The weekend had started innocently enough. A couple of bars, some beer, no big deal.

After the third bar, the mood got surly, and we realized that getting some sort of drugs were in order. Discrimination was not to be discussed.

After a few phone calls, a friend showed up with some of Juan Valdez's other fine Columbian products, and ZANG! we were off.

I floated effortlessly through conversations. My throat was numb.

Jabbering at girls, and not really finding what I was looking for, yet again.

Shelia showed up again, and proceeded to deliberately bum me right out. I had not called her in a long time, deliberately so, using a missed phonecall as my opportunity to make a break, and she punished me for it.

And she hung on and on. She deliberately bummed me out after using me to feel good about herself. Well, fuckin' duh, I don't want to be a couple. There's so much about you that I don't like. And this marks the last time I spare her feelings.

I'm still pissed.

So we went home (with Shelia in tow...ugh.), sampled some more of the South of the Border stuff, and hot-tubbed in the rain/snow mix.

At one point in the night, C.J. asked everybody if anyone wanted to go to Moab the next day. I agreed to go.

Crashed out for five hours, got some food and ciggarrettes and were on our way.

We road in a white-trash swamp-billy mobile. A chevy S-15 with no radio and no parking brake. A large crack had spiderwebbed through the wind sheild.

But what the hell? Part of my mojo is seeing what's up. I have a sense of adventure.

We drove for a five hours to Moab. Saw a lot of pretty terrain, a motorcycle playground, an eagle, and stopped in a lot of podunk Colorado towns.

Discussed breifly how Bald Eagle would taste. Fried Bald Eagle.

The Sun peaked out as soon as we hit Utah, passing by ghost towns, and marvelling at the barren isolation, smoking pot along the way.

Met C.J.'s friend, who's in the propeitor end of the HR industry. Moab is kinda' a small town, so I don't want to put an X on him.

We picked up the puppy, I got some excellent, excellent, excellent stinky green marijuana. The differences between home and this area were interesting.

They ration water out there, and the accent is much thicker. That western twang.

Played with some puppies, and we left with a puppy in tow.

Got really, really stoned.

Which is not a bad way to go, riding along with a puppy, on a little adventure, with the sun beaming down, feeling slightly alive.

I took over the wheel after the state line, and the clouds started to gather, a product of the High Country snowmelt, screwing up the weather pattern all around.

Not that it matters, the weather will be gone shortly. Its not like the midwest, where I would talk about the gloom and rain with my friends, in hushed terms. Like seeing the maw of death and hell, it only gets talked about in quiet.

At any rate, the miles went by, and I fantasized about past lovers and past encounters, my mind lazily drifting from there to the cultural void that is my adopted home. As arid as the land is, the collective soul weeps at the lack of pure art, and they don't even notice it.

It started to snow as we gained altitude. The first part of the pass.

I did not realize we had four wheel drive.

The tires were bald, and I kept down shifting to keep mopving forward. Around us, cars were simply stopping. Going as far as they could, until their automobiles could get them no furthur up the mountain, and just giving up. The weather graduated from heavy snowfall and blowing snow to white out conditions.

Eventually, I could get no grip on the road, and C.J. freaks right out.

We switch seats, and he can get nothing out of his truck. I think he tried to slip it into 4-high, and fucked up, with the differential caught inbetween and presenting no results.

C.J. really starts to freak out now, breathing fast, his eyes were in a frenzy.

Me, I evaluate my position, gradually on how it relates to my liklihood of death. No death, no worry.

C.J. sees all the possiblities of having his truck FUBAR'ed up on a mountain pass.

me(non-chalant)"So what's your thoughts, cheif?"

C.J.: (eyes turgid with fear) "I think I'm going to have to throw it in the ditch"

Me:(double take)"What?"

C.J.(faraway look in the eye)"I believe I have no choice but to let it roll back into the ditch, so we don't roll all the way down the mountian."

Me:"Why don't you hold onto that idea for a second. There's gotta' be something to block the tires. Do you have anything specifically to block the tires?"

He did.

I blocked the tires, while he frantically tried to get in touch with someone who could get a tow-truck up to us.

No luck. So I tell him to go and talk to a truck-driver that just quit ahead of us, and use his CB.

C.J. goes and does so. The truck driver gave him a mountain dew, and they alerted the police along the way, other truck dirvers, and got a tow-truck resuce operation in place.

C.J. is amazing when he focuses down on what is necessary, past being flustered. His mind just flashes through all the options. It made me realize, that among my friends, C.J., although he's pretty edgy at times, between the two of us all the angles are covered.

He got a signal through the horrid reception to a friend in Denver, who agreed to help him out, and call a tow-truck.

Eventually, sitting there, as I crafted a pop-can pipe to smoke some more marijuana, C.J. fiddles with his 4wd stick, and tries to move the truck.

And we move.

I unblock the tires, and we're back in business. He cancels the alarm, and we are on our way.

I blame a lot of that on the torrid pot-smoking.