The Mule Chronicles...Episode 5...Part 2
(I'm skipping The Walking Dead to write this so bring on the likes, shares, and comments people)

When we last left our now weathered and someone beleaguered, but still ruggedly handsome mule riding rebels they had each just experienced individual mule rodeos while falling ever deeper into the Evil Brad's grasp. Your leading man (That's me in case you forgot) was just sent skyward by his arch nemesis Stuart. 

Having learned from my first mule saddle ejection mishap, I decide that I am going off the back of Stuart and aiming to land on my rear end this time thinking that if I fall on my face one more time I would be breaking ribs for sure. In a dismount that would make the most seasoned Cirque du Soleil member proud I release Stuart's reigns, extend my arms, and lean backwards to embrace the inevitable suck that is about to follow. In my mind's eye I pictured this to look something like the opening scene from Dances with Wolves where Kevin Costner rides out in front of the enemy lines in an effort to end his torment. In reality I'm guessing it really looked something more like one of the Funniest Home Videos compilations of people falling or being hit by unseen objects. Having failed to adequately compensate in my plan for Newton's First Law of Motion I hit the ground on the right side on my body, with emphasis on the right hip which just happens to be where my trusty Kimber 1911 .45 handgun is riding in its custom Ostrich skin holster. I feel the initial impact with the ground followed by what feels like a cheese grater grinding into my love handle and fat roll. Later I would learn that it was the custom 30 lines per inch checkering that I insisted be added to the gun in order to allow for an enhanced non-slip grip. Had I known that the enhanced non-slip grip would be responsible for trying to remove my kidney via abrasion I might have chosen another option, like bubble wrap maybe. 

Once I finish sliding to a stop like Buster Posey coming into home plate and wincing from the pound of flesh my 30 lines per inch checking has left in my wake, I spring to my feet (Ok, slowly lumber to my feet while softly whimpering to myself so as not to alert my fellow adventurers). I realize I have no idea how far we have trekked into the backcountry but estimate that we have clearly made it to Alaska and the mules are going to be critical for the return trip because there is no way I am walking that far...though there was this one time I tried to walk back to Alaska, never mind, bad story and I can't afford more therapy right now. I look quickly around and realize I can't see anyone other than Brad, who has the most bewildered and confused look on his face. As I start to walk back toward where I last recall seeing Jay and Dad, I start to become concerned that people have died or at least been rendered unconscious from the fall. I assume the worst and realize that not only will I still need to pack out Brad's doe, but now I will likely be packing out two bags of coarsely ground people. Much to my relief I see Dad's head pop up followed quickly by Jay's. I now have to try to contain my laughter because it looks exactly like a scene from Meerkat Manor were all of the meerkats go on high alert looking for danger. While both Jay and Dad look dazed and confused I trust that Brad will take good care of their rescue (he is a retired Army Ranger after all) and now turn my attention to recovering our errant backcountry Uber rides.

I start hiking down the trail that I last saw the mules on with the stealth and presence of a seasoned tracker (I'm part Indian after all, feather not dot). I soon pass Ben who is wondering around like a child whose parents have left them alone just a little too long and surmise that he will clearly be rounded up by Jay in short order. Annie and Stuart are nowhere to be seen and I assume that they have made it well into Canada with Annie still fleeing the dead for carcass that she is convinced is out to kill her. I pick up the pace in the continuance of my tracking mission. I see hoof prints, smell the scent of panicked mule, and examine every broken branch in the belief that it will quickly lead me to my prize. Ok, so truth be told, first I found a dead doe that looked suspiciously like the one previously chasing Annie and a significant trail of gear that had previously been lashed to Stuart's saddle. Gear that I paid good money for and had yet to use was now strew about the wilderness like some kind of pioneer yard sale. I make a mental note to discuss this turn of event with Stuart as I collect my belongings and continue down the trail. 

