The Dead Sea Gulls & Company (Part II)

The morning after was always an amusing time at camp. For those like myself who managed to pace themselves with the recreational substances, I managed to recall many hilarious scenes that may become lost to the alcohol or traumatically repressed by those who didn't drink enough.

Understandable as there was a comically great deal of random nudity spurred on by Nickolas' personal comforts with losing a few layers. Before long a chain reaction of disrobing tops and or bottoms occurred, turning this brown man's skin red with bashfulness. I was no stranger to ditching clothes, being obsessed with the ancient Greeks and having done my share of nude modeling, but for once I thought I'd play the mild mannered guest card and simply giggle and shake my head.

A burnout contest erupted once David jovially provoked the young buck, Mike, into seeing who could rev their engine, drop it into gear, and burn rubber the longest before falling over. Perhaps the most level-headed of the three brothers and dare I even say the entire group, it was amusing to see David spearheading the foolhardy competition. So it was safe to say everyone was a little crazy in this ragtag group of characters. Hell, even I had a wild side that would come out to play after testing the waters.

The debate about who won after the headlamps shut off lasted well past bed time but come morning it became obvious that the victor was Mike. Unfortunately, his triumph came at the cost of a rock that shredded his bran new tire! His response was typically far from concerned as he relished in the victory.

One night down and it was already shaping up to be an eventful gathering! To our dismay, however, the heavens thought to rain on our parade. Instead of waiting out the weather in our individual tents, the resourceful men and women erected a sort of hang out shelter in no time and with great effectiveness!

The two bikes literally holding down the fort were, in fact, my top two favorites. The one being pampered by its own miniature tarp belonged to none other than Nickolas. It sported a tank with a custom paint job to represent the symbol of the motorcycle club as if it were the standard bearer bike. The military motif gave it a hearty look that gave Chance and I some great ideas for down the road. The artfully executed cafe racer reminiscent of the Honda my brother had recently acquired was owned by a quiet fellow by the name of Brad. His brother Jeff was also the silent type. Unfortunately our shared reserved natures kept us from interacting much so I can only give them both the benefit of the doubt that they were men of merit if they rolled with the Gulls.

Once we got the fire going it wasnt so bad! In fact the shelter forced me to be rather intimate with these strangers on their way to becoming friends.

Jared set up a sturdy log bench for his girlfriend Kimmie and I. There seemed to be a longstanding game about the cutest couple which always seemed to go to David and Tera who's playfulness was undoubtedly adorable but I always seemed to catch Jared and Kimmie in the most heartwarming moments. Kimmie, herself, struck me as having a huge heart as she always seemed to go out of her way check up on how I was doing be it keeping warm or just to make sure I was having a good time overall.


Also making sure I was getting a piece of the fire, the fellow in front of me consistently scooting his chair to open up the circle a bit was Greg. I liked this guy. He gave me the impression of being a man's man but still managing to be sensitive enough to having a heart of gold. He told amusing stories often involving himself in awkward situations - my favorite kind!

Jon was another paradox of being rough around the edges but possessing an inherent kindness. He rocked many scars, many as badges, others were lost to memory but the tales behind the ones he could recall were both shocking and funny. Although, none were more hilarious than the mouth of the group, Chance.

No one could get away with saying anything without a snide or witty comment to strike it from the air. Truly a man not afraid to say what everyone's thinking, I admired that as well as sharing in my motorcycle's name. Initially I pegged him as a cynic but over time he came to prove himself as the most grounded member - like an anchor amidst all the shenanigans. His sense of humor hiding his inherent concern for everybody oddly made him one of the most well-rounded there.

Then there was one new face that rode in last night who shared in the category of fairly balanced between saint and rascal known as Angie. Maternal vibes were what I got right off the bat in how she seemed to both scold some of our more juvenile acts yet take pleasure in the fact the boys will simply be boys. She was no stranger to shenanigans, though, as I would later learn that night during drunk story time.

Speaking of which, to help pass the time under the tarp, Lyuba whipped out a book and began reading the poetry of Walt Whitman. At first I groaned because poetry was just one thing I didn't get, finding it to be elitist in nature and a maker of sheep of the spineless listeners who aren't bold enough to admit to its impractical silliness. Take my opinion with a grain of salt as it's coming from someone who is spartan about saying what I mean and meaning what I say with little to no grey in between. But then she shoved the book in my direction saying a particular poem reminded her of me and requested I read it aloud. "One Hour to Mandess and Joy," it was. At first the stumbling of arbitrarily contracted words got under my skin but once a proper cadence reigned me in, dare I say, I kind of liked it? The last stanza was where I found affinity.

