A tale of two Garths. Chapter 50. More balls.


Upon arrival to the Pig Roast, we were graciously escorted to our “rooms,” which were really a couple of tents set up in the middle of a never-ending group of pine trees. Normally our accommodations were located among the aspen trees, which were on the opposite side of the property. I had always loved being in the middle of the aspens, but pine trees were just as nice. Garth and I shared a tent, with Adam and Jonathon in a second tent a few yards away.

 

It had been a long trip. The drive from Cali to Colorado, trapped in the same car with one another, had taken its toll on all of us.  All I could think about was having some alone time with my man. As we lay down in our tent we realized that this had been the first time we were alone in days. So we thought we might as well take advantage of it. We started kissing and caressing one another while doing our best not to make any awkward noises for our neighbors. It wasn’t before long before we both were naked and in the throes of passion. And just as we were about to seal the deal, I looked up at Garth. And that’s when he hit me square in the face with a pillow.

 

“BEE!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. But before I could see the flying menace I was swatted in the face once again. I shouldn’t have made fun of his book. Now he’s trying to kill me with a pillow.  It was a genius plan really. If he beat me to death with a pillow it was sure not to leave any marks. Needless to say, our intimate moment was ruined. As he continued to whack the pillow frantically in the air trying to kill the bee, another flew into the tent. The bee had called for back up. This is the point where I should probably mention that the zipper on the tent was broken. We didn’t think it was going to be a problem because the tent had a shell cover on it. Sure we had privacy from anyone seeing inside the tent. But no privacy from the bees who were getting a free peep show.

 

There we were, in the middle of the woods, having a naked pillow fight in a tent. It would have been a whole lot sexier if it weren’t for the cursing and the endless stream of black and yellow cock-blockers. But they just kept coming. We had no choice but to bail out. So we grabbed what clothing we could in between swats and twelve letter words. A pair of underwear here, a t-shirt there. I don’t think either one of us had gotten dressed so quickly in our lives. Somehow we both fell out of the tent unscathed.

 

“Fuck this! I’m outta’ here. Let’s go,” Garth said, grabbing my hand. We soon realized that forest floors and bare feet are not a good match, but neither one of us was going to brave “The Hive” just for shoes. We decided to tough it out sans footwear. So slowly, painfully, we navigated the rocks and pinecones to make it back to the center of camp and some other campers. We must have looked like Hell, because the bemused curiosity on the faces of the other campers told us we weren’t getting out of this without telling the story.

 

After sharing a G-rated version of the bee attack (e.g., “napping” was the reason for our undress), the property’s owner tried to stifle his laughter with a sad puppy dog face.

“Ohhhhh no. I’m so sorry, you two,“ Glen said. “I think we should probably move the tent.” You think? “But it’s the hottest part of the day, and from what you’ve told me, you have some pretty pissed-off bees inside that tent right now.” I’m going to go ahead and say that “pissed-off bees” was probably a bit of an understatement. Those bees were outright homicidal.

 

Garth and I spent the rest of the afternoon barefoot, drinking donated beer and smoking donated pot. Later that afternoon, Glenn and Garth went back to our campsite and moved the tent to another location in the pines. Glenn assured us that this time we would be bee-free. He was wrong.

 

The next morning I woke up to more bees. I hate those little motherfuckers, I thought to myself. But at least I had planned ahead and laid out some quick clothing options. So I pulled on my tank top and wrap skirt, and grabbed my Birkenstocks on my way out of the tent.  As I made my way towards the center of camp I heard a gruff voice say, “You’re welcome to join us.” I looked to my right and there were three salty looking men sitting by a campfire. Of course I went over.

 

“You do know that the house is open to guests if you want to cook inside,” I informed them looking at the hash and eggs they were cooking in a pan over the open flame.

“We prefer to cook outside,” Gruffy told me. “Have a seat. My name is James. This is Gary, and that over there is Tim.”

“I’m Stacy,” I replied. “Is this your first time at the roast?” 

The men all nodded as Tim held up a bottle of tequila. “You want a shot?” he asked. It was pretty early to start drinking. I mean it wasn’t even 7:00 am. Then again…

“Sure,” I said accepting the bottle. I took a long swig and sat back and shot the shit with my new friends for the next couple of hours. I learned that James drove big rigs. And that Gary and Tim both did construction work when they could find it. I was hanging out with real people. Not the plastic bull-shitters I was used to in Hollywood. But real life, hard working men who were doing their best just to get by. They didn’t have any airs about them. They didn’t talk about all their material items to try and impress me. They were just themselves. And I liked that.

 

As the day wore on I began to regret a morning of tequila consumption. I ended up being so tired that I was willing to face the bees to sneak in a nap. I knew our friends Ashley, Becky and Mark were going to be driving in sometime in the afternoon, and I wanted to get as much sleep as I could before they got there.  Bees be damned; I slept.

 

I awoke to Becky’s infectious laughter reverberating through the trees. They’re here! I was so excited. These two girls had become my closest friends and having them at the Pig Roast made the experience so much better. Once I caught sight of the girls I squealed with delight and hugged them both, holding on to them like they were my sisters. I loved them so much. Becky’s boyfriend Mark had made the trip with them in the huge camper they rented, and Ashley’s boyfriend Sam was flying into Abuquerque the next morning, and then driving into Durango from there. It was going to be a great week.

 

***

 

My being back in Durango only meant one thing to Garth’s dad. It had become Dewitt’s personal mission in life to see me eat Rocky Mountain Oysters. Bull testicles, if you must know. I was supposed to be initiated during my first Pig Roast, but a power outage in Silverton had knocked out the deep fryers at the Handlebars Restaurant and saved me from my initiation ritual. The second year, Garth and I had ingested so many magic mushrooms that we couldn’t even move, much less sit in a car for the long drive into Silverton. But this year my luck wasn’t looking so good. It didn’t help matters that Ashley and Sam were intrigued and couldn’t wait to get their hands on some Rocky Mountain Oysters. Some friends.

 

After Sam had shown up at camp we set out for Dee’s house. It was a tiny little cabin in the middle of nowhere. Ashley, Sam, Garth, and myself would be camping out that night at a site halfway between Durango and Silverton. This meant we needed to stop by Dee’s to get some supplies. For instance, a tent. If you’re going to go camping, I highly recommend a tent. And not one with a broken zipper. Those suck. Garth started gathering supplies while Ashley, Sam and myself all listened in as Dee told us colorful tales about being a Psychologist for the youth of the Navajo Nation. He could spin a good web if he wanted to.

 

Becky and Mark decided to stay back at camp and let me brave the oysters on my own. All my friends had turned against me. I tried to stay with them but Dee wasn’t having any of it.

“You’re eating the oysters this time Stacy,” he told me with a huge evil grin spread across his face.

“I seriously doubt that Dee,” I responded, doing my best to mirror his cocky grin. “I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this, but mark my words: I. Will. Eat. No. Balls.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said.

“Yes we will,” I challenged.

 

Before long, Garth claimed to have gathered all the supplies we would need for the rest of our trip. So we set out for our campsite. Dee was going to spend the night in his cabin and meet us at the campsite in the morning. He was bound to keep an eye on me once we hit Silverton. He was determined that I would finally eat the oysters; I was determined to avoid them. We were both going to have our work cut out for us.

 

To be continued…

 

 

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