Thule Trail 2

 

(A N:  I'm doing this because I really enjoyed doing the first version and Oregon Trail, but I think it could be better.  So here's my try to make it so.)

 

By Thelma Mary Caroline

 

 

 In Santa Barbara, they were holding the Atlantis Music Festival.  My co-workers all wanted to go.  Why was beyond me.  I tried to find it on Google, but nothing came up, except for something in Atlanta, Georgia.

 

It seemed like a wild goose chase to me.

 

But still, they were my friends.  And, like true friends, they managed to convince me that travelling two thousand miles from (somewhere, somewhere) to Santa Barbara, California.

 

I'm a self described slacker.  Maybe I'm not, really, but I feel like one.  And I'm stingy, so I try to pool in as little money as possible.

 

My friends, mind you, are very strange looking.  Maybe hippies.  On that trip they looked very different from how they looked on the job.  Myself, I'm pretty normal looking.  Shoulder length brown hair, and lime green windbreaker on.  And black sandals.  I hate sandals, but my friends convinced me to wear them.

 

Kiwi, my very best friend (who refused to ride anything by shot gun) was wearing her hair long and blonde, which nearly scared me to death.  I thought she hated long hair.  And she had on a camosol!  Or whatever those things are called.  A pink one.  Normally she looks almost butch, not femme like she does now.  I can only believe that the concert sucks everyone's soles out.  Maybe that's why I'm going.

 

My other best friend, Gloria, looks the same.  Long brown hair, and large red winter coat.  And a "cute" little purse in one hand.

 

Misty has grown.  She looks like she's six feet.  And she cut her hair!  Oh my god!

 

And Joan.  Joan, I supose, has hardly changed.  Maybe it's the young, radical ones.  No, Joan is wearing a sundress and straw hat.  She looks like a cute old lady.  Except that she's not really one.  But no one says anything to her.

 

We flew to (somewhere).  I don't know why.  I don't know why we didn't just fly to Santa Barbara.  Oh no, the American dream is to drive two thousand miles.  Obviously they don't know we could have just driven from Bellingham, Washington, to Santa Barbara.  That's two thousand miles.

 

At the airport, we all debate about the car we should rent.

 

"Awesome!" Kiwi says.  "An S U V!  Let's get this one!"

 

Gloria agrees.  "Plenty of space, we won't all be cramped."

 

"On no, not with gas prices the way they are," I say.

 

"What about this sweet turbo wagon?  It'll get us there really fast!"

 

"Whoa, whoa," Joan says.  "It's the 13th.  The festival doesn't even start until the 19th.  We have plenty of time."

 

"I guess we'll have to get the hybrid sudan," Misty sighs.  "It'll be kind of cramped, though."

 

"What, you want to pay for gas?" I ask, and quickly fill out the forms.

 

We stop at the first Mini Mart we can find.  Everyone pools their cash, for a total of eight hundred dollars.

 

They all want to wait in the car, so I go in alone.  There better not be any complaints about what I buy, then.

 

"What's up, I'm Clem," the stocky, wild haired cashier says.  He's wearing a large green apron, and somewhat scares me.

 

"Yo.  I'm Martha," I answer, trying to sound confident.

 

"Hear you're headed to the Atlantis Music Festival."

 

"You did?  From who?"

 

He ignores me.  "We've got everything you need for your trip.  Magazines and games to keep your cars moral up."

 

"Really, I don't think the car has moral."

 

Still, he ignores me.  "Plenty of food and essential road food and beverages ..."

 

"No.  No food in the car.  It's a pain to clean out.  You know the rental company will charge extra if they have to vaccuum it out."

 

"Music to avoid awkward silences.  Pellets for your pellet gun.  Spare parts for your car."

 

I don't bother mentioning that I don't have a pellet gun.

 

"You have to stay entertained on the road," Clem says, bringing me over to the magazines.  Our entertainment kits have magazines and games to keep your car from a meltdown ."

