The Hair of the Puppy

It was a summertime weekend, and I was attending a girls softball tournament in North Central Indiana. It was hot, and miserably humid. A typical summer day if you’ve ever traveled to the great state of Indiana during the summer. I was 17, and in attendance to watch my then high school girlfriend play in the tournament. Why torture myself you may ask? Well, to be honest, I was so far up here anus that I may have used a hemorrhoid as a pillow most nights. I planned on watching the game, and going out to eat afterwards before a two hour drive home.

The games concluded and The Olive Garden was chosen as our dinner destination. Unlimited salad and bread sticks were worth the twenty dollar piece of lasagna that I could afford on my minimum wage job salary. I had rarely eaten at The Olive Garden due to my hometown not having the commercial giant readily available. I have been known to have stomach issues with rich food, however, never a major issue with Italian food. The meal was fine, and upon exiting the restaurant I felt full, and confident to begin my long drive home at 10:00 o’clock that night. I hopped in the car, content, only then I suddenly felt rolling thunder.

There wasn’t any rain or lightning, but a storm was definitely moving in, and coming in fast. I had a phobia of defecating in public toilets at this age (which I’ve proudly overcome) and so randomly stopping somewhere wasn’t an option. Weird noises and goosebumps were coursing through my body. I wasn’t even a quarter way through my journey, but this had become an ultimate test. Believing in myself and my fortitude, I pinched cheeks together like I was in a Tijuana body shop after eating ice cream. Suddenly with one loud rumble, the pain was gone. No more goosebumps or pain, and the urge to blow out my O-Ring had vanquished. False alarm? Maybe, but only time would tell and I accelerated my cruise control to 5 mph greater.

An hour had passed and I was a mere 45 minutes from my end destination. My confidence grew, and I imagine I felt similar to a great explorer or conqueror of sorts. The light at the end of the tunnel was expanding and I smiled. Only, life has a way of reminding you that Murphy’s Law exists and is not to be toyed with. The storm had resurfaced. Cramping and goosebumps returned and my overworked sphincter needed assistance. Now I was 30 minutes away. If I were to survive it would be a miracle.

I decided that a Steak ‘N’ Shake restaurant located about ten minutes from home would be my target. I could drop my bombs over Baghdad and celebrate with a strawberry milkshake. However, this would take more will power than I would imagine. If I were to arrive safely, I would need help. I grabbed an empty Gatorade bottle and wedged it between destiny and disaster. A make shift dam,… or plug I guess. At this point I was speeding, and if an officer had clocked me, it would have been an awful experience for the both of us. I wondered, could this be considered a medical emergency? Could I run from the cops and not be ticketed?

Biting my lip, with full body goosebumps and skin colored green I pulled into Steak ‘N’ Shake. I did it! 50 ft was all that was left of this horrific drive home and I felt my soul relax. Unfortunately, as I took my first step from the car, so did my large intestine. Lighting finally struck. With a noise that rivaled true lighting itself, my left leg was suddenly warm and my bright, new, white Converse All Star shoes changed color. Rain accompanied the lighting, but this rain was colored brown. Shit was rolling down my leg and ruining my sheen of my white shoes. I had officially just crapped my pants. My nineties cargo shorts offered zero protection from the hurricane that had just occurred in the soap on a rope zone. Shame, for shame on myself.

I searched the parking lot for anyone who may have witnessed the disaster. Luckily, I was the only car in sight. To the north of the parking lot was an area of trees and brush, covered in darkness that called to my inner instinct. As I ran, remnants of the thunder shot out like a cannon. When I made it to safety, I fully stripped. Socks, underwear were launched into the wood, never to be seen again. I pulled up my moist cargoes and walked confidently back to my car. I drove a Ford Taurus, which would later be named the “Tore Ass” to commemorate my experience. More luck would have it, a towel. A towel I had used to sit on from a recent trip to the quarries helped protect the car interior. I placed the towel on the seat, and sat in my depressing misery.

The horror did not end there. I made it home, sneaking into the garage taking off my shoes and using the towel to wipe away leftovers attempting to avoid desecrating our house. From there, I shot straight to the laundry room which was downstairs and connected by a door to the garage. I tossed shoes, the towel, and everything else I had been wearing into the washer and quickly added soap. I stood there naked, in utter shame taking a deep breath before I washed away my sorrows. I wondered how I would make it to the upstairs bathroom without being detected? Then I remembered that it was almost Midnight. Everyone should be asleep. I was ready to take this secret to the grave and that’s when I heard the door open.

Full moon glaring with shit stained cheeks, it was my mother who rightfully shreeked in terror. The nightmare had become reality. After the shrill, she quickly exited and closed the door. I found a towel and opened the door. She apologized for walking in unannounced and asked if I was ok. My head hung low, I couldn’t find the courage to look her in the eye. Sniffling like a two year old, I finally muttered “Mom, I shit my pants.” A brief moment of silence, and then with the most reassuring “mom” voice she replied.

