WANDERLUST AND VAGABONDS – zuki discovers scooter

Good Morning Itinerant Muses,

I find it highly amusing when expectations collide with reality because it nearly always turns the event into shit. Like a child waiting for Christmas morning I anticipated the new gifts of friendship and understanding, but instead found Aunt Melba’s gift of Fruit Cake. While not a stranger to disappointment, it still hurt to see my dream of discovery morph into ‘Ranger’ Scooter’s guide to outdoor adventure. Knowing what to expect from our ‘Teamster,’ I self-medicated heavily that I might survive the first leg of our adventure with minimal brain damage. After my music selections ended, my driver turned down the CD player and began to point out routes he’d taken or boyhood experiences mixed with dubious historical background. Given my sedated mind-set I was helpless to defend myself and seriously contemplated leaping from Cush’s “Family Truckster.” Finally the spell was broken when Cush pulled to the shoulder and pissed directly into the wind! That was worth the trip!!

Like my last road trip, it became necessary to drive through long stretches of snow and ice. If you’ve ever had to do this you know how white-knuckled and puckered one gets while maintaining control of the car. It seems ‘Scooter’ is impervious to this pressure as he continued to spot wildlife on distant ranges or obvious fire-breaks on the sides of mountains. Not only would he point but would turn his head completely away from the task at hand to further direct my gaze. In spite of continued protests to keep his eyes on the road and while lecturing me about the virtues of ‘mid-gearing’ the warning light indicated we had less than a gallon of gas. We had just passed Rawlings, WY and Wamsutter was about 30 miles away. Our ‘Guide to outdoor adventure’ decided we had enough fuel to make it.

He missed it by “that” much!

We were able to coast to a little roadside establishment called the ‘Desert Bar’ some two miles short of the truck stop. Needing to put some distance between ‘Scooter’ and my mortification I volunteered to make the hike for fuel leaving Cush to visit with Kate and her husband Jed the proprietors of the ‘Desert Bar’ in beautiful Wamsutter, WY. It was cold and blustery but I was grateful for the opportunity to breathe cigarette free air.

Thankfully I was offered a ride back the 2.5 miles to the bar as I was chilled to the bone. I didn’t see Cush so I assumed he was blathering on to Kate and Jed (better them than me). I emptied the gas can and was ready to push on so I walked in. It was worse than I thought. Cush had managed to force the proprietors into a corner and could tell by their expressions they’d had about enough of ‘Scooter.” The phone rang and thought I’d die laughing as both raced to the phone. The loser of course would be left to entertain our effusive driver. Kate grabbed the phone while Jed never looked back and continued out the back door. Cush acted as if he hadn’t noticed and climbed aboard honking at me ready to continue.

Upon arrival in Brigham City, Utah my brother and his lovely bride invited us to join them for a great baked chicken dinner. With the exception of a poorly timed and abhorrent smelling fart Cush handled himself with aplomb and even showed himself to be personable! This honestly surprised me. It was fortunate my family is well versed in the art of timely farting, and actually appreciates the gritty humor it creates.

The next morning we proceeded to my sainted parent’s home to pick up a few items left from the previous days pillaging. There were piles of stuff in the garage, living room, bedrooms, and dining room some of which contained worthy items of value. An hour into the sorting Cush decided that he’d pilfer from all the piles and establish his own claim. By the time I realized he was loading stuff into his truck he’d purloined a mini-stereo, two goose down pillows, 14” flat screen, assorted plastic fruit, and three paint-by-number offerings from my hideous Aunt Melba. I’m not sure what motivated Cush to help himself, but encouraged him to put it all back except the Aunt Melba offerings; nobody wanted them. I understand that Cush’s Son took a liking to them and has hung them on his bedroom wall. Who knows it may be the beginning of an ‘Art’ career. Poor bastard.