ss1

I did what part two
2015-12-13 - 3:53 a.m.


before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

I did what...? Part 2: My Way.

The acid was grooving down hard at about 8:30 p.m. along the shore at Sleeping Bear Dunes, when they Tusken Raidered me. It was a gorgeous summer evening in early July. The wind was strangely still. The temperature was absolutely perfect. You could have hiked naked or in full clothes, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

 

My friend didn’t notice the group of guys shuffling about the dunes. They were a desultory sort, a group of kids that really didn’t know what they were doing but stumbled into a great experience, the sun sinking low along the coast.

 

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

 

I was taking pictures and they saw me. Looking up, I saw a kid standing up above me, thumping on a rock. He took his spear-like stick and held it above their head with both hands, barking like one of the Sand People from Star Wars.

 

So human.

 

I laughed. My friend, John, hadn’t even noticed. He was busy embroiled with his own issues.

 

“They tusken raidered us.”

 

<pause>

 

“What?”

 

“They tusken raidered us.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Those guys over there.”

 

“I didn’t even see anyone. What the fuck?”

 

“You heard that thumping, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That was them. They tusken raidered us. Like out of Star Wars.”

 

We shuffled up the dune, hundreds of feet above the water. Idyllic.

 

At the top of the bowl, I stopped taking pictures and engaged one of the youths. Mostly the guys were dressed in black, and shuffling around this bowl of a dune with a face open to the sea. A makeshift fort was assembled out of old driftwood logs, long ago aged by the weather. Wood that had been laying around in previous years, had been assembled into a fort in recent years, and someone had written in glittery puff paint all over it

 

So, anyway, I engaged the kid.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“How’s it going?”

 

“Just taking some pictures. How’s it going with you?”

 

His peer group shuffled aimlessly and awkwardly around the dune in one large mass.

 

He seem taken aback that I was able to shift the onus of conversation back upon him so easily .

 

“Oh, we’re just having a good lunch…and…”

 

He trailed off. It was about 9:00 pm. Lunch was quite awhile ago, if ever.

 

“Did you guys hear us earlier?”

 

“Yeah. You Tusken Raidered us. It was cool.” I said.

 

“We were wondering if you heard us.”

 

“Totally.”

 

The geek wandered off to be a part of his brood. The sun was setting and the golden hour arrived. I took pictures like mad with my Nikon and my cell phone, recording video talking with John.

 

Our subject for most of the trip was creating a tv show or a podcast called “Tips for the Frugal Pervert.”

 

“Come here, boys, and take a knee. I’ll give you some tips on how to be a frugal pervert. All of ya’,” John pantomimed going to one knee and giving a coaches lecture to kids, “Throw a buck in the hat and I’ll give you some tips on how to be a frugal pervert. Crank those dollars out, boys. Now is NOT the time to be a frugal pervert. “

 

“Take two quarters and sit in the Texan all day…”I said, laughing, “use their wi-fi. Free refills! All else fails, grab the waitresses’ tit! Tips for the Frugal Pervert.”

 

“Go to the library and surf for porn and crank one out. Free! Tips for the Frugal Pervert.” John cackled madly. “Go to your local 7-11 and ask the clerk to see a copy of an adult magazine. Ask his opinion, have him hold 2 out side by side and crank one out. Free! Tips for the Frugal Pervert.”

 

“There is a point to the Frugal Pervert System, and the point is this: make those perverted dollars work for YOU!” I laughed with dank glee. The madness was taking over…here in the 21st century, with porn everywhere for free…gotta’ stretch those perverted dollars.

 

I looked up and saw that the kids had gone. Indeed, we were miles away from anything that could be remotely considered civilization. For them, best not to be caught out here in the dunes after sundown. Just about anything could happen. I guess. Or if it did, no one would know for quite awhile.

 

It was my birthday, and I came here last birthday, too. Last time, John also went with me.

 

And I dawdled after sunset a little last time. After all, I know the area quite well. I had been there many times. I can find my way out by moonlight just fine.

 

The entire park changes in character after dark. Scarier somehow, but not. Your mind grasps for sounds in the dark, on alert, ready.

 

But the trails can be found and the path is rather certain.

 

As long as there is a moon.

 

Anyway, last time I dawdled after dark and it unnerved John. He insisted I play music on the phone as we hiked back to the car from the shore. Last time.

 

And he knew on some level that I had figured out that he was afraid last time, and on that same level, he was pissed off.

 

So he insisted we dawdle even more.

 

I suggested going down to the water. The literature says it’s a thousand feet down a steep bluff. But it’s a special walk. A fun walk. You could end up ass-over-tea kettle quite easily, but if you keep your wits, you have a challenging nice walk down.

 

Your feet sink a couple of feet into the sand and gravel as it all shifts around you. You’re almost up to your knee when you finally touch some real ground.

 

I did the whole hike in sandals. Most do not.

 

We glided down the slope to the water.

 

“Might as well go to the water, we came all this way. Why fuck around?”

 

We watched the sun sink into the water as the seriousness of our situation registered slowly on us.

 

No wind, dead calm. Very warm. There were bugs, but we had bug spray.

 

High wispy clouds overhead which slightly obscured the light from the stars.

 

John had a weak flashlight. Our phones had long since died.

 

And no MOON!

 

Still, I felt at ease. We would find the trail head and make it back. Just a little extra work , is all.

We walked four extra miles in some of the most suffocating dark I have ever experienced. When John flashed the flashlight, the dark was impermissibly illuminated, as if it was a heavy curtain, and it seemed to swallow the light. The contrast wouldn’t allow for any focus. We walked right past the trail head.