O something unprov’d! something in a trance!
O madness amorous! O trembling!
O to escape utterly from others’ anchors and holds!	20
To drive free! to love free! to dash reckless and dangerous!
To court destruction with taunts—with invitations!
To ascend—to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to me!
To rise thither with my inebriate Soul!
To be lost, if it must be so!	25
To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness and freedom!
With one brief hour of madness and joy.

Hm! It was definitely food for thought... Something that would ring truer as I chronicle these events in retrospect.

When I closed the book, regaining a view of my audience, I smiled remembering fond childhood memories of the books Peter Pan and Where the Wild Things Are and thinking how cool it would be to run wild among the Lost Boys or the wild forest monsters. I think I just may have found them.

Some folks took a car into town earlier to pick up more alcohol today as Utah apparently doesn't sell liquor on the sabbath so it was time to stock up. They were also waiting around for another handful of friends to show up and be guided to camp but those who remained were getting rather antsy, myself included, especially when the rain clouds pushed on. Ever dependable Dan expressed his discontent and proposed to ride up to the nearby lake, which I was quick to jump on... Or into, rather. Jon and Lyuba threw in as well and out of camp we rode.

On our way out a white car met us at the junction. Hanging back until introductions were properly made later, I still managed a nod of courtesy to the driver. More wild things joining the mix! Little did I know how wild.

High above the desert foothills where the scenery transformed from shrubs to tall alpine trees reminiscent of my home, the glittering Posey Lake invited a touch from my hand. To my surprise, at the shore, the water seemed tolerable, if not welcoming! We were definitely going for a dip.

Greg, Courtney and Chance appeared out of nowhere, beckoning the four of us to join them in a hike to a lookout post that could be seen in the forested hills from the lake. It appeared to provide a view most epic, so enthusiastically I charged the trail.

In no time I was pumping the brakes for the crew to take a smoke break, hah! Fair enough. Courtney gifted me some energy bars which went down well with my meager breakfast of coffee and bananas. Jon, too, had his fruit for the day: an apple fashioned into a smoking apparatus.

Eventually the expedition was on its way again. At some point the incline seemed to deter the group so we pioneered our own trail to circumnavigate the waters. The conversation on the trail was mostly recalling the night before. Lyuba still couldn't believe she ditched her top to which Courtney provided her a surprisingly vivid play by play of the event.

The troupe connected with Jared, Kimmie, Nickolas and his newly arrived friend Ada building a nice warm fire. Despite the open skies, the wind was still very much bone-chilling so they had the right idea. Ada, with alcohol already in her hand at midday either had the same warmth-inducing idea or she just really liked beer. She was an innocent-looking little woman with an Albanian accent which seemed to mask the dark humor and jaw dropping jokes that didn't seem becoming a lady! Every once in a while I had to ask myself, "Did she just say that?" Nevertheless, it was refreshing to count her as just one of the boys. She hailed from Vegas earlier that day with her friend who was with another hiking group making their way around the lake.

Meanwhile, in the idleness of standing patiently around the fire pit for the other group, Jared started disrobing. Squinting inquisitively, I demanded to know what he was up to, already guessing it rhymed with handkerchief, which he just took off. Going for a dip, he says. Grumbling, I started losing my attire as well. Ever concerned, Kimi questioned why I was reluctant, let alone following her mad boyfriend. My reply was something along the lines of not letting him have all the fun more than solidarity. Of course, Nickolas was already in just his boots... Again.

The trio marched down to the dock with the waning adrenaline being blown away by the bitterly cold wind. The water was clear but it seemed shallow to begin with so I cautiously dipped a leg in and instantly regretted it. Besides feeling the lakebed brush against my big toe, the sheer cold screamed bad idea. But between the three of us, our false courage reinforced by solidarity refused us a ledge to back down.

 

Like a cat springing instantly out of a bath, I looked around the dock to make sure neither of my brothers in jackassery had drowned. Only Jared climbed out and a brief moment of worry surpassed the horrible, horrible cold. Then I noticed the wet footprints leading from the dock back to the camp fire and even as I write now, I'm laughing aloud at the speed Nickolas must have sprinted for the flames.

Around the fire pit once more, we soon agreed that it was worth it. I, for one, felt damn refreshed and baking close to the pit was the coziest I had felt in a long while. Just then a grounds keeper pulled over, got out of his truck and lectured us with stories about able-bodied swimmers he personally knew who drowned due to, what we all assumed to be his personally coined term, "impact hypothermia." He honestly sounded like one of those only other extra characters in a Scooby Doo episode who is obviously the villain. My guess is he was keeping us meddling kids from uncovering dead bodies he must hide in the lake.