 

There he goes, talking about the car again, as though it's a person.  I tune out the rest of his speech, and throw a few kits in a basket.  I also get 10 bags of food, 15 C Ds (including John Barrowman's new one) and five boxes of pellets after it occurs to me that the reason Kiwi had to check a bag is because her pellet gun was in her backpack.

 

But no spare parts.  I've never had car trouble in my life.

 

At 9:30 we pull out of the parking lot and onto the freeway.  It's very windy out, but I know better.  I grew up in Bellingham, which should really be called the Windy City, not The City of Subdued Excitement.

 

"Oh my god!" Misty screams from the backseat.  "I can feel the car moving to one side!  We're going to blow away!"

 

"This is just a little breeze," I say.

 

Then I notice there's someone behind me, riding my bumper.  A little purple Geo Prism, it looks like.

 

"Is that sign language?" Joan asks, glancing out the back window.

 

"Yeah, it looks like it," Gloria says.  "I can't tell what he's saying though.  There's too much glare.  Oh, but hey, let's listen to this C D, Miss Saigon."

 

"What?  Who picked that out?" Kiwi says.  "We're listening to rap."

 

"No, let's change it.  Who all wants to listen to Miss Saigon?"

 

No one says anything.

 

"Oh, look, a distraction!" I try.

 

"I know!" Joan says, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.  "Let's have a breath holding contest while we go through this tunnel."

 

No one bothers trying to hold their breath.  It's stupid, you can already tell that it's a long tunnel.

 

But as we emmerge from the other end, I find that Kiwi has passed out in the seat next to me.  "Well, I suppose that's one way to shut her up."

 

When she comes to, we stop the car on the side of the road.  It's nice to stretch, after driving for four hours.

 

Kiwi rolls around in a patch of wildflowers, weirding everyone out.  I can tell by their faces.  But no one speaks.  Maybe we're speachless.

 

"Oh, look, berries!" Gloria says suddenly.

 

"Let's pick them!"

 

"Um ... what if they're poisonous?" I ask.

 

"Stop being a weirdo, Martha."

 

We end up filling an entire bag before getting back on the road.

 

At 3:18 that afternoon, we reach Des Moines, Iowa.  It's an okay looking town, I guess.  Lots of bulidings, reflecting pink from god knows where.

 

"Let's stop here for awhile," Joan says.  "We can sleep in the car."

 

"I'm not tired!" Kiwi protests.

 

But I get out, and go talk to a cute girl standing in line.  Her name is Jenn, and she's a ski lift operator.

 

"I always head to Boulder for the winter.  There's no better place for a vegetarian party girl who love to board.  While you're in Boulder, you have to ride the mountains.  If you know what you're doing up there, you can even win some cash!  Later!" she says, and disappears.

 

We rest there for thirteen hours, doing this and that.  And get gas.  It's only two dollars a gallon here, which I almost can't believe.

 

"Hey, look!" Kiwi cries.  "I found twenty dollars on the ground!"

 

"Cool, it's like the gas was free!"

 

And with that we're on our way.  It starts sprinkling for a moment, but then it starts raining really hard.

 

"Watch out!"

 

"I can't see the road!"

 

"You don't have to see the road, you're not driving!"

 

"This is just a little shower!" I say.  I love driving in the rain.

 

On accident, I roll up the window.  My elbow just ends up on the button.  But, unfortaintly Kiwi's hand was in the window.

 

"You almost crushed my hand!" she cries.  "I could have been hospitalized!  I could have lost my hand!  It could have been amputated!  Can you imagine what my life would be like if my hand was ampuated?  I wouldn't be able to do anything!  I wouldn't be able to dress myself --"

 

"You can't do that anyway," Joan mutters.

 

"I wouldn't be able to work!  I'd lose my job!  I'd lose my house!  I'd have to live on the streets, a one handed pan handler!"

 

It's thirty minutes before we're back on the road, and even then she still whimpers occasionally.  A one handed pan handler, yeah right.

 

"Oh, look, a sign for The Loess Hills National Scenic Byway," Gloria says.  "I've always wanted to see that!  Can we stop?"

