Chapter Twenty
My mom knows about lots of things. For example: the night before my first visit to Six Flags I was almost scared to death. I wasn't too worried about not surviving El Toro or Kingda Ka... or any other ride, but I was worried about throwing up. Doing it just before getting on would have been the worst – I don't think I could have ever lived it down - but I also didn't think it would be a good thing if I was 456 feet up in the air or if we were traveling 128 mph. But mom to the rescue. Number one: don't eat anything for at least three hours before. Number two: breathing exercises. And number three: Equate Motion Sickness tablets! Safe for children... anti-vomiting (I particularly liked that part), so...
I wasn't worried nearly as much. Or at least, not about throwing up. Wetting my pants... well, possibly...
But that didn't happen either.
So that brings us to the Desperado, which is no longer the tallest, fastest or steepest in the world, but it's still pretty tall. And fast and steep. It's all relative, but when you first see it looming up out of the desert... oh boy. Both Carlie and Earl started looking nervous. Yes!
But I didn't tease them. Not even when we were about a mile away and all at once, Carlie said, “Stop the car. Now! I'm going to throw up.”
Well, I might have looked a little smug once he was back – as in, “I told you so”, but the way I saw it, better then than while he was on the ride. There's potential blowback and then there's projectile vomit.
So that's why I offered him an Equate again, and he took two. And even though Earl had listened to me and not eaten only an hour before, he decided to take another too, just to be on the safe side.
But my i-Kams worked great! That first drop, Carlie was screaming! Earl had his eyes shut, but the expression on his face was priceless. And the rest of us weren't putting on acts either. If you're falling from a thirty story building, it's not likely that you'll be thinking that it could have been higher. That first drop was 255 feet at a 55 degree angle, so I couldn't even see the track below, so for a moment...
Well, just for a moment, it crossed my mind that it had jumped the track.
But no one threw up in spite of several instances of zero-gravity, and once it was over, everybody wanted to go again. Everybody. Once I got used to it, it was really cool.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So getting “used to it” should explain one of my reasons for not getting on Carlie's case right after he lost his lunch. It was the perfect opportunity, and he deserved it, but the problem was I was taking some deep breaths myself. Stephan and I had been acting like we were old hands, that we weren't scared at all, but the closer we got, the more I was wishing everyone else would chicken out. Or possibly just Elliott. He could've said: “No way! I'm not about to!” and that would've taken care of it, and I wouldn't have said anything more about it until...
Once we were in Oregon, maybe.
But aside from that, I had another reason for caring about Carlie's ego: I was hoping he'd take my fear of camping out in the Mojave Desert into consideration later on. As though there was a chance of that.
But it was supposed to be the night Stephan and I took our last big step, and we really wanted it to be in the comfort of a motel room with a nice convenient bath, and we also didn't want anyone else knowing about it until later, and then we were thinking that we'd let the rest know as much as we were comfortable with. So I didn't think much of heating water for our... hot water bottle over a campfire. Because if it only got down to about eighty that night, we didn't need one and I was sure they'd figure out the rest soon enough.
And we'd also be keeping our tent closed all night, so we'd probably sweat to death, because we already knew that it would only be getting down to around eighty at little before daybreak. At ten the night before in Vegas, it had still been almost a hundred!
So we would've sweated to death, there's no doubt about it. But why didn't we want our tent a little more open?
Overlooking Gila Monsters, wolves, coyotes and scorpions, I can still think of at least six more reasons: speckled rattlesnakes, red diamond rattlesnakes, sidewinders, Western rattlesnakes, Western Diamondbacks and Mojave rattlesnakes. If bitten by a member of the speckled, red diamond or sidewinder variety, you could die.
Then there's the Western rattlesnake. Its venom is extremely toxic, and it's irritable. Not shy and reclusive like the Prairie rattlesnake.
And if that wasn't bad enough, the Western Diamondback is responsible for more human deaths that any other snake in the country, and there were supposed to be a lot of them in the Mojave.
