DOWN BY THE RIVER

Warning:  drunks on tubes! Do not approach!

DOWN BY THE RIVER
Greetings gentle readers. Today’s story begins with a warning. If you do not feel you should be exposed to adult situations you may wish to divert your eyes to something else. I would suggest a training video on treating chainsaw injuries or perhaps a film on slaughterhouse procedures. This story won’t be pretty. No story that features middle aged, wrinkled, flabby men, and the women who are stuck with them, can be pretty. Not with this group, anyway.

The story began several months ago when friend Donna scoured the internet looking for a good place to stay in the Texas hill country where we could tube in a river. Donna is a chronic over-achiever. I don’t know how she has time for anything extra like this. She has recently bought a medical practice and manages it. She is going to school to get her 3rd or 4th Masters Degrees, and she is also in the army reserve. She was recently promoted to Lieutenant Governor, or Vice Admiral or some high rank, and now we all have to goose step and salute her. You should see the epaulets on her bikini.

I’ve known Donnas’ hubby Dan for many years. He has a perpetual “I’m clever, aren’t I ?” grin on his face. He is one of those “engineer” types that wants to fix everything, especially if it aint broken. And he loves to argue with my wife just to get under her skin. This weekend’s topic for skin evisceration was that teachers should not get tenure, and society spends too much money on schools. Certainly both were polarizing opinions, but my wife, being a former teacher, knew the facts. She cannot stand to deal with ignorance, (Just how has she stayed married to me for 30 years?) , and is not bashful at giving her opinion to Dan. While she really just wanted to find a quite spot and read a book in peace this weekend, she had to defend her profession.

Another couple was Steve and Rene’. Steve is a cheerful fellow who never met a beer or a flatulence joke he did not like. Steve is quite a cook and claims some Cajun heritage. I believe his heritage has not necessarily assisted his culinary skills but it sure has helped him cultivate bodily function gags. Steve brought his lady friend Rene’, whom he grew up with. After many years of lost contact, they ran into each other at a Wal-Mart. Rene’ privately confessed to me that she will never set foot in a Wal-Mart again. (Too late) Rene’ is currently a teacher, Special Ed, I believe, and I am sure this helps her cope with Steve.

The fourth couple was Kirt and Cynthia, who are avid hunters. They put out corn each morning and evening to lure the deer near to our cabin. I was expecting Kirk to attack them with a dinner fork. Cynthia was in to hunting too. They are both planning an African Safari. I think they want to hunt down any living relatives of Barak Obama and bitch slap them. Cynthia wears glasses and I think I saw cross-hairs etched on her lenses. Cynthia had a compact digital camera that I believe had been surgically attached to her hand. She took photos of any moving object. The chip in that camera must have had more capacity than the Library of Congress.

We spent most of the first full day floating on the river on bright yellow fake inner-tubes. These were Disney-fied versions of large truck inner tubes. Real men wouldn’t normally use yellow inner tubes but the River Outfitter suggested them. These giant lemon- yellow floaties were embarrassing. Luckily we had the embarrassment antidote: several cases of ice cold beer. I began treating my embarrassment immediately with a cool one. I had my dignity to think of. Since we were going to be in the water, I was not wearing a shirt. And, of courses, my flabby, wrinkled, boney torso was much more unattractive than that yellow tube. (How I have flabby and boney together is a medical mystery)

We were carried up-stream by the River OutFitter (a cool sounding name for a guy who rents fake inner tubes and delivers them in a school bus.) We put in and wasted no time in consuming mass quantities of beer. This river has a limestone rock bottom. The algae growing on the bottom, in spots, is as slick as snot on a doorknob. Watching Dan and Steve fall out of their tubes, then try to stand up on the slick rocks to get back in again was quite entertaining. They looked like injured alligators in a death roll. America’s Funniest Home Videos should have been on location with us. I was fully inoculated with anti-embarrassment liquid by that time, so maybe their antics were not funny, just sad.

I was on my back in the tube the entire time I was in the water. I had put sunscreen on a few hours earlier but was really getting red. I looked like a steak that the cook forgot to flip. Kirk did just the opposite of me. He had to wear a long sleeve shirt and a hat while on the river. Apparently he will sunburn while watching re-runs of Hawaii 5-0

As I mentioned earlier, if you can remember reading that far back, each night a different couple prepared the evening meal. We ate like kings, except the night that Gwen and I cooked. I am severely limited in my cooking repertoire. Fajitas are about all I can make, but I could not find any fajita meat at the store. I used a thicker cut of meat, but it had not been tenderized and was too tough. If you could lose weight by chewing, I would have the perfect diet food. Gwen made peach cobbler for dessert in a Dutch oven. She is an expert at cooking that way, but the fire did not cooperate. Fortunately we had consumed enough beer to dull our delicate taste buds. I could have served prickly pear instead of that meat.

The rest of the three day weekend was about the same. River, beer, food, and football. Dan is a maniac when watching college football. He was switching back and forth so quickly between games with the remote that my brain started to have an epileptic seizure. Maybe Dan should try de-caffeinated beer. Sunday morning we cleaned up and headed back to the big city. None of us looked forward to the 6 hour ride, but it was nice to have gotten a long weekend away from home.