I reach the end of the trail and find the same two florescent orange hunters that were previously helping Brad now in possession of what they exclaim to be two "might fine looking horses." I just nod and say thank you to the city folk before being forced to listen to the "harrowing" (their words, not mine) tale of how they had to catch these two "horses" that seemed to be running from something. After a few more head nods and shaking of hands, I collect Annie and Stuart and promptly lash them to the nearest trees to ensure they won't attempt to re-enact the great escape. Side note, I was later told that I should have lashed the misbehaving mules' noses as close to the tree as possible because apparently this tells the mules they have done something "undesirable," at least far more so than my stern words and best cop stare. 

Now winded, battered, and bruised I decide I've earned a bit of a rest and figure my fellow wilderness tamers will be along shortly. Clearly someone heard my wishes, because low and behold my traveling companions emerge from the woods with grins on their faces and a clearly concerned Brad in tow. After a short exchange of pleasantries, I announce that I will hike back in on foot with Brad and help him haul out his now well tenderized deer carcass. I receive a "you're crazy" nod from my father and a winded "whatever" fro Jay before setting out back into the wilderness with Brad. 

Brad is doing his best to create small talk along the way and I am doing my best to seem far fitter than I am and hide my wheeze laden breathing. Brad soon brings up the dreaded question, "what do you do for a living?" I quickly asses my options and evaluate my ability to shoot Brad in the back with my .45 before he has a chance to turn on me before deciding to deflect the question by saying I'm retired. Of course Brad is far too persistent and wants to know what I use to do. It's clear that neither mule trainer nor rodeo star are going to fly and so I wade firmly into questionable territory and tell him I used to be a cop. Now this can go a couple of ways. 1- "F*&% the police" and the fight ensues (in which case shooting Brad is a viable option because honestly who is going to debate my ability to fight back after hearing this story). 2 - "I love the cops," in which case I have to hear about every law enforcement person Brad has even been near in his life as well as hearing about his favorite episode of Cops. Lucky for me Brad goes with lesser know option 23 - Confess his related profession and we bond as bothers (now, I have no clue whether or not Brad is lying about being a juvenile probation officer and frankly I'm way too beat up to care. I'm just happy that any fight with Brad is now at least postponed). 

We arrive at Brad's deer and he announces that he will just carry it out on his back if I will help him hoist it up there. I choke back an irate "Are you freaking kidding me" and decide agreement is the best course of action because he has a rifle and I'm so fat that he'll gun me down faster than a tin can at a carnival shooting gallery. Brad crouches down on the ground as I take one last look around for escape routes and we hoist said deer onto Brad's back. Brad decides he can't carry both the deer and his rifle and asks me to carry his rifle. I figure this is good because if things go sideways, it's a lot easier to shoot him with the rifle than it is for me to hit him with the dead deer. 

Part way back down the trail, Brad asks if I would take his picture with my camera and send it to him when I get signal, he'll give me his number later. Of course I am sucked in and agree. Clearly Brad doesn't know me or my family history of essential tremor that makes any photo look like it was taken during the middle of an epileptic fit but nonetheless, we stop and Brad poses for a brief photo shoot. Now I should note that this has become rather familiar at this point because Jay requires a lot of photography when involved in any activity. Photos before we saddle the mules, photos after we saddle the mules, photos of him in front of his mule, photos of all of us in front of his mule, photos of us leaving camp, photos of us on the trail, photos of us arriving at our destination but still on the mules, photos of...ok, you get the point. So in reality, this seems totally normal at this point. In Jay's defense, I will say that we probably wouldn't have any of the photos we have if it wasn't for Jay because I come from a family where family photos usually result in bloodshed and beatings...yet again, I digress, but many thanks to Jay for the photo evidence that accompanies my posts. We make it what feels like a hundred miles down the trail when I realize I've lost my jacket somewhere along the way. I immediately begin debating the value of said jacket and whether or not it warrants going back. Of course it is my favorite Duluth Trading Firehose Shirt-jack and I decide I cannot live without it. Brad is all too happy to take a break and I once again, hike back down the trail in search of my belongings. Luckily for me, my jacket is only about 50 miles back down the trail and I sprint back down the trail to like a one legged man who's lost a shoe. Brad and I then make our way back to the trailhead.