But if that's not bad enough, then there's the Mojave rattlesnake, the most dangerous snake in all of North America. It's aggressive – not the least bit shy – fairly large-bodied and its venom is ten times more toxic than that of any other rattlesnake in the country. Just one bite is sufficient to kill a human, so...
We'd surely be sweating to death, even if we'd also be worried about the possibility of one of those snakes chewing its way inside. That's distracting. Whether it's likely or not, it still is.
But of course Carlie was poo-pooing us tenderfoots. Even after I didn't say anything about him losing his lunch, he was still saying stuff like as long as we didn't pitch our tent in the middle of a brush pile, there was nothing to worry about, and they weren't even bothering with a tent, because they would be sleeping under the stars... along with the scorpions and the bobcats and the mountain lions and the wolves and the coyotes, so we (Stephan and I, along with Elliott) would be sleeping in the car, so that meant our next big step would have to be put on hold...
Unless maybe we wanted to mention it to everyone else. Not that I had much hope of that working either, because Carlie and Earl had never done it in the middle of the desert, and they were looking forward to it. Damn perverts...
Well, all right, I would have given in eventually. We were supposed to be camping out on our trip and more often than not it was going to be in the wilderness. I was still hoping we could ease into it, but I probably would've that very night, because lots of people do camp out in the Mojave National Preserve (not that I noticed any other tents) - but we'd already looked it up along with all the wildlife and people do camp out in there. It's not like it's crawling with snakes and scorpions and wolves and God only knows what else, and it really would be awesome to go to sleep under all those stars. (Even if I still had my doubts about doing it naked because of what you might find in your shoes or clothes come daybreak.)
But even so, watching the sun come up over the desert could be almost a mystical experience, and I'm sure my mom would be all for it. Or at least some of it, but...
Before any of that could happen we saw Squeak and Alexander out on the Interstate.
Actually they were on the side of it, watching the traffic go by, apparently looking for an opening. Only on I-15 between Vegas and LA, there aren't many of those. Those poor cats would be flattened! So we had to stop.
So they scampered up and then Squeak put a paw up as though he was begging us, and he squeaked. He didn't meow, he squeaked, so that's how he got his name. And Alexander (short for Alexander the Cat) was rubbing up against my leg, so we picked them up. Only Alexander wanted to be put back down. Squeak didn't seem to mind, though. He was soo cuddly... and seriously, if he wasn't run over, a rattlesnake or a coyote would get him, sure as the world, but we were wondering if Alexander wanted his butt saved or not.
But we couldn't just leave them there. We just couldn't!
So that's why we didn't camp out that night, because we couldn't leave them out in the open and we also couldn't keep them in our tent because with the flap closed, they'd suffocate. And if not, they'd still be getting in our way. We were pretty sure of that.
The simplest thing would've been to have to gone back to Vegas, but we knew we'd never get them past the security cameras, and even if we did, we'd never be able to sneak them onto an elevator. And we weren't taking them to the pound because number one: it was almost certainly closed for the night, and number two: they'd probably just put them to sleep anyway. So... no... way.
The next town heading west was Baker, home of the world's largest thermometer and not much else. There were a few motels but, flea bags or not, they were all full, so after stopping at a convenience store for some cat litter, something that would pass for a litter box, a plastic bowl and some cat food, we headed on to the next town, which was Barstow, sixty miles away.
Speaking of fleas, though, they had flea collars that apparently still worked and they also seemed to be housebroke. Or car broke. A few miles beyond Baker, Squeak started pawing at the side window. Then he looked at me and squeaked softly, so they were breaking us in quickly enough. We stopped, they jumped out, did their business and then jumped back in.
And it didn't seem as though they minded our music. I think they liked our latest find, HEM, (their “Rabbit Songs” album), quite a bit. It is a very laid back album.
In Barstow we finally found a motel with a vacancy sign, only by then it was past ten, (one in Orlando), so calling my mom was out of the question. She might've still been up, but she also might not've, so...