As a small momento of the long weekend, I took the leather couches and loveseats from the cabin. I don’t think those things will be missed, because I replaced them with yellow inner tubes. Turns out that yellow is a really good indoor color.

Summiting the Guad

Your Intrepid Traveler (L) and Andrew (not left)

201009 SUMMITING THE GUAD.
I don’t recall when I decided to make it a personal goal to climb Guadalupe Peak. It might have been the result of a being over-served Tequila, or it might have been after I read the book “Seven Summits”. That was the book about a group of mild mannered, and rich, businessmen who set off to climb the highest mountains on each of the seven continents. After reading that, I figured that the highest mountain in Texas, all 8,749 feet of it, would be a worthy goal for me.

Guadalupe Peak is in the middle of Guadalupe Mountains National Park. This park is located at the base of the Texas Panhandle, where New Mexico joins it. To the south of the Guad, is “El Capitan”, which is perhaps the most famous peak in the state. Most people assume El Capitan is the taller of the two peaks, but it is better known only because it had a better publicist, and a troubled childhood. This area of North America was at one time covered by ocean. All the rock formations here are actually ancient reefs, exposed after the earth cooled, trapping water at the poles which caused the oceans to recede. Sorta like my brother-in-law’s hairline.

More than five years would pass after I considered making the climb before, I finally had the time and opportunity to try it. My daughter’s boyfriend, Andrew is an avid hiker and outdoorsman. He and I talked about making the climb together but I credit Andrew with setting the target date so we wouldn’t keep putting it off.

Andrew knew what we should take on the hike. As he was loading his backpack, Andrew brandished an all-purpose camping knife in my face. He told me he was ready if he had to cut off my arm, like the hiker in Yosemite did a few years back. Hmmm. I wasn’t quite ready for that level of commitment on this hike. His backpack held all the water for both of us for the day, along with tortillas, smoked turkey slices, mustard, packaged snacks, and fruit for energy. He also had packed soft drinks (in ice), a first aid kit, binoculars, sunscreen, extra shirt, and probably a fondue pot. Not to be outdone by the young upstart, I loaded my backpack with a compact digital camera, a piece of gum and a Chap Stick. For those of you who are thinking that my load was slightly less of a burden than my energetic friend’s backpack obviously does not realize the detrimental effect to an expedition that chapped lips can cause.

8 a.m. We were off. We signed the Park’s registration log to show that we were going up the mountain. Oh good. No one else had signed in ahead of us. This meant we should be able to get to the summit alone and enjoy a quiet moment of Zen with no one else to intrude on our accomplishment.

Even though it was Mid-April, in West Texas, the temperature had dipped to below freezing during the night. And it was still a brisk low-40s temperature as we began our assent. I started out strong and energized, but it was not long before fatigue crept over me. My boots felt like they had lead weights in them. I was hiking in slow motion. So slowly, in fact, that several groups of men, women, children, dogs, cats, and vegetables managed to dash right past us on the way to the top. Most disheartening to me was the guy in a bathrobe and slippers, carrying the morning paper under his arm, who sauntered by holding a steaming hot cup of coffee. Geez.

Andrew and I finally reached “base camp”. This is an area about a mile below the summit where overnight hikers can camp. We stashed our backpacks here in order to make the final assent easier. Funny, though, I did not feel any lighter without my backpack on. We plodded on up the trail.

The final half mile was torture. I knew we were nearly done, but my rubbery legs just did not want to take any more steps. The incline was getting more severe. I think I left claw marks in the limestone as I struggled to pull my boneless chicken legs along with the rest of my body. Andrew called encouragements down to me from above. I knew I could do it; I just didn’t know if I could do it in this lifetime.

The summit at last! I staggered up to a small level area of the limestone formation which meant I had finally reached the top of Texas. The summit was perhaps the size of a volleyball court. Placed in the middle, at the high point stood a 6-foot-tall stainless-steel marker. It was a four-sided elongated triangle, each side facing the four directions of North, South, East, West. (Not necessarily in that order). The photo accompanying this writing shows the author, on the left, and Andrew on the right of the Stainless-Steel marker.  Up here we had a full 360-degree panoramic view of the state of Texas to the East, South and West, and could see New Mexico to the North. The view was spectacular. I could not speak. Perhaps it had something to do with trying to catch my breath. I sucked in the fresh, clean air as I collapsed and absorbed the awesome views.

There is a vast beautiful emptiness of desert surrounding these mountains. We could see for hundreds of miles nothing but creosote bush and cacti. There was only an occasional shiny glint which betrayed human activity. The most obvious evidence of man’s use of nature was the bright green saucers of color seen to the west. These were “pivots”, which are giant irrigation systems that pivot around a single water pump. Each pivot pumps out millions of scarce gallons of water on to the rich soil. These pivots were growing wheat and the contrasting hue of the green crop against the surrounding purplish brown desert fauna was surreal. There were dozens of pivots, arranged in tight formation. From our vantage point, it looked like a giant Twister game board.

