***Carl stuffed a
fresh wad of Red Man into his cheek, fiddled with the radio and dialed
in a good country station. The sounds of Amarillo Fats and the Moon
Mountain Frog Kickers filled the spacious cab of the huge Suburban. One
of Carl's favorite songs was on, the lilting "She Left Me For The
Circus Geek Blues."
"Emma, how
much more to go 'til we get to Uncle Howard's house anyways?"
Emma put down her
knitting, furrowed her brows and peered at the road map. "Well,
about 20 miles if you don't get us lost again."
"Lost? How
often do I get us lost?"
"Ohh, there
was that time in Utah when we had to back up three miles through an
abandoned mine to reach the highway, then there was that time in Florida
when you drove over that illegal still in the back woods and almost got
us shot, then there was..."
"Hey, put a
lid on it, Emma. I mean lately."
"Lately?
Remember that short cut in Oregon where we had to spend three days
sleeping in The Whale until that Ranger showed us the way out? And then
... "
"Jeez. Never
mind, never mind. I just wonder why we have to visit this dumb Uncle of
yours anyway."
"Carl, you
know that Uncle Howard is very ill and on his last legs. Aunt Millie
says he may not last the year. And he is family, you know."
"Emma, that
old coot has been dying for the last ten years. And the way he drives,
it's amazing he made it past his twenties. Not to mention that lame
World War II Jeep he owns. That thing is a death trap! It's got the original shocks from
Day One, and I think he only changes the oil every five years or so.
"Now, Carl
The doctors say that driving his Jeep around in the woods is healthy for him. It gets him out into
the fresh air."
"If dear old
Uncle Howard would change his life style a little bit, he'll probably
live to be 165. Think about it. He sucks down a full quart of Jack
Daniels whiskey every day with no mix or ice. Just drinks it out of a
long straw so he don't have to take his cigars out of his mouth while he
drinks. And how many cigars does he smoke a day? Twenty, is it?"
"Now dear,
he's cut that down to 18 a day."
"Yeh, but he
inhales 'em. Big ugly North Carolina stogies and he inhales 'em. Why
don't he just chew some Red Man like I do if he's a tobacco man?"
"Well, he did
that for a while, but Aunt Millie made him quit. He kept spitting on
everything ... the grand kids, the chickens, the cat and the poodle, the
mail man, the gas meter reader man, that white haired old lady that came
around handing out copies of Watch Tower ... just about anyone he didn't
like."
Carl grunted.
"Which is most everybody. Your Uncle Howard is the most
foul-mouthed irritating person I've ever met. I just hope he doesn't ask
me to go trail driving with him again this year. He almost killed us
both with that death trap Jeep!"
Emma sighed.
"Calm down, dear. We're almost there and I know Uncle Howard will
be delighted to see you again."
***"Hi'ya, fat
boy. See you packed some more lard on that overloaded frame of yours.
You gonna be a Sumo wrestler or something?"
Carl's eyes
narrowed. "Glad to see you again, Uncle Howard. You look
great."
"What are
you, a doctor? I don't need a medical opinion from someone with the bad
taste to drive a Chevy.
Like I say, Chevrolet is a French name, which means it's a French car. I
drive a Jeep, a real American
car."
"The Whale is
a GMC, not a Chevy, and it's made in America."
"GMC, Chevy,
same thing. You can carve a soup bowl out of a cow pie, but it's still a
cow pie underneath. Figured you'd have better taste, but noooooo, you
got one a those flashy looking trucks that won't go anywhere. My Jeep
might not be pretty, but it'll go places that Walrus of yours
won't."
"Whale. Not
Walrus. Whale."
"Yep, you
sure do look like a whale, Carl. We ought to put up a fence around you
and charge admission. Call it Blubber Land. you can be Shamu the Chevy
driver. Hee, hee."
Carl's face got
very, very red, but Emma poked him in the ribs and he just gritted his
teeth.
"Feel like
making a little bet on that, Uncle Howard?"
"Oh, you got
money to bet? Figured by the size of that beer gut that you spent all
your spare money on Cheetos and a bucket of lard to dip 'em in. Well, if
you want to part with a few green ones, who am I to deny the mentally
bewildered of the opportunity to lose their shorts? Twenny bucks,
bozo?"