“Maybe I can talk us in,” I said. “Probably not the cats, though. So I guess me and Stephan...” (sigh) “well, we'll spend the night in the car... long as the manager doesn't mind, but anyway... we're from St. Cecilia's and we- “
“Saint Cecilia! I've heard of her,” cut in Elliott excitedly, “she's the one who had her head chopped off three times. ... Or so they said. I never could figure that out, but-”
“She's the patron saint of musicians and it wasn't chopped off three times, they just tried three times,” explained Stephan.
“Oh,” said Elliott. So-”
“Or so they say,” added Stephan, “but anyway, what's your plan, Natty?”
Well, I was hoping that someone other than me and Stephan would volunteer to stay with the cats, but... “I'm glad we finally got to that, Stephan... and Elliott...” then after taking a deep breath, I continued. “We're from St. Cecilia's in New York, and we're on our way to East LA. See, we're doing some volunteer work. Once my mom volunteered for a week and I went along, so it's almost the truth, except I'm rearranging the facts a little, but to save money, we've been camping out, but we saw the cats, right? So we couldn't just leave them out there, so we've got money for emergencies, and this is one, and I could wake my mom up so she could talk to the manager, but she's asleep and has to get up at 5:30-”
“I think St. Agnes would be even better,” interrupted Stephan.
“Well, what did she do?” wondered Elliott.
“She's the patron saint of chastity. ... And virgins. ... And gardeners,” said Stephan.
Elliott started, “Gardeners? What has that got to do with-”
“I'm going to stick with St. Cecilia because in the fifth grade, she's the one who ended up costing me a week's allowance,” I cut in. “So, Elliott, you're the one with a driver's license, so let's see what we can manage here.”
St. Francis of Assisi probably would have been even more fitting, though. Or St. Gertrude, the patron saint of cats.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Or possibly St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, because we managed better than I ever thought we would, almost to the point of it being downright miraculous. Even if I had a good feeling about it when we walked into the office and were greeted by two of the lady's cats, and since she was obviously Hispanic, I figured the bit about St. Cecilia would go over pretty good, but still, we ended up with two rooms, and after she saw our cats, (and their flea collars), she said we could let them stay inside too! As long as we kept them in the bathroom.
So okay then! Except for one problem, and that was, apparently Squeak had adopted Stephan. So that was two problems, because if Squeak was staying in our room, then Alexander was too, he made that plain enough. I liked those cats an awful lot, but... this was supposed to be our night. The night.
But oh well, they'd be safe and in no danger of suffocation in the bathroom. We fixed them a box with two towels in the bottom, so they could sleep in that. After all they'd been through, they probably needed some sleep.
But first it was time for Stephan's enema. Since he insisted on being fucked first, he'd get the enema first, it was that simple. Or, at least, the part about who was on the receiving end first was simple enough, but beyond that, no. Not with two inquisitive cats watching our every move and wanting...
There's really not a delicate way of putting this. If we'd run some water into the tub first, it probably would've kept the cats out, but we didn't think of that, and soon as Stephan pulled his legs up, the cats were checking him out. You would have thought I'd just lubricated him with Cat Chow. But we have our limits, so no. As in no... way!
Even if we thought it was funny.
And it's true that Laurent (in Murmur of the Heart), tried something with a kitten. It was off-camera and left to our imagination, but I think his idea was to be licked off... which might not have worked too well...
But... yeah, Laurent Chevalier was very seriously horny all right... but anyway, soon as we could stop laughing, we decided on another position. From my standpoint, it looked to be equally vulnerable and even more inviting, but at least he wasn't as much of a target for the cats. After disconnecting the business end of the enema tube and clamping it, Stephan got out of the tub, knelt, lowered his head and chest forward until the left side of his face was touching the floor, and... !!!!
It didn't take two quarts, though, he was ready long before that. I sure didn't want to overfill him. That's all I'm going to say about it except for the fact that Stephan at least has some modesty, because once it was time to sit and expel, he wanted me out and I could close the door behind me. And he also wanted those cats out: I could just hold them until he was finished.
