Sorry for the delay between updates. Every time I would sit down and get halfway through the second half of this story, something would happen that would cause me to lose the entire post. Be it a blackout across eight counties or me accidentally kicking the power plug out of my PC or going to use the spell-check feature on Blogspot and having it wipe out everything I had written. It’s been fun. No, really. Once again, the following is the continuation of a story of what two crazy kids got up to on spring break. If you have sensitive sensibilities, please do not read this entry. Some content may be offensive to people. You Have Been Warned.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled program.
DetourAnd so it came to pass that we were headed back towards Houston with our $50 still intact, a full tank of gas and a borrowed surfboard. We were booking along in the fast lane enjoying a brisk spring morning when a roadblock loomed in our path. This roadblock took the shape of a large red Ford Dually doing exactly the speed limit in the fast lane.
Now, before I continue my story, I feel I need to make a few things clear. Our families instilled in us a great respect for law enforcement as well as all people. Oscar and I were both pretty straight arrows and would never knowingly disrespect a police officer. Well, try to remember that I was only 17 and Oscar was only 16. As for what my parents taught me about respecting people and obeying the law? The best laid plans of mice and men…
We rode along behind this big red truck for a time, and he neither slowed down nor sped up, but instead matched exactly the vehicles next to us so that we could not easily go around him. After several more minutes of being stuck behind this guy, we were getting impatient. I suddenly looked to my left. Why, here was a jewel beyond compare! A nice wide breakdown lane without a breakdown in sight! I zipped over, slammed the gas pedal down and rode my way to glory and a clear lane ahead of us.
Once we had settled into our new groove, we figured on making good time. Then I looked in my rearview mirror. Mr. Dually had apparently figured out that his gas pedal could be used to make his truck go faster. Not only that, but he was also flashing his lights and honking his horn.
History often boils the genesis of great world changing events down to a single moment in time: The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the invention of New Coke, Sting losing his last name in the couch cushions… Some moments are longer than others, but they are all referred to as great turning points in history, as if the great inertia of history rested upon a fulcrum which if shifted ever so slightly would bring the whole thing crashing down around our ears like a failed Evel Kneivel stunt.
This was one such moment.
I used an ancient hand signal to let the driver of the big red truck that he was number one in my book. Apparently, this excited him even more for some reason. He roared up next to us and rolled his window down, shouting for us to pull over, his face beet red, spittle flying from his lips and, lo and behold, a deputy’s badge in his hand. My stomach performed a complex gymnastic floor routine but failed to stick the landing.
Once we were pulled over into the very same breakdown lane which got me into trouble in the first place, the deputy began to berate me in ways which I find difficult to recall at this time. Honestly, I was far too interested in his apparent lack of dental hygiene and the stench of snuff washing over me as he asked if I still wanted to copulate with him. I pegged him as a Copenhagen man, but as I am no Snuff aficionado I may be mistaken. I have had moments where I was in conversation with people dipping Kodiak, and the sensations of standing on the side of the freeway just north of Galveston while an irate Sheriff’s deputy screams incoherently three inches from my face come flooding back over me. I don’t know if they sold Kodiak in southeast Texas back in the spring of 1990, but I wouldn’t be surprised. He also had small quantities of dip stuck in between his teeth. I guess he got tired of being Mr. Shouty and he proceeded to start searching the innards of the Royal Knight.
Around this time, an on duty deputy in a patrol car happened by. I guess Deputy Kodiak knew the guy, because he went over and they chatted for a bit.
Meanwhile, Oscar and I were thanking our lucky stars. The night before, we had had a couple beers. For Oscar this was significant because the first one we had was, according to him, his first beer. He polished it off with relish, got a marker and signed and dated it, and vowed to take it home as a trophy. Due to an early start, he forgot his beer can, thus saving us the trouble of being charged with Minor In Possession as well as Open Container. As it was, Deputy Kodiak came back and wrote me a ticket for three separate offenses and sent us on our way with a stern admonishment to obey all traffic laws.
The rest of the morning was passed in relative silence. We obeyed the speed limit, maintained lanes, and generally drove as if a cruiser was behind us the whole time. As with many young minds, though, we soon began to look forward to the road ahead rather than dwell on the past.
Gas Man? How do they know I got gas?The miles unrolled under the wheels of the Royal Knight like an endless Fruit Rollup. We headbanged to Metallica and Guns N Roses, kicked back with The Cure and Erasure, jammed out to Led Zepplin, and yes, we even listened to Enigma a few more times. Time passed, the miles flew by and the gas gauge crept towards the big E. At about ¼ of a tank, we started looking for a Mobil station. Since this was long before the days of the Exxon Mobil Merger, only a Mobil station would do.
We finally located one along the main street running through some tiny town with no name. We got lucky once again because had we been a few minutes later, the station would have been closed. It was almost five o’clock, and we had just made it under the wire. Gassed up and on the road again, we were close to our goal. We could smell victory in the air.
It was dark by the time we rolled into South Padre Island proper. We coasted over the tall bridge on fumes, practically. We weren’t worried though, since we knew Mobil was a big company and they were bound to have a gas station somewhere near a place as hot as SPI.