Upon our arrival, I am pleased to find Dad and Jay because I thought for sure they'd fled for the safety of the trailer likely having left a note on Stuart saying he was my problem now. Brad lashes his kill to his 4 wheeler and I note the arrival of a new character in our tale. This new character is a younger man (we'll call him Ralphy because I have no clue what his real name is and that seems as good a name for him as any) is short and adorned in an odd combination of flannel patterns. Ralphy is riding a dirt bike that looks like it just rolled off of the showroom floor and is carrying a shotgun. Not any sort of deer hunting shotgun, but rather a bird gun. Ralphy promptly asks if we've seen any "birds," to which we all say no and give it no further thought. Now mind you, this is the middle of deer season and a day before Elk season and none of us find it odd that Ralphy is looking for birds. Clearly we've all sustained head injuries at this point because we've lost all common sense. After a short breather and some additional chit chat with Ralphy, I decide it's time to hoist myself back onto Stuart.

I untie Stuart from the tree and walk him into the middle of the road. I summon my inner equine ballerina and hoist my foot into the stirrup only to have Stuart start to walk away. I quickly avert disaster and firmly yank on Stuart's lead rope. Stuart throws some more side eye my way and I'm pretty sure I hear him mutter "what" in his best petulant teenager voice. Having watched this initial exchange and clearly fearing some sort of civil tort should things go poorly, Brad rushes over with an offer to hold Stuart while I get on. This soon proves to be about as helpful as a teaspoon to bail out a row boat in a tsunami, as my second attempt to perch myself atop Stuart results in Stuart bolting from Brad's grasp and me flying off his back like a paratrooper jumping into France on D-Day. I find myself laying on my back on the dusty road, missing a boot, my sock partially pulled off, and my cowboy hat brim once again propping my head up like a bicycle kickstand. I quickly announce that I am going to "lay right here for minute" and honestly hope that Stuart has run so far away that I will never see him again. Ralphy quickly inquires as to if I am ok or not and then scampers down the road to retrieve my boot and mule. Lucky for me, Ralphy finds my boot in the nearest mud puddle (thanks for that Stuart) and comes back to inform me that "that other guy caught your mule." I've now raised myself from the ground for the third time this trip and commence to trying to fix my sock and don my boot. Brad announces that I should just ride his 4 wheeler back to camp because I'm "starting to look a little beat up." You think? Not stopping to consider the predicament riding someone else 4 wheel with a deer (a doe at that!) that I did not kill might put me in, I quickly take Brad up on his offer, though quickly was more like short single word broken statements as I am still trying to catch my breath and asses the damage this latest attempt to interact with the space time continuum has caused. I limp over to Brad's 4 wheeler and briefly consider the prospects of falling off if it but decide it's much closer to the ground than Stuart and thus, dismiss this prospect as "irrational." A quick orientation to the controls from Brad and a promise that he will walk my mule out and I am off like a turd of hurdles. I completely fail to take note that Dad has decided to walk his mule out as being any indication that he might be injured (anyone that saw the Jackson Wyoming teaser post will realize that is clearly the case). 

I ride slowly down the road with the initial idea that I will try to keep the other's in sight. I quickly abandon this idea as I recall a nice camp with a roaring fire near the entrance to this particular fire road and start working on a plan to get them to tend my wounds and feed me fine campfire roasted food while I wait for my trail worn saddle mates to catch up. As I crest the last hill before the promised land I get my first sight of not one, but two Idaho Fish and Game trucks parked at the side of the road. HOUSTON! WE HAVE A PROBLEM!

Tune in to Episode 5, Part 3 for what might be the exciting conclusion to Episode 5 or it could just be another blatant marketing ploy by the backers of AMC's The Walking Dead. 

I really am sorry, I hate multi-part episodes too.