 

I saw us leave the dunes, the hulking piles of sand disappeared abruptly, and sharp line of delineation from the sand to the woods. Not at all a gradual transition.

 

And I knew we would walk into something. We had a good attitude, or I did, anyway. And the weather was great. Indeed, I needed nothing more than the tanktop I had on and shorts. Perfectly fine.

 

In the distance, I saw a fire. So we walked toward it.

 

The 3 hits of acid was still working its magic, and there was no fatigue involved at all.

 

Vision was difficult.

 

Approaching the fire, it seemed as if no one was there. There seemed to be some sort of a bed, or bedroll, but in the dark flickering light, it could have been rocks. Neither of us knew.

 

John went up to check it out. He leaned deeply over the bedroll, his face mere feet from it.

 

Nooo...”he said in a normal voice, “Its people.”

 

This startled the young couple that had snuggled together on the beach to look at the stars.

 

“We’re ok, officer.” The young kid slurred, “Thanks for checking in on us.”

 

The mortification was complete. We were lost, out of bounds, and we had just rustled in unexpectedly from the dunes in the middle of the night waking them up. And more, they sounded fucked up.

 

Rather than deal with the consequences of this encounter and ask for help, I opted to keep walking. The social awkwardness was too much to bear. Better to walk a few more miles.

 

Meanwhile, John was little help. He is a loud hiker, and has no survival skills that I’m able to recognize.

 

Walking along the beach, I made out the dim outline of a house that I’d never seen before. I urged John to come investigate.

 

Lets just keep walking on the shore.” He suggested.

 

Bad idea. Around here, you can literally keep walking for days and nights without making it back to civilization.

 

“Ok, lets just walk back into the dunes and find the trail.”

 

“We didn’t find the trail head the first time in twilight. What makes you think we can find it again in pitch black?”

 

This moved him.

 

I had kept a general direction in my head back to the parking lot, “as the crow flies” as outdoors folks and hillbillies are wont to say. But having the general direction back only does you so much good when you have mounds of dunes and thick forest between the parking lot and you. Best to find a trail.

 

Walking into the building area, we saw that it was part of a compound.

 

There was a map, but in the dark, we could not read it. The dark swallowed the flashlight. There were no reference points, and it made no sense.

 

I suggested we find the main road that connected to the parking lot. It would be a little more of a walk, but we would get there.


And the weather was good. Still no moon! Pitch dark!

 

We walked down the road, companionate. We had been in awkward positions before, especially as kids. Sometimes you’re fucked. Sometimes you just keep on walking, because that’s all you can do.

 

We walked up the dead end road that connected to the compound that was the dunes old-timey station for the coast guard or something.

 

Along the road were driveways. Cabins were nestled in among the thick forest just along the dunes. Some you could see, other you couldn’t through the thickets of trees and leaves.

 

I can’t even imagine what a dump cottage would cost there. Probably millions. I can’t even guess.

 

While we walked up the road, kicking a stone, a guy stood in the middle of his A-Frame cottage on the far side of the road, watching us. He was alone, his cottage was all lit up.

 

And he stared, and stared, and stared.

 

I didn’t realize how odd this was until later. At the time, I understood he was frightened to a certain extent. We came lumbering out of the dunes late at night on a week night. It was pitch black. And it was 2-to-1.

 

Eventually we found a tourist center, with vending machines and bathrooms at the end of the road. It was lit up like a beacon in this, the darkest of nights.

 

Keeping track of the direction back to the parking lot, I came across a paved path. Using my sense of direction, I knew in the depth of my soul that it was the path back to the parking lot. Fat people hiking, as John would say.

 

“Why don’t we go back into the dunes and find the trail head. Or walk along the shore.” John said. His lack of survival sense or self preservation was amazing.

 

“Look, this is the way back. I’m positive. I’ve never been so positive about anything. And its miles back to the trail head and you could keep on walking along the shore forever. As the crow flies, this is the way back. We should take it.”

 

He acquiesced. We walked through the woods. He was scared and talked a lot. He usually wonders why we don’t see animals on the hikes we go on. I try to tacitly and gently suggest its because he’s loud and constantly talks. But I don’t say too much about it. I like that he feels free to flap his gums until he feels better about it. He’s my friend and I don’t want to bum him out.

 

And besides, at night, there’s no telling what is out there. Bears, maybe.

 

I prefer to hear it coming and adjust my behavior, but that’s just me.

 

John jangles through the woods and announces his presence. Probably a good idea at that point, so I engaged him and kept him talking, rather than quietly waiting for him to run out of steam and stop talking.

 

Through the trip, watching the sunset, down the slope and along the shore, finding the house and even now, in the woods, one thought had been repeating in the back of my head.

 

PROVE IT.

 

PROVE IT.

 

PROVE IT.

 

YOU THINK YOU’RE SO SMART? YOU THINK YOU’RE SOMETHING ELSE?

 

PROVE IT.

 

We made it back to the parking lot without incident. Along the way we found the remote parking spot for the guy and the girl sleeping in the sleeping bag out under the stars by a fire that we rousted out. Poor fucker. He had the ultimate romantic setup until two guys stumbled incoherently out of the dunes.

 

PROVE IT.

 

All the way home, resonating in the back of my head, as I gave directions and John dodged the thick wildlife ably.

 

PROVE IT.

 

PROVE IT.

 

And I knew exactly what it meant, as the night drew to a close and I saw the moon rise an hour before the sun.

 

And that is exactly what I set out to do. My way.

 

 

 

 


a template by wicked design

about comment designer archive archives newest diaryland

tml>