Our first night was spent in a bar called Charlie’s. The place was packed and, considering the near acre of space that was outdoors, that was saying something. We hung out and BSed with other people all night. Oscar at the forefront of every introduction, myself hanging back a bit. This was a pattern that repeated itself all through our lives. Oscar was a loud, boisterous guy who loved to meet people and had no problem just walking into a group of people and jumping right in on their conversation. Somehow, through his charm and devil-may-care attitude, people always took an instant liking to Oscar.
Upon our arrival, there was a girl passing out Camel cigarette paraphernalia. Oscar scored himself a goofy pink and neon yellow bicycle cap. He was stoked about winning it and vowed to never take it off.
The bar finally closed down, and we had to find a place to crash for the night. With no money for a hotel, we found a parking spot next to the beach and flipped a coin to see who would sleep in the back with the surfboard. Oscar won.
The next morning, we cruised around looking for gas. With slowly dawning horror, we realized that there were no Mobil stations within miles of South Padre. We were screwed.
Louie’s Back YardI had never been a real big believer in ESP or the ability to foretell the future or other such beliefs, but what happened the next day really opened my eyes to the endless possibilities that exist in the universe.
We were up early, it being difficult to sleep for long parked on the side of a busy street. After the dawning disappointment of the gas situation, we hit the RV park for showers. This was yet another fortuitous happenstance that allowed us to stay fresh and clean with no place to stay.
That first night at Charlie’s, we ran into a couple guys from Oklahoma. Dale and Scott. Dale and Scott were almost a mirror image of myself and Oscar. Dale was loud, boisterous and gregarious. Scott was a quiet guy along for the ride. It had been Dale’s birthday the day before, and he made sure we got to celebrate with him. Prairie Fires were the drink of the night with beers interspersed. It was Dale who told us about the RV park, and sure enough we ran into the pair getting washed up themselves. We asked them what they were doing. The answer?
Wet T-shirt contest at Louie’s Back Yard.
Louie’s was an outdoor bar, very similar to Charlie’s except for the beach sand that served as the floor. A series of stairs led up to a stage area as well as what looked to be an office area. It was here that the terrible event would take place.
I’ll leave the naughty bits to your imaginations. It was an enjoyable way to spend an hour as a 17 year old, truly. There were several rounds to the competition, with the young ladies involved making their daddies proud. Eventually there were only three girls left. They came out for one final round.
At this point, everything becomes hazy and difficult to remember. I hadn’t been drinking, because we had no money to buy drinks. What I recall is something like a mass Nostradamian hallucination. There we were, probably five hundred guys crowded around the bottom of the stairs, looking up and seeing…seeing…seeing ten and fourteen years into the future. It was the only way I can explain the chanting: “BUSH WILL WIN! BUSH WILL WIN!”
Well, we all know how things turned out in the end.
Border PatrolWe hit the beach for the rest of the day, Oscar and I taking turns on the surfboard, both trying to stay upright, neither of us doing a particularly good job, but having a good time. We got cleaned up again, ran into Dale and Scott again at Charlie’s and started the whole mess over again. Because we showed up so early, we kept getting into Charlie’s for free. It was a good thing too, because we needed the money for gas big time.
Over the course of the night, we learned Dale and Scott they were going over the border to check out Matamoras the next day. We partied that night, got the drinks flowing, etc. Oscar was still wearing the day glow neon bicycle hat. We met some marines that night, getting ready to ship out to the Persian Gulf. Oscar, being gung ho to join the marines himself, had us hanging out with them all night. It was a pretty cool experience. We learned all about different infantry MOs. We agreed later that our favorite was the Dragon Gunner. Basically, the Dragon is a large anti-armor machine gun. That’s all I really remember about it now, but we thought it was nifty at the time. It was probably that night hanging out with those marines that made me want to join up later, but that’s another story.
The next morning, we loaded up into Dale’s Ford Probe (no jokes, please) and headed for the border. We walked around and looked at the shops and ended up buying some of those rough knit hoodies that you see for sale all over those border towns. After spending that money, we only had ten bucks left to get enough gas to take us some 250 miles back to the one tiny Mobil gas station we had found on the way down. We stopped at a fairly swank looking Mexican restaurant where Oscar and I had tea and crackers as we sat and watched Dale and Scott scarf down some tacos or something. The crackers weren’t bad.
With most of the day shot, there wasn’t much to do as we headed back across the border except hit the beach and try to surf again. After wearing ourselves out on the sub-par waves, we showered and changed again and got ready for our final night at Charlie’s.
Fred Garvin, Male ProstituteWe had been hanging around South Padre without much to eat for a couple of days at this point. I’d like to point out that we did bring a little food but since we were expecting to be able to raid a gas station convenience store whenever we needed food, it didn’t last us long. Two growing football players needed a lot of calories to keep going. I was worn out around midnight, and headed back to the car to nap while I waited for Oscar.
A word about the surfboard.