I was relieved, though, because I didn't want him watching me either.
So. That gets us past the enema part, and then Stephan was on his tummy on the bed with a towel underneath him just in case. He was lubricated and so was I. We were about to do it! Really do...
Well, except for those cats again. They didn't care what the lady behind the desk said, they did not want to be shut up in the bathroom, they wanted to be with us! So they were scratching on the bathroom door and meowing and squeaking, and that's still distracting. We wanted our first time to be just about us, together in a way that transcended... cats!
We were going to have to do something about those cats, that's all there was to it, but right then, we had to let them out. Into the room. So they could hop up on the bed. And God only knows what else.
So we'd do it someplace else, then. There are lots of different positions, and we intended to try as many as possible. Eventually, you betcha. But first, after giving the cats some more cat food to keep them occupied – hopefully - Stephan leaned over one of the two chairs in the room, spread his legs a little... and then a little more, and I started feeling light-headed. But I shuffled forward, got everything centered, took a deep breath, and it was all good.
There was some resistance at first, but I was expecting it. Actually I was expecting a lot – because I've heard that the first few times, that sphincter can be stubborn - but A: we were both lubricated, B: it's still a fact of life, it's slender, (even if it's a lot bigger around than a pencil by now), C: I'd already had two fingers in and D: he pushed back hard as I pushed forward, and all at once... right up the chute. Not as far in as I could go – I'm guessing I was at about the three inch mark, but it honestly was like a warm, slippery glove... a velvet tunnel... a squirming...
“Push!” panted Stephan.
So obviously there was no point in asking if he wanted me to pull it back out. I wish I'd had a little more time to savor it all though - `cause you know, there's only one first time...
But practice makes perfect, I guess. Next time it would last longer. Next time, I'd give his button a workout, I'd drive him right over the edge, I'd just keep slowly sawing in and out, in and out, a little to the left, a little... in another direction... but the first time didn't last long. I almost felt like it shouldn't even have counted, that's how long it didn't last, but I got excited. I don't think there was any way I couldn't have been. But then once it was over with, I was let down, and other than we'd technically done it, Stephan said he was too. So no, he certainly wasn't driven over the edge.
“Sorry,” I managed, “but... once... I... well, once... eventually... you... humping back... will be good... it'll be real-”
“Don't go anywhere,” he cut in quickly, “gotta go, but soon as I get back...” (he was headed for the bathroom), “...we'll see how much you like getting it up your ass!”
Well, I liked it a lot, but - you've probably guessed already - Stephan became too excited even sooner than I did. Well, the even quicker part might not have been guessed, but the problem was, my sphincter muscle was more stubborn than his. I was pushing back as hard as I could, but we were starting to wonder. One of those misguided patrons against sexual temptation had surely locked him out, but finally the gap was breached. Just barely, but it was in there, so, “Push!” I implored. But it hurt a little, so I had slightly mixed emotions. Meaning: I didn't want it to hurt a whole lot more, but I did want it to hurt some. I'd heard that you can quickly become addicted to that sweet pain, and I was certainly looking forward to it, but... not this time. Two times he hit my button. Only two times, and just barely.
So after our first time, we weren't in a position to make many comparisons, but if you're on the receiving end of a blow job, the other person is in control. Mostly. He can pause, he can move it around in his mouth, all sorts of wonderful things, but still, in the pantheon of sex acts, fucking is at the top of almost everyone's list. That's why we saved it for last, after all. So we were definitely going to try some more, and the next time would probably last longer. A lot longer. We had faith.
Squeak and Alexander behaved themselves admirably: they curled up on our bed and simply went to sleep. And when we decided to crawl into bed ourselves, they didn't bother us too much. When we woke up, they were resting comfortably on top of us, purring contentedly. So that was nice too.
Except for wondering how we were supposed to get rid of them. Eventually, we had to... I guessed...