 

"What?  We just got back on the road!"

 

"It's a once in a lifetime expirence," Joan says.

 

So we stop.  It's just a hill and a river.  Or a lake.  Some sort of body of water.  No one says anything.

 

There's a hitch hiker on the side of the road as we get back onto the on ramp.

 

"We have to pick him up," Misty says.  "It's the right thing to do."

 

No one argues.  So I stop, and he crams into the back seat.  "Thanks," the bicycler with an afro says.  "I've been out of the road for months and ran out of money."

 

I know it's a bad idea.  He wants out only a few miles later.

 

"Oh my god!" Misty cried.  "There's money missing!"

 

"He took over one hundred dollars!"

 

"Okay, no more hitch hikers," I say, as authoritivly as I can manage.  "Oh, no, is that a cop?"

 

Pulled over.  I cannot believe it.

 

"Do you know how fast you were going?" the uniformed man asks.

 

"Well, not really.  I was distracted."

 

"By ...?"

 

"A hitch hiker that stole from us."

 

"Stole one hundred dollars!" Kiwi added.

 

But he doesn't believe us, and give me a ticket for forty dollars.

 

"God damn it."  It takes us another fifteen minutes to get back on the road.

 

"Good thing we had enough money to pay that ticket," Joan comments.

 

"Shut up," Kiwi says.

 

 

 

It seems like days go by before we reach Grand Island, Nebraska.  I wasn't really aware of any islands in Nebraska, but okay, whatever.  It's a normal looking town with a motel eight and everything.

 

We all stop and rest for awhile, and get gas.  Nothing terribly exciting.  Joan, Gloria and Misty get into a fight about who has to sit in the middle.  Misty loses, but she doesn't really seem to mind.

 

"Oh, hey, look!" she cries.  "A turtle race."

 

"Quick, lemme borrow five dollars," Kiwi tells Joan.

 

I hold up a bill.  "I have five dollars."

 

"Put it on that green one!" the woman says.

 

"Which green one?"

 

"That one!"

 

"No way!" Misty says.  "That one looks old!"

 

Kiwi grabs the five dollar bill out of my hand, and bets on her turtle.

 

And they're off, all trudging across their little pen.  "Come on, dude, come on!" Kiwi cheers.

 

"Second!"

 

He did it, he got second!  The shady turtle racer gives Kiwi fifty dollars that I promptly grab from her.

 

"What, it was my five dollars."

 

"Well, it was my turtle."

 

Back on the road again, and for once we travel for a long time without incident.  I pull off at 'Sandhills Journey Scenic Byway' for a break.  My back is starting to hurt again.  It's just a river with a lot of dirt, but I welcome the break from driving. 

 

"That was so worth it," Gloria says as I merge onto the freeway.  I don't particualarly agree.

 

"Wait, there's a rest area, we have to stop," Joan says a few minutes later.

 

"What, why?"

 

"I have to go!"

 

"Yeah, Joan has a small bladder," Kiwi says.

 

But soon we're back on the road.

 

"Hey, look, another hitch hiker."

 

"We are so not stopping."

 

"But we have to stop," Misty says.

 

"No, we don't.  We can't afford to be stolen from again."

 

"Misty, why is your face all crinkled up?  Are you okay?" Gloria asks.  "Oh my goodness, your finger's stuck!"

 

"What, stuck?" I ask, not daring to turn around while driving.

 

"In a pop bottle!" our young compainion cries.

 

"There's butter in one of the bags.  Use that," I say.

 

"Oh, it worked!" Gloria says a few moments later.

 

"Now don't stick your fingers into any pop bottles," Joan advises.

 

"Oh no.  We've got a flat," I realize.

 

Kiwi is quick to get out her cell phone.  "Hello, Roadside Services."

 

"One hundred and fifty dollars!" I cry, finding out the total bill.  "I cannot fucking believe this."

 

"And now it's snowing," Gloria points out.

 

"Why does this have to be so dramatic?" I ask.