The surfboard had been kind of a pain for us, since it was a fairly good sized one. It was slightly longer than the cab of the El Camino which meant that while we left the car anywhere, we had to jam the surfboard crossways into the cab of the car. It worked well enough for what we needed, and at night, one of us got to cuddle in the back with it. It wasn’t safe to just leave it in the back unattended, because you could turn your back for a few minutes and BAM it would be gone. This meant always being paranoid about where the board was. After all, it was borrowed.
So anyway, I’m sitting in the car, wishing I hadn’t had tea in Matamoras, since everyone knows you’re not supposed to drink the water. Additionally, I’m sandwiched into the front with the surf board, meaning there’s very little space to move. A few hours go by and the club starts to empty out. Oscar shows up, says he’s going to move the car and then help Dale take some girls home that they met. This alone should have been cause for alarm. After we moved the car to our normal sleeping place, I find out Scott is not going with them, and he climbs into the passenger side and passes out. Oscar and Dale promise they’ll be RIGHT BACK.
Naturally, about three hours later, they haven’t returned. Scott decides he’s going to go look for them, since they told us which hotel the girls were staying at.
Did I mention the board was in the back of the truck, all by its lonesome? An undetermined time later, I hear a commotion in the back. I figure it’s Oscar finally getting back and crashing in the back. I’m half asleep so I don’t think anything of it for a few minutes. Then I think “Hey, wouldn’t he have said something before crashing out?” And of cource the next thing I think is “Oh
the surfboard.”
I threw myself from the car and looked hopefully into the bed of the El Camino. Alas, the board was gone. I glanced hurriedly around and off in the distance, I saw two figures running off into the night, carrying a surf board. I leapt into the car and gave chase, hoping I could catch them and get the board back somehow. They heard the car coming and ducked into some town homes, where I eventually lost them. Alone, beaten and nearly penniless, I headed back to the parking spot, hoping to find that at least my bro was back. No such luck. I parked, climbed into the truck bed and called it a morning.
A few hours later, Scott came back. No sign of Oscar, Dale or the Probe. We were both pretty bummed out. Scott said there was a parking garage that he couldn’t get into, so the car might have been there. We headed to the RV park for another shower and to wait for our friends.
Who finally showed up around 11:30am. Oscar had lost his hat somewhere, but he had a big feces-consuming grin on his face that I knew all too well. Lil Oskie had scored. What a bastard.
The story that unfolded was indeed one for the ages. After I left to pass out in the car, the guys were approached (more likely they did the approaching, but who am I to steal their thunder) by two college cuties who had a hotel room. It turns out these girls were looking for a good time, and Oscar and Dale were more than happy to oblige. They just had to dump those other two guys to pull it off. Thusly unburdened of the Quiet People, our intrepid heroes ‘escorted’ the ladies back to their hotel, where they partook of the hotel hot tub. Oh yes, Oscar assured me that the hot tub was indeed very hot and felt good on his poor stiff back which had endured much anguish from our poor sleeping quarters. He also assured me he felt bad about leaving me out there once he found out these girls had plenty of extra room in their hotel room which they were sharing with several other friends, but this in no way compelled him to come wake me from my slumber and let me know that a padded carpet awaited me just a mile up the road. Instead, he and Dale erected walls of sheets hanging from the ceiling, and proceeded to assist these young ladies in testing the mattresses for durability.
Somewhere between that, sleeping in an actual bed with an armful of warm girl, waking up and taking a nice hot shower (the showers at the RV park were lukewarm at best) and having breakfast with the girls, he had completely forgotten about…his Camel bicycle hat. Oh yeah, and me.
I let him know he was still number one in my book.
We loaded up, took our leave of Dale and Scott, found the cheapest gas station we could find (93 cents back then), and dropped our last seven dollars into the gas tank. We had miles to roll off.
Epilogue
The rest of the trip wasn’t bad. I gave him hell for a while about ditching me, but it was all in good fun. I had still had a pretty good time, and one night stands were never my bag anyway. I was glad that he had had fun his way. I still would have liked to sleep somewhere without a rubber mat on the floor, or tried that hot tub out, or not lost the surfboard…
Chris was surprisingly low key about the loss of the board. It was damaged anyway (it had a chunk out near the nose), and although I could tell he was kinda ticked off about it, he said to forget about it and sounded sincere. He may still be sore about it, I don’t know. We never really talk, and to be honest, we never got along well in the first place. He used to torment me pretty bad when we were little kids, but that’s for the therapist to hear. He lives in California and still surfs to this day as far as I know.
The tickets for my little escapade when we were leaving Galveston? Yeah, somehow that never got filed. I don't know if the officer decided to take it easy on me or if he just forgot to file the paperwork in time. Needless to say, when I went to the DMV some time later to check on an unrelated matter, they never showed that the tickets had been in the system.
We rolled back into the same Mobil gas station we had hit three days earlier and loaded up on gas, sodas, chips and ice. We lived like kings all the way back to Houston. At least it felt like we did.
Once back in Houston, we met up with my Dad again, got one last full tank of gas and some snacks, and relinquished the card. After that, there was nothing left to do but head back to Dallas. We hit the freeway doing 65 (speeding back in those days), put on our sunglasses, rolled down the windows and cranked up the radio.
Sadness, Part I was playing again.
Damn radio.
-J