“Oh son,… it’s ok. So did I last week.”

This is not a tale of sadness, however, but a defining moment of life. Two of the greatest things came from this experience. One, I love my mom and I never feared telling her anything after this moment. Two, I could never wear those shoes again. I loved my Converse, but every time I laced them up afterwards, all I could see was poo staining the glory of my new age Chuck’s. Shortly after, maybe two days, I made the best shoe purchase of all time. I bought a pair of Dr J Converse 2000’s. My favorite all-time shoe. You can only find these gems on Ebay these days, but in all their glory, they are worth it.

Some words I now live by, sometimes greatness comes with shitting your pants.

I felt as if we were in a car commercial. The commercial where the 4×4 is driving up a gravel path on a mountain cliff where civilization is just an afterthought, although the view wasn’t as pristine as in the commercial. There were large rivets on the road, wall to wall fur trees, and we may have been only going about 15 mph rather than 60 mph. We were, however, driving up a mountain in Grand Teton National Park. That’s how the day began. An early sunrise drive up a freakin’ mountain. When our vehicle finally stopped, we stepped out into the wet, foggy morning and took a huge breath of mountain air.

After a short hike from the Jeep, we soon came upon a clearing in the wood overlooking a miraculous lake. We being Tyler, Peter, Matt, and Me. This lake would be the magnificent Phelps Lake. The water was so blue it made you thirsty, and it looked as cold as winter on this July morning. The excitement grew within us nubies, and brought a smile to our guide and friend, Tyler. What was the day about to behold? In person, the view could change your whole outlook on life. Kinda like sky jumping with monkeys while tripping on acid off the coast in Costa Rica. Feeling euphoric, we luckily we ran across some fellow hikers, who were able to get a shot of all four of us in front the Rockies’ beauty before our adventure truly began.

We planned on taking the trail past Phelps Lake and down into Death Canyon. I was reassured that the “death” part was only to be considered ironic, as the trail was beaming with nature’s beautiful gift of life.

As predicted the hike was beautiful. Only the sound of nature tickled our ears. Water from a mountain stream flowed on our left, and then our right as the trail went up and down like a forever roller coaster. At the time, we were unaware how this majestic flow of water originated from a waterfall created by snow melt. We would soon be gazing upward at it’s power, and by the end of the day fearing for our lives as it rushed beneath us. Awe and innocence were the only things I could feel as the journey continued through the canyon.

Unfortunately, as life would have it, we yearned for something a little more dangerous than the beaten trail. Enter the insane idea of bushwhacking. Bushwhacking is forbidden and not recommended, but we were eighteen, young, and lacking wisdom. Looking to our right, or West for perspective, we decided to climb the summit of the mountain that hovered over us like a parent who just didn’t understand. The end goal was to view the sunset at the very top, something only movies or a book could provide the imagination. This, by far, would be one of the most naive and idiotic things I’ve done. It may also be one of the most rewarding and fulfilling. Weird how that works, right? The bushwhack began with an ode to the colorful Butch Miller and Luke Williams, followed by about an hour of thick brush that scraped every piece of flesh that was left bare below the knee. We were in shorts, it was July, but we would later regret this decision.

Eventually, we cleared the brush and entered a woody area just before we hit pure rock. Traveling in two’s, my friend Peter and I were riding the caboose, enjoying our time and still making loud noises to deter any sort of furry friends also known to currently be in the area. We soon collided with our leading partners, of which, were frozen stiff. “Tha hell?” was uttered, quickly followed by a “shhhhhhhsh”. “Tha hell?” was WHISPERED again. “MOOSE” shortly followed after. Now, paying attention, I looked forward, only to see a seven or eight foot hairy beast staring down at us. The animal’s eyes fixated on our position, the lead two starting moving slowly and sideways out of the area. This left left Peter and I still standing there and frozen. The moose, becoming more annoyed at our presence began to stomp the ground and snort, almost daring us to do something,… anything. I honestly can’t remember who spoke the words.

“We’ve got to move”.

One eye remained on the moose, the other searching for anything that may provide shelter from an attack. Then a realization. The ground we stood on was matted down, and warm. We had been standing in this beast’s bed. Slowly and side shuffling the FUCK out of there, we slowly came upon a rocky clearing, as sixty seconds seamed to take thirty minutes. Thankfully, and luckily the majestic animal disappeared into the wilderness possibly leaving my shorts moist with urine.