But not right away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elliott wanted to experience LA traffic, but we didn't want to experience it with him, so we didn't stay on I-15: just beyond Barstow we took State Highway 58 towards Hinkley, Four Corners and Edwards Air Force Base, and if it hadn't been for the cats, we would have visited the Flight Test Center Museum. It would have been interesting. There's the X-1, the X-15 and a good many other planes, but obviously we couldn't leave the cats inside the car.
So at Four Corners we headed north on U.S. 395. There was quite a bit of traffic, some headed for Death Valley, some for Yosemite, but we'd already decided not to risk Death Valley because the air conditioner seemed to be on the verge of giving up the ghost. We'd noticed that it wasn't cooling us off as much as before about halfway between Baker and Barstow, and while we were hoping it just needed some more freon, the problem was, it needed R12 freon. Carlie said it had to be R12.
So that still wouldn't have been a problem in Oxmar, but it was in California because even if you could find some, it could only be sold to a certified A/C technician and then they had to put it in. That's what we discovered in Barstow. Along with if we wanted this certified technician to take care of it, he could squeeze us in in about a week, until then, he was booked solid. We did not want to spend a week there!
We thought it was all because of the A/C technicians's lobby, that's what we thought, but whatever, that took care of Death Valley. We had no idea how they managed it back in the olden days before there was air conditioning, but none of us were keen to find out. And much as we hated to, we also decided to pass on Yosemite. I'd visited there once, and it was bumper to bumper. It's beautiful, but the problem is, too many people want to visit.
So just north of Pearsonville, home to 27 intrepid souls and 80,000 hubcaps, we decided it was time to take a road less traveled. We were headed off on J41 into the Inyo National Forest. As far as we were concerned, being in a forest meant there would be some shade, so that's why we planned to drive through that and then on through the adjoining Sequoia National Forest, but somehow we got off onto another road, and it wasn't designed for station wagons. It was very rough road with huge ruts, but until we could find a place to turn around we were on it, so Stephan and I decided to make the best of the situation. So it might help if I were to first explain the situation a little further.
We got hot and bored on 395, so we decided it was time for some more performance art, and even though we didn't have to, we let Carlie and Earl wear our Frank the Bunny masks again, leaving us with only those silly-looking Bugs Bunnys. At first, Elliott swore he wasn't going to join us, but he finally gave in and put on Earl's floppy rabbit ears (the originals), because if you're chauffeuring four others wearing rabbit heads, then you're going to look unusual no matter what, even without pink long johns. Long johns were out, and so were the jump suits. We weren't in Death Valley, but we were in still in the desert. So we opted for the choir robes again. We figured we might as well take them with us, because we couldn't see John ever having any use for them. So no, we weren't naked from the neck down. Later on, maybe, but not on U.S. 395 in the middle of the day. (We still got some interesting looks, though.)
But there was hardly any traffic on J41, and then once on that other road, there was none. It was very rough. Earl and Carlie were both up front and after a particularly bone-jarring bump, Earl said slyly, “Hey, Carlie, want to sit in my lap? ... We'll just talk about whatever pops up.” That's when it hit us, (as in !!!!, again), and so, giggling quietly, in no time at all we'd found the little green can. The audacity! We were going to do it without them even knowing!
I mean, think about it. Were we wearing anything beneath our robes? Of course not. But we could surreptitiously reach up inside our robes and apply the goop, right? (We managed.) Then Stephan climbed into my lap. (He'd already whispered that it was his turn again. And he hoped it lasted longer than take one.) So okay, I had to quickly hike my robe up, but nobody up front was paying any attention. And of course, Stephan also had to hike his up in back, but once settled in, he let his robe fall, so unless you looked close, you couldn't tell what was going on.
Unless the expressions on our faces gave us away. Because with me guiding him with my hands on his hips, we centered it on the first try, and we both gasped. If not for our music, it would have been a very audible one, because if you sit on it, then you can just forget about easing it in. As in: whomp... “GASP!... Oh boy.”
But we'd gone down on each other before leaving the motel that morning, so now we could last longer. And also, Elliott was by then just creeping along, because he didn't want to knock something loose underneath, so the bumps weren't as bone-jarring, but there still were some. As in: WHOMP! “GASP!!! ... oh god.”