 

 

 

Boulder Colorado.  Also known as "Thank god we get to stop for awhile city."  Or possibly known as "weird pink mountains" city.

 

We rest for 14 hours, mostly because I'm tired of driving.  But no one else is willing to drive in states they've never been in before.

 

"Did you just lock the keys in the car?"  I ask Kiwi, as we exit the building.

 

"Oh, shit," she answers.

 

Another fourty five dollars gone.  We're seriously almost out of money.

 

But hope springs enternal.  There's a snowboarding contests.  I've never actually snowboarded before, but I do pretty good in video games.

 

All I have to do is get dwon in 62 seconds.  All right, so I ran into a rock on the way down, but only once.

 

"And unheard of 48 seconds!" the announcer cries.  "Well done!  Here's a prize of one hundred and fifty dollars!"

 

Yeah!

 

 

There's a hitch hiker waiting on the side of the freeway entrance.  Hitch hiker after hitch hiker, I can't believe people still do that.

 

"Let's pick him up, he looks okay," Misty says.

 

"No, no, no!"

 

"Oh, come on.  He's a business man."

 

"Then why is he hitch hiking?" Joan asks.

 

"How about we go see this incredible mountain view, instead?" I ask.  She likes that nature stuff, I think.

 

"Well ... okay."

 

I don't think it's so incredible.  I don't even get out of the car.

 

"Fantastic," Joan says, as she gets back into the car.

 

"What are you, the ninth doctor?" I tease.

 

She looks puzzled, but I don't bother explain.

 

"Let's play Would You Rather?," Kiwi says.  "Would you rather watch a soap opera or make fun of one?"

 

"Watch," says Gloria.  "Would you rather be gossiped about or lied to?"

 

Misty thinks for a moment.  "Lied to, I guess.  I don't want people to talk about me."

 

"Okay, your turn," Joan says to the young woman.  "Ask me."

 

"Okay, well .... would you rather by an ashtray or a dirty sock?"

 

"I ... what?"

 

We drive in silence for hours.

 

"Hey, look," Kiwi says suddenly, shoving a magazine in my face.  I suppose being able to see is not a requriment for driving.

 

"Look, it's a rafting contest, in Green River, Utah.  You could do that!"

 

"What?" I ask, startled.  "I've never rafted before in my life."

"But the prize is two hundred dollars!"

 

Suddenly, there's screeching from the back seat.

 

"There's a bird!" Gloria cries.  "There's a bird!"

 

"What, in the car?" I ask, glancing in the rear view mirror.  I don't see anything.

 

"Oh my fucking god," Kiwi says, rolling down the window.  "There really is a bird!"

 

"Fly away to freedom, fly away to freedom," Misty tells it.

 

I still don't see the bird, even as every one in back sighs in relief.

 

A few miles go by in peace.  Then suddenly Misty bursts into tears.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing," Joan answers for her.  "She just saw some nasty road kill.  That's all."

 

Awkwardness ensues again.

 

 

 

Finally we arrive in Green River, Utah.  The land of much snow. 

 

But Utah?  Isn't that close to Washington anyway?  Why didn't we just drive to Santa Barbara from home?

 

Still, it's no use complaining, so I keep my mouth shut.

 

It's here that we have the rafting contest.  I'm the only person who enters, or at least so it seems.

 

"It's very simple," the referee says.  "All you have to do is cross the finish line before 60 seconds is up.  That's our current record."

 

"Okay.  What time does the race start?"

 

"Oh, anytime you're ready."

 

"What do you mean?  You'll just clear out the river right now?"

 

"Of course not.  That's part of the fun, navigating through all the traffic."

 

I pause, unsure.  "Is that even legal?"

 

But half an hour later, I'm rafting down the river.  I've never been more scared in my life.

 

But somehow ... somehow I make it.  Without hitting a single person.

 

32 seconds. 

 

Two hundred dollars.

 

Greasy hamburgers for dinner tonight!

 

But, of course, when we hit the road, there's a traffic jam.  We sit in a stand still for over thirty minutes.