We should have turned back there and called it a day. But wait, as mentioned, we were eighteen, and we had defeated the moose! Nothing else could be as dangerous as that, plus we had a sunset to catch. The climb up was relatively easy for us. It was similar to tree climbing but instead of bark it was a razor sharp wind blown mountain. However, we were close friends, so teamwork and helping each other up the craggy earth was somewhat simple. We worked together similar to playing a game of pick-up basketball, in that, helping each other with communication and the small details came natural to us. We steadily rose in altitude and the end was near. We were close. It was then that I started to notice something. We were slowing down, a lot. I wasn’t necessarily tired, but with each step it became harder to move. Every step began taking every ounce of effort and strength I had, followed by a thirty second rest. Peter and Tyler were still moving, but Matt had fallen behind me, and was having the same issue. It was dreamlike. The same dream where you are punching zombies in the face with all your might, but barely effecting the creature. I was fighting and struggling to only move a few inches. At this pace, I wasn’t going to make the summit for the sunset, at this pace I wasn’t going to make another five feet. Matt and I decided to live with the disappointment of not seeing the sunset, or I guess you could say we decided to simply live another day. Peter and Tyler forged on.

It was getting dark fast, and fear began to tickle the back of my neck. The reality of traveling through bear country in the pitch black began to settle in. Peter and Tyler did reach the summit and had finally made it back to Matt and I. Desperately awaiting the description of the picturesque sunset they witnessed, I received more disappointment. A larger mountain, hovering over our summit, blocked what was to be our victory. No sunset, no reward, and the worst news of all just revealed, we only had one flashlight. 8 foot drops on crag rock was ahead, in almost pitch black.

It would have been slow going in the day, but with only a small beam of light and the moon we moved at a turtle’s pace. Blood was the only warmth being provided on our legs, and I’m sure our legs smelled like hot dogs with all the fixins’ on the fourth of July to the wildlife that surrounded us. When we finally reached the timber and were done with the sharp rocks, the four of us cheered mightily. The accomplishment of our feat was exhilarating. Our cheers were also able to assist in the frightening of any bears anxiously awaiting a midnight snack in the brush below. The thought was terrifying. The idea of walking aimlessly through four feet of mountain grass with a bear anxiously awaiting us. This is when the light appeared. Moving fast and upward the cliff. It’s luminescence was beaming towards us and we could faintly hear a voice as it grew closer to a parallel angle of our location.

“Hey!!!!” was shouted. Then again, “Hey!!!!” We responded with, “We’re ok!” We marveled at our accomplishment, and knew the end game was close. The next response was heard by all four us, and you could hear the glass shattering relating to our newborn confidence.

“No!! You’re not!”

Instantly we were fear stricken and our every sense was heightened. In unison we thought of bears among us,….maybe right next to us. Like drunken minstrels, we immediately began hooting, and yelling, moving quickly towards the voice of light. When we were within hearing distance of our unsung hero, the voice identified as a forest ranger. He then punctuality asked, “What the hell are you guys doing?” After a short explanation of our quest, witnessing the sunset at the top of a mountain, his reply was priceless. “Well, why did’t you just take the path?” The path, the path that we had missed, overlooked and overshot by about one hundred yards led directly to the top of our crag, and would have given us the desired outcome we had so desperately wanted. With little explanation, the ranger advised us of the danger in front of us. We now needed to cross and accompany him down the mountain. Cross,… as in cross the waterfall between us. Yes, the same waterfall we gazed upon earlier was now between us and safety. It was at least ten feet wide, and we promptly asked how in the hell are we supposes to do that? Jump ten feet across a waterfall in the pitch black? If we miss it was surely instant death. The ranger described an area close by consisting of fallen fur trees that provided a natural bridge across the waterfall. His only advice, always hold a branch above your waist, and if your feet fall through, don’t let go.

Are you fucking kidding me? It was the only way, except for having a midnight snack with bears.

All four of us within a short dick hair of each other, secured our footing on the fallen trees. We baby stepped and prayed. I was second in line, and we inched closer to the out reached hand of our rescuer when the scream was heard. It reminded me of the movie Predator, when instant horror hits the manly men when the beast is revealed. I turned to see my friend Peter, and half of my friend Matt. He had fallen, and his hands, his hands were clenched to a branch so tight, the white from his knuckles illuminated. The cries for help curdled my soul as we braced to assist him and help him back up to a firmer footing. The struggle was real, and my memory is black to this day of that moment. I don’t know how he did it. Toes dangling one hundred feet in the air over mountainous waterfall. Within seconds it was over. We made it. I don’t know how, but we made it.

The long walk down began, and we eventually made it to the Ranger Station. We had to explain ourselves again, along with almost dying, we were in serious trouble with the authorities. Thank God they let us go. I’d like to think that the adventure we just took was given sympathy by the authorities, and that they had actually admired and felt sorry for us. The truth is, I don’t think they wanted to file paperwork for our ass hattery at 2 AM. We still had miles of a hike back to the Jeep, in shorts, soaked from the waterfall, at a mere 32 degrees at 2 in the morning. They let us go.

When we finally arrived back at the vehicle, we drove over an hour to an eatery in Jackson. We ate like kings, and chugged hot chocolate. I remember my feet being so wrinkly from my wet boots that it looked like a character from The Amazing World of Gumball, and skin was literally falling off my feet. It was crazy, it was stupid, but man,…it was one of, if not the most awesome adventure of my life.