On my end, it felt... well, there aren't any words to convey how it felt... but needless to say, it felt unbelievably good, and I hardly had to do anything! I was stuck!
Stuck in you
I've got this feeling down deep in my soul that I just can't lose
Guess I'm on my way...
Well, sorry, but I sure wanted it to be a long trip. It was awesome!
As for Stephan... well, he knew my dick couldn't go too far in because, after all, it was still connected to me. He was occasionally wishing it was bigger, but until that happened, we'd have to be content with the way things were, which really wasn't so bad, because every time his magic button was rubbed, he was wanting it to happen again. If we'd been in a jeep or on the back of an ATV, we could have been going faster and bouncing violently, but it wasn't long until slowly easing along was leaving a lot to be desired, so he placed his hands on the seat – one on each side of me - and started pushing up and down... so we were both feeling better and better... and forgetting everything else. As in, “Oh shit shit shit shit,” and so on. Happy, blissed out sounds. We barely even noticed that Squeak had climbed into his lap. (He was just enjoying the ride though. In an innocent, non-sexual manner of course, but he's the braver or the two. Alexander still wasn't too sure about our rabbit heads.)
Then: “Oh... my God!” exclaimed Elliott, “Are you doing what I think you're doing?”
... “What?” I asked. I think that's what I said, but I'm not sure.
“Shit!” Carlie yelled, “Back up, Elliott, back up! We gotta go down this road again!”
“I can't back up,” said Elliott plaintively.
Then moments later, “Oh shit shit shit shit!” and with that, it felt like Stephan's insides clamped down. You can feel it! He was orgasming and I was feeling it!
So just as soon as that squirming, slippery softness let go of me a little... I actually saw stars. It was so awesome, I didn't even feel embarrassed once it was over. Of course, everybody else was asking if we enjoyed ourselves, so finally, I managed, “Yeah... quite... a bit... actually.”
“Yeah,” said Stephan dreamily, “but you better stop. I think... I have to go, again.”
So we stopped, and I looked smug.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Deciding to go at it in the back seat while were bumping down a dirt bike trail wasn't all that weird, because Carlie and Earl had already gone at it in front of us, so why not? It was simply too good of an opportunity to pass up.
So Carlie and Earl going to it as soon as we were underway again also wasn't so weird. Under the circumstances, it would have been weird only if they hadn't.
And Elliott's stopping – on a steep downgrade – wasn't weird either, because in lieu of anything else, whacking off made perfect sense. If we were unhinged, then he could be too. He could do himself with one hand and Carlie with the other! He was beside him, so again, why not?
In fact...“Suck it,” said Carlie hurriedly.
So I think Carlie came out best - getting fucked and sucked at the same time - but it all made sense. If you think about it long enough, then this entire story makes perfectly good sense. It's simple. I saw an opportunity with Earl, I went for it, and one thing led to another, just like dominoes.
Except for stumbling across Elliott at the fertilizer factory... that was strange, but it's like I told him when he was still having trouble believing it all: it had happened, so there was no point in worrying about it.
But having said all that, open or not, gay boys are still a distinct minority, so...
So how was it that we kept running into them, then?
I have no idea, but I'm still not going to worry about it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It started like this: we were in the Sequoia National Forest by then, so we were hoping we'd be soon be near the Giant Sequoia groves, but the problem was, we were still on that goat path heading more or less southwest, so we were headed in the wrong direction. We still hadn't found a place where we could turn around. Not until we'd gone at least five more miles, when we reached the South Fork of the Kern River and the trail ended.