"Make it
forty, Uncle Howard!"
"Pretty
feisty for the Pillsbury Doughboy, ain't ya? Why don't you go all the
way and plank down a C-note. A hundred dollar bill, triple chins."
"You got a
bet! See, I got me a 454 under the hood and 22 of the best shocks money
can buy. And that 454 ain't stock, not by a long shot!"
"Modified,
huh? Did I ever tell you how to really get performance out of a 454
motor? It's all in the spark
plug, ya know."
Carl bit.
"Spark plug? Howzat?"
"Easy. Just
take out the stock spark plugs, get yourself a set of Champion N2C plugs
and screw a Jeep in 'em. Haw, haw! Boy, you went for that like a carp
after a worm, chubby."
The hair on the
back of Carl's neck stood up and a large vein started throbbing in both
temples. "Okay, Uncle Howard ... let's go for it. Howsa 'bout a
nice little 50-mile loop, anywhere you want to drive off-road, and I'll
follow you like I was tied to you by a rope."
"Make it 40
miles, lumpy. I'm an old man. The doc says I gotta sorta watch it."
Uncle Howard then fired up a large green cigar the size of a four cell
flashlight. "Every two hours I sorta take enough pills to choke a
rhino just to keep my heart from exploding like wet toilet paper."
An hour later,
after Uncle Howard had eaten six pork chops and soaked up the drippings
in a loaf of pumpernickel bread, then inhaled that, too, they headed out
of town, with the crusty old Jeep leading the way.
Emma decided to
stay home and knit doilies for Aunt Millie to put under the ceramic
doily on top of the TV set. She wanted no part of a trail driving bet
between Carl and Uncle Howard.
***Uncle Howard
stopped at the old stone quarry and got out of the Jeep. Carl joined
him, eager to do battle.
"Okee-dokee,
bubble butt, here's the rules. I'll take off down that gravel road and
end up back here. Now, I'll keep my speed down so's you don't get behind
and get lost. When I get to a tough section, I'll wait for you to screw
it up, then I'll come back and get you and collect my hundred smackers.
If, by some weird chance, you can follow me all the way back here
without me having to get your saggy cheeks out a trouble, then you win.
Got it, porky?"
Carl folded his
arms over his chest, looked at the skinny-tired Jeep, then glanced at
The Whale. It looked good, sporting some serious 40-inch Gumbo Mudders,
with lots of ground clearance. In fact, The Whale looked impressive
enough to drive right over Uncle Howard's Jeep, like those car crushing
monster trucks. The image stuck in Carl's mind and he beamed and smiled.
"What are you
smiling about, pudgy? Let's hit the trails!"
***Three hours later,
Uncle Howard walked into the house, counting a small handful of money,
and licking his chops. Behind him was Carl, looking more than a little
dejected.
Emma looked up
from crocheting a snowflake the size of a pizza. "Well, did you
boys have a nice drive in the woods?"
Uncle Howard
reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table and knocked back a hearty
slug. "I did, but I'm not so sure that fatso here did. This here is
his hundred smackers that is now mine. But I'm not one to rub it in. Let
the loser tell you the sad story. Yuk, yuk."
Carl slumped in a
chair. "He took me through the narrowest trail I ever saw in my
life. A dirt bike would have had trouble getting between some of those
trees, but that skinny little Jeep just fit in there ... barely. I took
half the paint off the side of The Whale trying, but ... "
"Yup, like I
said, chubby, I knew you was doomed the second I saw that big dumb Chevy
you was driving. You wanna drive in the real woods, you get a jeep. Now,
if you all will excuse me. I gotta take some pills to keep me alive.
After all, I'm an old man. An old man who's a hundred bucks richer than
he was a few hours ago. Hey, cheer up, fat boy. If I got any of this
left when I die, I'll leave it to you in my will. Hee, hee!"
Emma heard a
thumping sound and looked out of the window. Carl was busy putting dents
in the left front fender of The Whale with his head. Emma sighed and
returned to her crocheting.
