If you were smart and prepared you’d bring along a deck of cards or some other small board game. If not, you had to rely on the old stand-bys, such as 20 Questions, or finding words that start with every letter of the alphabet in order, or looking for the license plates of all fifty states.
When those ran out, you’d start singing annoying, yet time-filling songs such as 99 Bottles of Bear on the Wall. When that had run its course, you had to start thinking outside the box.Thinking outside the box for Tim and I was usually a dangerous proposition. Our short history was scattered with non-traditional stupid ideas designed to fill our time, like impulsive late night drives to Orlando to go to one of Disney’s theme parks the next morning or staying up all night watching the newly created cable television in what was to eventually be called the Late Night Breast Search.
On this trip, however, our exterior box thinking ended up with a benign, yet fulfilling solution… a game called Coaster. As we logged hundreds of miles through the highs and lows for the mountainous terrain we decided to see who could coast, with the car in neutral, at over 45 miles per hour, the longest. During Tim’s shift behind the wheel, he started. We were atop a high mountain overlooking the New Mexico landscape when he put the car in neutral and let it go. His first attempt looked promising. Below us was a logic-defying geographically straight road that seemed to go on forever… no curves to slow you down, less friction to dampen your pace.
The engine slowed to a hum and the car became increasingly quiet. All eyes were on the speedometer as it crept up the dial… Ten miles per hour… 20, 30, 35… as soon as it reached 45 miles per hour, the clock started.
The car continued to gather speed… past 60, then 70 and the clock continued to click. As we reached the bottom Tim was going nearly 80 miles per hour. The car began to naturally slow as the ground leveled and with nary a car within visual distance, we all focused on the speedometer. When the car had finally slowed to 44 miles per hour, I checked my watch... Tim had officially coasted 12 miles.Sure it was only a 12 minute escape from the monotony of this long trip, but it was fun and kept our spirits up… plus, it saved on gas. A winner all around.
A while later, sitting in the backseat was starting to get uncomfortable and my legs were starting to cramp, so I asked Tim to stop at the next available location so I could use the restroom. After a few more miles we eventually pulled into a local Native American jewelry store. It was a very simple building made of old wood with a welcoming air-conditioned interior. Beth and Sunday started browsing through the large collection of handmade jewelry, full of bright stones. I asked if they had a bathroom I could use and the woman who ran the shop pointed me toward the back of the building stating “There’s one out back.”
I exited the building and back into the brutal, yet dry summer heat. It was officially hotter here than it was in Florida, but without the south Florida humidity, it didn’t seem nearly as oppressive.
I walked around the cemented path toward the back of the store where I spotted a small wooden shack, about eight feet wide and five feet deep. It looked a little shabby, but a bathroom doesn’t need much, just a toilet, some running water and soap.As I approached the shack I was hit with a wall of stench so strong that it nearly knocked me off of my feet. I’m not kidding. It was like hitting a force field made of invisible vomit. Still, nature was calling, so I pressed on. As I neared the shack, something seemingly impossible occurred… the odor intensified.
Now both disgusted and intrigued, I had to continue on. My senses told me to run, my heart begged me to take my own life, but my mind, driven by unbridled curiosity, pushed me onward. I walked around the shack and found a single door with the word “Outhouse” painted on the door. “So this is an outhouse?” I asked myself. “No wonder it’s outside!” I said as I fearfully and cautiously opened the door.
As the wooden door creaked opened, the mist of aged refused accosted me with such a force that my eyes began to water. Inside this small, hot and hellaciously despicable shack, was a homemade box that ran the length of the back wall with two holes in it… i.e., the toilets. Against all reason, some perverse attraction drew me toward the holes. I completely covered my face in the bottom of my t-shirt and tentatively peered in.
Fortunately, the holes were too dark to see the contents they so proudly held, but my eyes had begun to burn and I was forced to rush out, running passed the invisible barrier of gastric evil. When I reached safe ground I deeply inhaled the clean and hot New Mexico air, unsure if the remnants of the outhouse smell would ever completely dissipate from my nostrils.
Surely this wasn't there only bathroom the store had, but I guess it was the one they gave to idiots who stop at their jewelry store just so they can use the restroom.
Just as my uncontrollable gasping had returned to normal breathing, Tim exited the jewelry store.
He asked, “Where’s the bathrooms?”
“Right back there,” I said with innocent tones. “You’ll know it when you find it.”
Tim nodded and started on the cement path toward the back of the store. I watched with evil delight as he strolled calmly down the path, like watching a baby seal swimming with glee toward a swarm of killer whales.
His carefree trot came to an abrupt halt as he hit the invisible barrier of gastric evil. Stunned, he remained frozen, unsure of whether or not to continue on. Only moments later he too continued, drawn to the apocalyptic odor like a moth to the flame, eventually disappearing behind the building.
I plopped into the back of the Acura and waited for everyone in the car. Sunday and Beth made it to the car first. Tim eventually returned, his face flushed and sweaty, his eyes red and watery. He sat into the front seat and turned to me.
“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” he exclaimed.
We burst into laughter. The girls looked at us with questioning eyes, but Tim and I both knew that such an event could only be appreciated by the males of the species. I’m not saying that’s anything to be proud of… I’m only saying that men are stupid that way.
Flashback memories of the outhouse was something that would cause inadvertent chuckling for the rest of the trip.
Tim started the car and we pressed on to our next stop... the Grand Canyon.
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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 21, (Text, Audio) The OuthouseGoin' Out To Cally - Part 20, (Text, Audio) Riding The Hump
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 19, (Text, Audio) Bob Hope, Lil’ Debbie And Restless Gods
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 18, (Text, Audio) Unlevel Headed
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 17, (Text, Audio) Starry Night, Confusing Night
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Three Beds + Four People = Oh Crap
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 15, (Text, Audio) Masculinity At Stake
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
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