Saturday, February 18, 2006

Location: New York.

We find ourselves in eastern New York during one of the worst winter storms on record. The storm dumped more than 24 in. of snow so far. We visit a super secret skunk works in order to trick every horsepower out of the Rupp. We cannot divulge every detail however the finished product will undoubtedly devour methanol like there is no tomorrow. We decide to camp overnight in a quiet grove somewhere near Morristown. Every weathercast predicts a tough night and Tater seems uneasy.


Day 0.
It struck with a vengeance and shook the camper like a paint mixer. The nearby trees would offer some protection as long as they did not break and crush us like bug. No one could sleep so we spent the night playing cards. As dawn broke a white whirlwind enveloped us. Freak Show attempted exit only to find that drifting snow had us pinned in the camper with out escape. We were 200 yards from the road with our tracks now buried under waist deep snow. We had no choice but to wait it out.

Day 1.
Using a piece of plywood with some creative vice-gripping to the steering wheel, I’ve fashioned a handy worktop / writing surface upon which I’ll chronicle this stay in our snowy prison. For a short time the storm subsided and we were able to get through the sunroof, align the satellite dish and survey our situation. A flick of the windshield wiper switch revealed that we were stuck in an Arctic vice. We could see the town's water tower yet we knew no one could find us. We spend the day generally trying to keep ourselves occupied. Luckily, we have plenty to eat and if we can keep the dish clean, will have enough television channels to keep us entertained.

Day 2.
I DON’T CARE HOW MANY DAMN BOTTLES OF BEER ARE ON THE WALL!!!! Freak Show decided that it will be days before anyone finds us, so why get dressed. I station at the driver's chair and watch him (a hairy pear wearing a rubber band) pace the camper, ranting about government restrictions on carnival operators. Tater nests in the cupboard above the refrigerator.

Day 3.
Toe nail clipping in the eye. Boil the pliers. . . . The onslaught of albino brain chiggers subsides for now. I fear reinforcements gather in the west. Attack at nightfall seems eminent. Three days now, besieged in this icy belch from the belly of hell. I've fashioned aluminum toboggan hats and mittens for my faithful followers and myself, our shield from the white hoards. We survive on boiled bologna and the grace of a higher being.

Day 4.
More snow and Chewed life-savor wine. Booze and beer are gone. Freak Show watches the Discovery Channel and learns that chewed Mantioc root, when fermented, can produce an alcoholic beverage. Desperate, a concoction of crushed car seat candy, Tang, and a splash of Tabasco is spat into a zip lock bag and placed in the toolbox. By Nature’s grace you’ll find me mummified with a death grip on this steering wheel. My worst fear is being discovered frozen, spooned to a chimpanzee and a tattooed slob in a futile attempt at heat conservation.

Day 5.
Dawn broke calmly and I decided I had to get out before something bad happened to Tater and Freak. Risking frostbite, I fashioned snowshoes from two seat cushions and duct tape. Through the sunroof and over the side, first contact was every bit as exciting as Neil Armstrong's giant leap for mankind. By luck, when I reached the road I encountered a farmer driving a huge tractor. He offered a ride and asked if I was by myself. I thought, "No, it’s just me". Instead, I answered honestly and in short time, the farmer plowed his way to the camper and towed us to civilization.

A life trial can certainly put things in perspective. You discover personal strengths and weaknesses. You adjust and exercise patience. Rather than act on anger consider that more times than not, the cops will find the body. I have personally mapped out a new life plan. When I win the lottery, I'm going to buy one of those giant heads from Easter Island.