 

Kiwi sticks hand out the window.

 

And screams.

 

"It's hailing, you idiot," Joan says. 

 

"I hurt my hand!  I hurt my hand!"

 

"Oh look, Wacky Wee's World of Whittle Wonders," I say, hoping a distraction will be enough.

 

There's lots of 'whittled wonders.'  A large fish, an indian, an octopus.

 

"Wow," Joan says, as we load back into the car.  "That was a life changing expirience."

 

"Did that guy have wooden teeth?" Kiwi asks, her hand forgotten.

 

"Oh no!" I say, and slam on the breaks.  There's water across the road way.

 

Kiwi sticks her head out the window.  "Go through it, you can make it."

 

"No, we'll wait.  It's draining off, I think."

 

But it takes an hour.

 

 

 

Finally, we reach Las Vegas.  I've been in Vegas once before, and I hate the place.  Too many people.  Too much everything.

 

There's lots of light, everywhere.  It gives me a headache.

 

We stop here for awhile, everyone wandering off and exploring.

 

When we finally do meet back up to continue our trip, Joan is missing.

 

"Oh yeah, she got married."

 

"What?  Is that even legal?"

 

"I guess what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," Misty says wisely.

 

Whoa.  I cannot comprehend it.  Joan is gone.  But come to think of it, the last time we were in Las Vegas, the same thing happened.

 

So a long time passes in silence as we drive down the free way.  I suppose every one is reflecting on Joan.  Hopefully we'll see her.

 

"Shit!" Kiwi cries, pulling me out of my thoughts.  "Don't worry, everyone.  I just dropped the cigarette lighter is all."

 

"What?  Kiwi, oh my god!  The car's on fire!"

 

"It's just a small fire!  Don't panic!  I can put it out!"

 

It takes an hour to get everything back to normal.

 

"Oh my god," I say.  "Do you know how much we're going to owe the rental car company?"

 

 

After awhile, we stop to see the Mystical Caves of the Gnomes.  I can almost hear Joan comment, "Wow, that was a life changing expirence."  Things just aren't the same without her.

 

There's a gravel truck in front of us, and after the cigerette lighter incidence, I'm careful to keep my distance.  There will be no bumps or scratches on the car. 

 

Still, we manage to reach Big Bear, California, which honestly looks more like a forest than a city.  There's a huge lake with rock islands in the middle.  How does anyone live here.

 

"Everyone, look," Gloria says.  "Big Foot!"

 

We all stare at her.

 

"Seriously," she adds.

 

"The world's largest pickle," Misty says, obviously trying to distract us.  I don't think she likes it when everyone freaks out.

 

"Wow," I say, playing along.  "That's pretty cool."

 

"Not cool, amazing," Kiwi says.  "That's what Joan would say."

 

She sighs painfully.

 

 

So we're back in the traffic.  Stuck behind an R V with a bunch of bumper stickers that keep me preoccupied for a long time.

 

WARNING!  IN CASE OF RAPTURE, THIS VEHICAL WILL BE UNMANNED.

 

I read them to Gloria and Misty.

 

D A R E to put a bumper sticker on your car

 

They snicker behind me.

 

Caution!  Driver is singing!

 

"Well, that explains why he can't stay in his lane," Gloria says.

 

Don't get even / Get odd

 

"Will you stop reading the bumper stickers and drive?" Kiwi yells.

 

"But there's a traffic jam."

 

"Just dodge the traffic!  Joan's not here to protest."

 

"You're not serious."

 

"Yes, I am.  Come on, it'll be fun."

 

And I suppose it is, dodging in and out of traffic.  The woman in the back seat watch for cops and I travel from lane to lane speeding up and slowing down dramatically.

 

61 dollars damage.  Okay, so I hit a couple of cars.  No one else stops, so I don't worry about it.  Besides, I don't want Kiwi to yell at me.

 

Sixty one dollars of damage.  But we make it.

 

Crowd surfing hippies surround us.

 

Everyone cheers.

 

I hope to God we don't do this again next year.