We took photos and I called my called my wife Gwen to tell her of our success. She marveled that it only took us 4 hours to climb up the mountain. She asked what we would do for the rest of the day. I said, “check myself in to a hospital”. She laughed and said, “no, really”. I said “yes, really”.

Thirst and hunger prompted us to head back down to base camp to eat lunch. I was starving and needed to stretch out for a while. We gorged ourselves on Andrew’s bounty. I felt it was my duty to help him reduce his pack weight by eating as much as I could. After all, we were a team.

We rested a long while and eventually I felt ready to tackle the return. It is, after all, downhill. How hard can it be? I felt fine until I stood up. It was then that I knew this was going to be tougher than I imagined. We staggered down. An older, silver haired fellow, jauntily hopped by me as I paused on the trail. I was half expecting him to turn around and kick limestone dust in my face too. I muttered “show-off”, under my breath but I must have said it too loudly. He turned and gave me a go-to-hell look, but fortunately kept heading down the trail. I decided I’d better stop with the smartass remarks since I was too fatigued to defend myself. A nun with a ruler could have taken me out.

By this time, I had a lot in common with the walking zombies of Hollywood. I had their slow pace, their vacant look, and their cranky attitude. Sorta like a Democrat. As I trudged along, I noticed a flock of buzzards circling above. They gave me the final motivation needed to pick up my pace and get off the mountain.

I was disappointed in myself that I did not get better physically prepared for this trip. Here are a few suggestions for would-be mountain climbers and for the park service. First, if you are a middle-aged Gulf Coast Flatlander, like me, perhaps you should start a little sooner and work a little harder than I did to get physically fit for such a trip. And don’t do 8 miles of hiking the day before your mountain hike. And your toenails probably will grow back. And for the Park service: How about a few handrails along the way? Or a massage therapist at the top? And would an elevator hurt?

I am fully recovered now from my conquest of the tallest mountain in Texas. It was difficult, but worth the effort. And I know that, just like all great adventurers, I must find a new goal to concentrate on. Perhaps climbing the highest peak in each of the 50 states? That might be a worthy goal. I think I hear a tall sand dune in Florida calling my name. I need to schedule it with Andrew. And what did I do with that Chap Stick?

END

The country life for me

The country life for me

It has been a year since my wife and I moved to the country. It was a big decision to sell our house in Sugar Land and move to the family farm in Dacus, TX . The town with no official population. The entire town consists of one Baptist Church and one beer joint. Sorta the Yin and Yang of life. My wife decided to “retire” as a school teacher, so the only thing stopping us from living in Dacus was my 1 ½ hour commute to my office. Yuck. But since I “work” from home quite often, or I am traveling out of state or out of the country, that commute would not be a daily chore.

What has become a daily chore, is well…..the chores. There is no slack time around the old homestead. The house had been originally built as a weekend getaway, and I am sure that my Dad never conceived that any rational human being would actually want to live in it full time. This house was build out of scrap materials and teenage labor. (I was one of those teenagers, so I know the quality of the work that we did).

This house probably would qualify for some kind of Obama grant money for shovel ready projects. But I am afraid that anyone with the power to make that decision would just decide the shovel should be used to bury this place.
We’ve rebuilt the fences, the pump house, the stairs, the siding. We’ve painted, washed, added, removed, and we still have only made a dent in what needs to be done to make this place livable. If Alf and Ralph , from Green Acres, were not fictional, I would swear they had a hand in the results of what we are living in. But there is something quaint in having a house where you don’t know if the door locks will lock, or if the windows will open.

We will continue to make this place a home. And we are slowly adjusting to being in the country. I have been thinking that living in Dacus TX is sort or a lifestyle all its own. We have identified several indicators that you may live here:

• If you had to use the tractor mower to make a “rough cut” of the lawn grass, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If you have one riding lawn mower and four push mowers in the barn, and none of them start, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If you keep your tractor in the barn instead of your own vehicles, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If you keep a buddy’s boat in your barn instead of your own vehicles, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If your kitchen is upstairs, but the refrigerator is downstairs, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If, at the end of the day, one of your greatest pleasures is to relax in your inflatable kiddie pool, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If you wear your straw cowboy hat in the pool, and that’s all you are wearing, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If your idea of mowing the lawn is really just cutting pathways to the other buildings, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If you believe that goat weeds should be an endangered species, so you can’t mow, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If your closest neighbor has a habit of honking his car horn 30-40 times to announce that he has arrived home, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If you have developed, what some might consider, an unnatural pleasure in killing and dismembering Tallow trees, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If there are more wasps in your house than dollars in your 401-K, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If you have a large log in the side yard just in case company comes over and you need the additional seating, you might live in Dacus, TX

• If it takes 2 hours and $9 to get a Sunday paper. You drive in to town, and naturally have to get donuts and coffee; then go back into town since you forgot to get the paper, you might live in Dacus, TX

• And Finally…if you have the producer of “Extreme Home Make-over” on speed dial, you might live in Dacus, TX