So our only choice was to go back up that road or whatever it was, but we weren't sure if the station wagon could manage it. Letting it cool off for awhile wouldn't hurt our chances, though, and since we were hot and sweaty ourselves, and since the water looked calm, in no time at all, we were out of our clothes and once the initial shock of jumping into a river fed by snow melt from the Sierra Nevadas wore off, we had a wonderful time. Water fights, taking turns ganging up and dunking each other under... which led to Stephan getting water up his nose... which then led to the best part. He was coughing and sputtering, so I was asking if he was all right, and when he wheezed out that he wasn't exactly, I guessed he needed some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, which led to a reenactment of the From Here To Eternity beach kissing scene. In 1953, it was shocking, and in 2009, it was still electric. Especially when I was right on top of him. Earl was yelling, “Cut! Cut! That's not how they did it!”
Like we really cared, but eventually, we had to come up for air, and that's as far as we took it, even if that was only because we needed some more time to recuperate from the last time. Not that we weren't showing some signs of being ready to go again... and as for Elliott... who was doing some awfully heavy breathing... again...
Elliott was a nice guy, but more and more, we were thinking we needed to get him to his Markus before he turned into another Rasputin. `Course, he'd probably be saying we'd finally driven him over the edge, so it really wasn't his fault, but...
But whatever, we were soon on our way back up. Carlie was driving this time, but he wasn't exactly brimming with confidence. Not with him saying he didn't think it was possible.
“We'll probably have to call a tow truck,” said Stephan glumly, “except there's no telling how far we'll have to walk before I can get some bars, and even then, I'd like to know how it's supposed to get to us.”
“Let's just try to think positive,” said Earl... without really sounding that way...
But in spite of that, we were making good progress. Sometimes, we'd be going close to thirty miles an hour, and I had my camcorder going. The way I was looking at it, either we'd make it back up or we wouldn't, but either way, I wanted a record of it. So I was also more or less providing a running commentary From The Little Engine That Could, as in: “I... think... we... can, I... think... we... can, I... think...... we...... might...
“Oh wow. Would you look at that drop off. Let's see if we can zoom in... a little...not so close, Carlie!”... and so on...
When Stephan interrupted me with: “Over to your left, Natty, quick! Over to your left... a little in front of us.”
So I was expecting some wild life, but in a meadow down below, probably a little less than 200 yards away... “Holy shit!”
It was a herd of... (we later counted thirteen)... boys, ranging in age from around eleven or twelve on up to I guess fourteen... except for one who looked to be sixteen or seventeen. (We guessed he was in charge, because we saw no adults.) But they were gleefully running around with their Super Soakers, and they were starkers. All of them. Even though five were at least sporting semis and three others were practically straight up. We checked later on, and since I was zoomed in to the max more often than not, it was plain enough. At 200 yards, it was like I was only fifty feet away, and they weren't out of sight until we were less than a hundred yards away!
I was almost hoping we'd have some more car trouble about then.
Even if it might not have been a good thing. Not really, because we'd be badly outnumbered, so even though they noticed us, and even though we then gave them peace signs which they returned with no apparent reluctance, we could still imagine them deciding to ambush us on up the road a bit.
We road warriors sure could, and once we finally – and I suppose somewhat miraculously or at the very least, anti-climatically - were back on J41 and from there on to State Highway 178 headed towards Bakersfield, we had a nice time giving voice to some of our more colorful imaginings. As in “Oh, no!”, “ACK!” and so on.
There's not much point in my inserting them into this story, though, because if I did, I'd probably end up with so many loose ends, I wouldn't even know where to start.
Well, take that back. Starting wouldn't be a problem, but finishing could be, because... here's an example...
Once we started reviewing what I'd shot on my camcorder, we noticed something else. Before I'd zoomed in, I'd been wanting to capture the overall scene – their tents, the meadow and everything in the background, and that's when we noticed two two flags. One was flying upside down. Troop xxxx, Bakersfield, California, it said. I'll not blow their cover, but we gathered that they were in a rebellion of sorts, and from the second flag - in front of one of the tents - we guessed we knew what they were rebelling against, because it was a rainbow flag.
Seriously. Thirteen Scouts in favor of inclusiveness. One of these days, it might be a good story, even if things sexual end up being fairly repetitious.
But then... about twenty miles out of Bakersfield, we had something else to imagine, and this time, it was a major!