Country Mouse & City Mouse drive across country together
Driving on the I-25 in Colorado, the city of Denver glistened in the distance like a wet hooker. She crooked her finger at me sexily, enticing me to come explore her nooks and crannies, and be entertained by her crooks and trannies.
It had been a very long car trip - nearly two months by that point, and we still had another month to go. My travelling companion, Amy, the unquestioned leader of the expedition (because it was her vehicle), and an honest-to-God actual hippie from the 1960's, had an aversion to cities.
"They scare me." she said, when we were making our pre-departure plans.
I had always loved the excitement and danger of cities, but I also liked to play the role of someone who's genial and easy-going, so I assured her that I would be quite happy to stick to back roads and small towns.
Which we did. And did. And did.
Amy was in her glory. And of course, I wasn't. The lack of concrete began to wear on me, and I reached a point where the magic and grandeur of breath-taking scenery constantly spread out before me like Miss January grew to be painfully tedius and impossible to appreciate properly. By the time we'd reached the Grand Canyon, I'd hit the wall.
"It's amazing...", I said to Amy, enthusiastically.
"...for a fucking hole in the ground.", I said to myself, bitterly.
When the cluster of Denver skyscrapers appeared on the horizon as we drove through an early-evening rain, I remarked how beautiful the city looked, all lit up and festive. Pointing to the skyline jutting out of the ground, I turned to Amy and said, "Now those are my kind of mountains!"
She smiled, and immediately took a tire-screeching right turn onto the 470 so that we would bypass the city completely as we searched for our next podunk stopping point.
Some days later, we'd found ourselves in a pleasant spot in the Colorado Rockies. Sitting beside a campfire, our tents were up, dinner had long-ago finished, and we were relaxing with a few beers.
The mountain tops, sillhouetted by a backlight from the setting sun, created a jagged line across the horizon. And it was very quiet. Crickets, the crackle of the fire, and a river running swiftly in the distance was all that could be heard.
Until Amy took a swig of her beer, exhaled with a loud "Aaaahhh!" and said, "Now those are my kind of mountains."
I didn't say anything.
I simply looked at her and furrowed my eyebrows just a teensy bit in the hope of conveying something to her along the lines of: "Yes, those ARE mountains. That was rather the point when I first said it, you fucking dumbass. I was speaking metaphorically to offer a subtle hint that I am up to my fucking neck with nature. And while I'm screaming at you impotently inside my own head, let me assure you that it's been VERY well established that you prefer the real kind of mountains, so there really wasn't any point to you saying that at all, was there? And, another thing, was that the best you could think of? Three days you've had to conjure up some retort and you simply turn my own words back on me? Jesus Christ, why did I agree to this? When is this fucking trip going to be over?!"
Amy set her beer down on the patch of dirt underneath her chair and looked at me, seemingly pleased that she was able to give me a little tit for tat.
I silently turned my head back toward the mountain range. The sun was sinking lower by the second. I shifted to a more comfortable position in my lawn chair, and lifted the bottle of beer to my lips.
"Yep. Those are mountains, alright." I said.
And then I took a drink and pouted. But only for a short while. I had to get to bed. We were heading out early the next morning for Utah and it was my turn to drive.
It had been a very long car trip - nearly two months by that point, and we still had another month to go. My travelling companion, Amy, the unquestioned leader of the expedition (because it was her vehicle), and an honest-to-God actual hippie from the 1960's, had an aversion to cities.
"They scare me." she said, when we were making our pre-departure plans.
I had always loved the excitement and danger of cities, but I also liked to play the role of someone who's genial and easy-going, so I assured her that I would be quite happy to stick to back roads and small towns.
Which we did. And did. And did.
Amy was in her glory. And of course, I wasn't. The lack of concrete began to wear on me, and I reached a point where the magic and grandeur of breath-taking scenery constantly spread out before me like Miss January grew to be painfully tedius and impossible to appreciate properly. By the time we'd reached the Grand Canyon, I'd hit the wall.
"It's amazing...", I said to Amy, enthusiastically.
"...for a fucking hole in the ground.", I said to myself, bitterly.
When the cluster of Denver skyscrapers appeared on the horizon as we drove through an early-evening rain, I remarked how beautiful the city looked, all lit up and festive. Pointing to the skyline jutting out of the ground, I turned to Amy and said, "Now those are my kind of mountains!"
She smiled, and immediately took a tire-screeching right turn onto the 470 so that we would bypass the city completely as we searched for our next podunk stopping point.
Some days later, we'd found ourselves in a pleasant spot in the Colorado Rockies. Sitting beside a campfire, our tents were up, dinner had long-ago finished, and we were relaxing with a few beers.
The mountain tops, sillhouetted by a backlight from the setting sun, created a jagged line across the horizon. And it was very quiet. Crickets, the crackle of the fire, and a river running swiftly in the distance was all that could be heard.
Until Amy took a swig of her beer, exhaled with a loud "Aaaahhh!" and said, "Now those are my kind of mountains."
I didn't say anything.
I simply looked at her and furrowed my eyebrows just a teensy bit in the hope of conveying something to her along the lines of: "Yes, those ARE mountains. That was rather the point when I first said it, you fucking dumbass. I was speaking metaphorically to offer a subtle hint that I am up to my fucking neck with nature. And while I'm screaming at you impotently inside my own head, let me assure you that it's been VERY well established that you prefer the real kind of mountains, so there really wasn't any point to you saying that at all, was there? And, another thing, was that the best you could think of? Three days you've had to conjure up some retort and you simply turn my own words back on me? Jesus Christ, why did I agree to this? When is this fucking trip going to be over?!"
Amy set her beer down on the patch of dirt underneath her chair and looked at me, seemingly pleased that she was able to give me a little tit for tat.
I silently turned my head back toward the mountain range. The sun was sinking lower by the second. I shifted to a more comfortable position in my lawn chair, and lifted the bottle of beer to my lips.
"Yep. Those are mountains, alright." I said.
And then I took a drink and pouted. But only for a short while. I had to get to bed. We were heading out early the next morning for Utah and it was my turn to drive.
posted by Mickey @ 9:12 PM
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