I was reminded last week when they dropped that 21,000 lb MOAB on Afghanistan of the time I went mudding in my ‘64 Ford F100 pickup back in the early seventies. I was twenty. My little brother had a beat up old 1955 chevy bread truck to abuse. It was a real redneck weekend. Totally out of character for both of us. More like redneck/hippy, actually, which at the time was an species found only in Jimmy Carter’s South. We’d just buried two of our other brothers and needed to get away from the family and just go balls to the walls crazy.
I had my dog, a white shepherd named moon riding shotgun and howling happily to my blues harp. (That schtick actually got smiles from women at stop lights on the beach) My Bro had his big black mutt up front with him in his truck as well. We were flying through the mud flats in Ocala National Forest. These weren’t 4×4s and if we slowed down, we’d get stuck in the middle of miles and miles of scrub pine interspersed by alligator-packed lakes, swamp hammock and barren meadows. .
Suddenly we saw a vision from the heavens, every young man’s primeval fantasy—two gorgeous nude girls on horseback shot right across our path. And we couldn’t stop. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Finally we came to dry land, popped an ice cold beer each, lit up a spliff and laughed our asses off at our shitty luck. Then a chopper appeared low over us from nowhere, two Air Force Jeeps full of GI’s came rushing at us from opposite directions and they started yelling at us that we were on a bombing range. Just then a jet shot low across the sky about a hundred yards away followed by another. We had interrupted a five hundred pound bomb drop. They escorted us to their observation post, dropped their bombs on the next pass, read us the riot act, escorted us to the edge of the range and let us go. Dumb, lucky bastards we were.
The nature part of this story is when we got back to camp about twenty miles down a gravel road, I stumbled out of my truck right into a huge wolf spider web spread across the path. Shit was all over me head to foot. I danced like a man on fire all the way to the river.
Next day, we parked my brother’s truck about thirty miles down river, came back in my truck and put our kayaks in, popped some beers, lit up some doobies, and lazily floated down river to my brother’s truck. We remembered the beer, but not the food and had the worst case of munchies ever. If we’d run into those on horseback, we would have d eaten both their horses and the naked women riding them. Stoned, drunk, beat, we threw the kayaks in the back of my brother’s truck, took a piss and got in. And nothing. My brother had forgotten his keys back at camp.
I never went anywhere near the woods with that motherfucker ever again.
TJBM has an outdoorsy story to tell.