Link to Salmon Trip, Day 1; Salmon Trip, Day 2; and Salmon Trip, Day 3.).
Sunday dawned bright and pukey--at least for Tyler, that is. Although the word he used was “upchuck.” We were so fucked up we forgot our vitamin C and B-12 before bed, and it hurt. Noel was, of course, fine. Bitch. We finally checked out and made our way to The Coffee Shop, where we waited longer for our food than anywhere I’ve ever been. Some sort of spring was broken on the door to something in the kitchen, and there was a sign on it saying, “Spring broken! Close tightley. Move fingers and nuckles!” Tyler thought “tightley” sounded like a British last name, as in Mr. Tightley, Sir Tightley, Lord and Lady Tightley, Baron Tightley, etc., and this amused us all for quite a while.
Our food, when it finally arrived, was made all the yummier by the fact that we had to wait forever for it. We hit the road after we ate, watching out on the way for rocks in the road, so that we wouldn’t suffer the same fate as Kelly and her mom the previous Wednesday of “hitting a rock.” I’m still not sure what exactly the rock they hit did to their car, but I know it must’ve been bad, because when I asked, they just said, “We hit a rock!” Whether that rock punctured the tire, forced them off the road, got wedged under the car or is some sort of colloquialism for alien abduction, I will never know. I just know they could not continue driving afterwards.
We all pulled off the road just past Stanley to take some pictures of the Sawtooths. I had some fun with my camera trying to take pictures out of the moving car windows. We saw a billboard advising campers to drown campfires in which a bucket appeared to be barfing on a campfire.
What happened next has gone down in history as the funniest few moments of my life. I was absentmindedly staring out the window when one of those “Deer Crossing” signs went by. My eyes were unfocused as though looking at one of those 3-D computer generated posters. The deer sign filled my vision and the instant I realized what I was staring at, we passed by the sign and it was gone forever.
The deer had a cock!
And not just any crappy crude drawing; someone took the time to fashion the deer dick out of some black electrical tape or something so that it looked like an intentional part of the sign. Lack of sleep, hangover, the can of sugar and caffeine laden “adrenaline drink” I’d just drank and my immature sense of humor all conspired to kill me at that moment. It’s a good thing Tyler was driving. As soon as my mind registered “Deer Cock!” my breath left me and I got all choked up. Tears of joy came to my eyes. I was laughing so hard I was crying, and you know if this has ever happened to you that it is really, really good. Orgasmic, even.
Tyler tried to ask me what was going on, but all I could do was shake my head. I tried to speak when I caught my breath for the first time, but all I could manage was a high-pitched, “It was…It was…I cn’t….I ca-a-a-nnn’t!” before the feeling swept over me again. It was like the time I tried to relate a Saturday Night Live fake commercial making fun of Aerosmith in which all of their songs had names like “Crazy Cryin’ Amazacrazy,” and “Crazin,’” and couldn’t because I started laughing all over again. I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t see even when they were open. The CD player dimmed out and I couldn’t hear it or anything else. I was alone in a yellow and black world of hilarity.
I recovered some five to ten minutes later, and, sadly, Tyler had not seen the sign. Although, that was probably a good thing, because we probably would have driven if not directly into the sign, then into the side of the mountain, as Tyler tends to drive at things he looks at. We stopped at the rest stop just above Danskin Station, where we all tried to photograph a dead hummingbird to no avail, as it was so small that it just showed as a close range blur. Noel had not seen the sign either. I happily thought back on the funniest item I’ve ever seen as I waited for Noel and Tyler to pee in the creepy outhouse.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment