On the Road to Lake Mahaka – 1986 – A semi true story

Posted: May 25, 2017 in humor, LIFE AND STUFF
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

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On the Road to Lake Mahaka – 1986 – A semi true story

1986, June, my friends, John “Hawk” and Francis, decided to take a trip, our first road trip on our own, no fathers, no mothers, just us and the open road, heading to Lake Mahaka out in the wilderness.

17 and full of life, men on a journey to find themselves, the call of the wild.

We howled as we packed our clean underwear and such into the back of the truck.

“Do you have enough sandwiches?” my mom asked, as all moms do.

“We don’t need sandwiches! We are going to live off the land!!” I said, thumping my chest and grunting.

“I’ve put some sandwiches in the truck for you!” she said, sighing and then laughing softly.

I sighed.

We took off towards the horizon, our eyes filled with ideas of mountain men tales; fishing for the big trout in the lake, sweet raspberries for dessert.

“Did anyone bring a tent?”Hawk said as we were passing mile marker 75.

No one had.

“We won’t need a tent! We are rugged men!!” I said, grunting, a manly grunt.

Mile marker 85, the horrid sound of a police siren.

I pulled over.

“Boys, do you realize how fast you were going?” the officer said as he stood by the window.

“Uh, no officer…”

He sighed.

“I’m going to give you a warning, this time, but slow it down! You boys going fishing?” he said, looking in the back of the truck.

“We’re on a trip, rugged mountain men!!” we all said, grunting.

The officer smiled.

“Be careful out there boys, don’t die!!” he laughed and headed back to his police car.

We wouldn’t die!! We were men, manly men, hair on our chests, a few hairs on our chins.

We even had beer in the color; five cans!

Mile marker 95.

“I have to pee!! Pull over!” Francis whined.

“No! Hold out!” I growled.

“I can’t!!”

I sighed and pulled over.

And before I stopped, we heard a psst.

“Flat!” Hawk growled.

No spare.

Our luck was going down hill.

15 miles to nearest gas station and a phone.

We flipped a coin to see who would hike back to the station.

Hawk lost.

“Shit!”

A few hours later, a truck drove by and stopped.

“Uh…” Hawk hopped out, “My dad has a tire but it going to take him awhile to get here….”

“How long?”

“Not till tomorrow morning!”

We were still 75 miles from our camp site.

“Are we real men yet?” Francis almost cried.

“Shaddup!”

Two of us hunkered down in the front seat of the truck, the sleeping bags gathered about us as we tried to fall asleep in an awkward position.

Francis won the back of the truck, in the bed.

2 am his won turn into a loss.

Thunder storm, 3 hours, he shivered in the shower, soaked to the bone.

“Next time, I’ll sleep under the truck!” he growled in the morning, trying to shaking himself dry, failing miserably.

A few minutes later, Hawk’s dad showed.

“How are the real men doing?” he almost laughed.

We almost cried.

Tired changed.

“What do you wanna do?” I asked the other two.

“GO HOME!!” they shouted in unison.

We were on our way home without debate!!!

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