Hunting Club members bask in indecision
Like three kindergartners studying a bug, Wrong Willie, Doc, and Woodrow were leaning over a road atlas spread across the large round corner table at Doreen's 24 HR Eat Gas Now Cafe.
Ever efficient, Doreen slid a mug of coffee onto the counter, and I hooked an index finger into the handle as I passed by. "What are they doing?"
"Driving me crazy," she said. "Don't you guys ever order anything to eat anymore?"
"I'll get back to you on that," I said and joined the Hunting Club members at the table.
"Let me guess, most of the hunting is over for the year, at least until spring turkey season, and it's too cold and windy to fish, so Willie brought his map in to plan a vacation."
They stared at me as if I'd just appeared out of thin air.
"How'd you know?" Woodrow asked.
"Lucky guess."
"We're thinking of a fishing trip to Lake Fork if the weather ever cooperates," Willie said.
"I'll do you one better," I said. "Instead of our usually family vacation this summer, the War Department and my girls are going to a resort spa in Santa Fe for all that female pampering they like so much."
"So?" Doc said.
"So that means I'm free to go anywhere I want for a guy's trip. Willie, let's go back to Alaska."
It was as if an electric current passed through his body. Willie jerked upright, looked at me to see if I was kidding, then almost pulled a ligament flipping the maps over to the state of Alaska.
"All right! Guys, we're going back to Alaska!"
His shout was met by a shout of joy from Doreen, who realized we'd be out of her hair for two whole weeks. It would be a vacation for her as well.
"Let me set the mood," I told them, reaching into my coat pocket and bringing out my new Christmas present, an iPod. It's a thin electronic device storing over 2,000 songs. I plugged it into a docking station, sat it on the table and we were immediately saturated with John Denver music.
The four of us swayed with the music. Doreen stomped into the kitchen. She prefers we use the juke box, so she can make money.
"Look!" Willie shouted over the music. "We can fly into Anchorage, rent an RV and catch salmon until we puke."
"Wait," Doc said. "Let's not rush this thing. I know you boys enjoyed that trip, but I've been thinking about going back down into Mexico for a week of bass fishing."
"Great idea," Woodrow said. "I just got my passport in the mail a few days ago."
"Hold it," I said. "Wasn't that the trip where the Mexican police stopped you guys 60 miles down the road, in the middle of the desert, and said your paperwork wasn't in order, so you'd have to drive back to get the papers corrected?"
"Uhhh ..." Doc said.
"Furthermore," I continued, "the guy took a bribe, then said you'd have to bribe the next two check stations before you ever got the lake? Then he stole your pack of smokes?"
"Oh, yeah," Doc said, looking crestfallen. "I guess that trip wasn't as good as I remembered."
A Led Zeppelin song filled the cafe when the iPod made a hard rock selection. I checked the restaurant, but the only other customers were Bill Nichols and his wife Grace. They are both hard of hearing, and Led Zeppelin probably sounded like Perry Como to them.
"Wait!" Willie shouted over the music. "I've always wanted to take a horseback trip into the Bob Marshall Wilderness area in Montana."
"Huzzah!" we shouted.
"Too cold in June," I answered. "How about a guided trip into Yellowstone?"
"Huzzah!" we shouted.
"Keep thinking," Woodrow said. "How about a fishing trip in Maine?"
The music switched to Glen Miller. Bill and Grace launched into a creaky jitterbug. Doreen came out of the kitchen, took one look at the couple and stormed back through the swinging doors.
Stunned at the sight of Bill and Grace, we paused for a moment ourselves.
"Fresh or saltwater in Maine?" Willie asked, breaking our reverie.
"Both," I said.
"Huzzah!" we shouted.
"Wait," Doc said. "We could drive up to Minnesota and fish all those lakes for pike and smallmouth and ..."
"Walleye!" Woodrow shouted. "I love that! My family used to make that trip."
"Huzzah!" we shouted.
"Wait!" I shouted as Glen Miller ended and George Strait sang about Amarillo. "We could fly fish the Frying Pan in Colorado."
"Huzzah!" we shouted.
"Guys!" Willie shouted. "It might be time to catch peacock bass in the Amazon!" His suggestion was met by absolute silence. "Well, maybe not. How about ... uhhh ... bonefish in the Florida keys?"
"Huzzah!" we shouted.
"What are they doing over there?" Bill finally asked as he and Grace, out of breath from the dance, paid their tab.
"Driving me nuts with their ecstasy of male indecision," Doreen answered. George Strait ended and Tone Loc sang about Funky Cold Medina. "And their music."
The guys stared for a moment. I shrugged. "I like the song. How about a week fishing trout streams in the Blue Ridge Mountains?"
"Huzzah!" we shouted again -- and again and again and ....
Reavis Wortham's e-mail address is reaviswortham@att.net.
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