The second hiking party showed up with the new face, Ali. She was the driver I tipped my imaginary hat to earlier but when the proper opportunity to get acquainted presented itself I was still too busy trying to make smoke jerky out of my trembling hide. It wasn't until she called me out as being Australian to a "good on ya" comment I made did my ears perk up. Cool point goes to the blonde. She had joined Ada for the five hour drive out of Vegas practically on the fly. No stranger to travel, her genuine wanderlust found admiration in my directionless quest, even confiding a personal dream to do the very same with a van and her bicycles. Ali would later give me a great idea for the next chapter of this bohemian odyssey keeping in tune with Americana: working for my food and lodging on farms and ranches! More on that gig and this character later...

Soon the fire took on more company than it could accommodate. Besides a random fellow and his Labrador mix dog which stole my heart, pining for my own pup back home, four new bikes rolled in. Two guys, two girls of whom I unfortunately did not get to know well as they only stayed one night. I regret not being able to recall the names of the tall one in the classic riding jacket and bandana, the quiet lass with the curly brown hair, and the other who I refer to as the Rocketeer chick (because she actually called me out when the obscure theme song embarrassingly shuffled into play - cool points for sure). The last of the riders, however, was Tyler, who exuded nothing but goodness. I felt as if I had his blessing for my trip it would affirm I was doing something wholesome and worthwhile.

With the lake now old news and the fire pit lacking, the gang saddled up for a ride.


 

It didn't occur to me where we were going for I had assumed it was the campsite until we had been riding for quite some time. Eventually David as pointman raised his closed fist and motioned us all to come to a stop.

Apparently the destination was a place called Devil's Backbone but during the huddle it didn't seem like anyone knew how far until we'd get there. A passing truck showed up to give us the mileage to which the majority agreed to rise up to the challenge.

In no time at all, we had arrived. The view was spectacular! If only I remembered to wipe the lake water from the lens.

Once our eyes had all they could drink of the quintessential Utah landscape, a half mile long moving trail of dust through the forest trail made its way back to camp.

Apparently those who opted to skip on the Devil's Backbone convoy and returned to camp earlier in the day were the dreamers of the gang for they had long labored over creating a hot tub in the slow-moving creek below the commons. At some point the night before we had joked about hot springs produced in the ancient Chinese secret fashion of heating rocks. Evidently someone wanted to see if it actually worked, rallying a handful of the boys to build a makeshift hot tub wall of stone doubling as a dam and cooking the remainder of the masonry over a fire. Sadly, the sensation of heat, more akin to being lukewarm at best, would be fleeting when thrown into the basin. Tenacious as they were rambunctious, a second engineering attempt was made later that evening by routing the creek water through a found pipe that they buried under a bonfire, hypothetically heating the passing water... But alas, to no avail.

Normally I would be knee deep in a ridiculous project like that but I believe the lake adventure drained me for the day. My contribution to the camp was simply piping music through Chance's ghetto-rigged speakers which honestly was an anxiety every three minutes not knowing what embarrassing tune would pop up next, tarnishing my reputation. Nonetheless, after the proud moment with Rocketeer chick, I could sigh in relief knowing I was in good company.

That night, as the rolls and bottles were passed continuously like a merry-go-round and Nickolas woke from his mushroom coma to join the bonefire, David proposed we all take turns telling our most embarrassing drunk story. Lyuba opened up first with kind of a downer involving a comically depressing story involving the loss of her virginity. The threatened newborn pastime was saved by many more uplifting, truly shameful but always side-splittingly jolly good. There were quite a few involving Angie ending up in the hospital, another about a girlfriend-stealing bathtub, one involving a kidnapped toddler mistaken for troll, a fond memory of a friend knowingly bringing home a transvestite, and a hook up with a freak with perplexing sex toys and a rape fantasy. Wow.

When it was my turn I had absolutely nothing! I confessed, proudly as usual, that I was still a virgin - apparently in more ways than one! Also that considering how few and far between my bouts of drunkenness were, all my experiences behind the bottle were proud, not embarrassing! Naturally, I was riddled by the inquisition, which never gets old but for once even I joined in. Why the goody two shoes act?

While the uproar resumed, I took the opportunity to be withdrawn into my own thoughts. Sure, I identify with myself as being a good guy in general but I confess there are times where my role in society is a performance. To a few close people like my brother I even recently confessed that days where I'm socially drained, I'm simply out of "acting juice." Coming from yours truly who considers sincerity the one most essential pillar in keeping a society from crumbling from within itself, it occurred to me what hypocrisy I had been keeping under my own sleeves.

Even with the flames enlarged by the extra firewood Greg and I procured, it wasn't enough to keep two dozen of us warm. Some retired to bed, others built a second fire which I meandered over to for a while but despite physically putting myself in a social setting, I couldn't shake some thoughts and stayed rather quiet, even retiring to my tent without even as much as a good night. That night seemed especially cold even for a desert.