that I had a good time is an epic understatement, as I hope these Mule Chronicles are a testament to. New friends, connecting with family, and sharing adventures in manhood in the wilderness amongst good friends are truly some of the best times of my life. I am sorry to see this scout camp grownup edition come to an end but I am eagerly looking forward to what will hopefully be many return adventures.

To my loving wife, thank you for being tolerant of my new hobby and the bucket load of crazy that comes with it.

To Jay, thank you for you guidance (even when somewhat questionable) and fine company.

To Bill, thank you for entrusting me with Stuart despite my repeated attempts to show that it was likely unwarranted trust.

To Stuart, thank you for not killing me. Despite your best efforts I will live to ride again.

To Dad, thank you for inviting me. It was wonderful to spend time with you on this adventure and something that I will remember for years to come.

To "The Mother," thanks for not killing me for Dad getting hurt. It really wan't my fault.

To all of you, thank you for letting me share these adventures with you. I have enjoyed writing them and am thrilled at the the entertainment they have provided.

Until the next time...whoa Stuart, whoa...I said WHOA...Here I go again.

PS. As I write this my lovely wife is watching PBR on ESPN. There might be hope for this new cowboy persona yet. Get along little doggies, that's all she wrote.