Oscar Mayer, Rolling Rock and the Damage Done

I should've known. To enter Bob's Barb-Q on a Kentucky back road, in search of food and drink for our stay at a campground also serving as a jungle combat training centre for Army Rangers, just 4 miles south of Stinking Creek, for you Geographers, wasn't the best idea of my young life. The little pin-head cracker sounded the alarm, and within a pica-second I was the subject of the warm, unappreciative inspection of middle aged carneys and truckers and bikers who did not see any humour in having their space intruded upon by a Northerner with no V-shaped, wind/sun-burn on the neck and no hip cannon. I tip-toed very slowly pulling around each suddenly voiceless face toward me, as if attached by a chain to my hip. Know how time freezes up when you know you're about to die? In total silence, I picked out my provisions of a dozen buns, a squeeze bottle of French's, a dozen Oscars and 2 dozen Rolling Rocks and backed my way toward the cashier who took my honey and mispronounced thank you, by saying Now Git!. I still don't know why they didn't use me for target practice. The law wouldn't have been bothered much. In fact, I spotted Barney and Ange through the cobalt steel-blue dream smoke sitting there as slack-jawed and mindlessly hostile as the rest. Duane actually said; I was worried about you in there. I was gonna come in just in case. In case you had to identify my body? Glad youve got my back, brother. I asked him to make sure the words "He was gonna" went on my stone.

At the campground, now didn't we meet Jim Tekulve, cousin of the famous Kent, from Someplace, Indiana. I had seen his cousin walk in Ron Hunt for the winning run, who had been HBP by Kent four batters earlier at Jarry, in Kent's first appearance up from Scranton. HBP, W, E-1, W. First attempted save by the guy who threw under-handed and got 40 saves in '79. Now his cousin Jim was slapping the leather pouch on his hip asking "Do y'all smoke?". I had offered him a Camel earlier and his answer, Ah'd be a coughin' fool if'n ah had me one a those! was to rank up there with Is this a 6 or a 12 volt? as I had asked 3 young ladies in a beater of a Valiant in Knoxville. These became one-line classics whose simple recall would cause Duane to erupt in howls. We shared one with Jim, he gave us one fer later and he sort of vanished into the damp jungle. His smoke was good, though. I sure enjoyed the rest of my day, having a pointless shower in 110% humidity, breakfast of Rolling Rock and packing up, and leaving the damp swamp forests of Stinking Creek behind. Lester and Earl, who had been passing their time gazing into a water culvert and waving to welcome us 2 days earlier, gave a sad wave from their culvert lair as we left them behind. I don't think that Lester and Earl spent much time worrying about either showers or modern dentistry. And Bob's Bar B-Q looked much better in 11 am sun than it had in the gloom of a warm, dark, narcotic Kentucky night. Friendly, even.