packs to shatter the early morning silence. Bob shut off the engine, gulped the last of his beer, crushed the can, and chucked it into the back seat. He got out of the car and slammed the door. The extreme quiet amplified all of his movements, which were already as loud as a rock concert. As he walked to the back of the vehicle, he belched, farted, and scratched his butt. To add a final touch, he blew the contents of his nose onto the pavement by closing one nostril with his index finger and discharging profusely through the open canal.
Bob lifted the hatchback and had to hold it in place because the shocks were broken. With his free hand, he pulled out a filth crusted gunnysack filled with his necessities for the trip. The gunnysack was an old baseball gear bag made of green canvas. His fishing pole protruded out the top. Bob leaned the bag against the back of the car. The hatchback door slipped from his hand and crashed down against the frame of the opening snapping off the end of his fishing pole. He instantly lost his mind and began swearing loudly.
Violently he grabbed the bag, not bothering to retrieve the broken part of the pole and continued to complain as he strutted up the walk to the house.
The last ones to arrive were Ron, and Michael’s friend Noah. As he pulled up to the house, Laura stood on the front porch offering a pot of hot coffee and orange juice. Ron took everyone’s gear to the trailer. What a fantastic trailer it was! Must have cost a bundle, he thought as he looked around. Scott had purchased it just a few weeks ago, and this would be her maiden voyage. Because of this, Scott teasingly wrote in large bright red letters on a sign that was hung on the door, “Titanic.” Then he broke his beer bottle on the edge of the trailer christening it as such.
The trailer was thirty-two feet long with white fiberglass siding that had a fat blue stripe down each side. At the back end, a door opened into a bedroom that contained three bunk beds. The door from this bedroom led to a small bathroom that contained a sink, vanity, and toilet on one side. Directly across from it was a small shower and tub. Leading out the other side of the bathroom was the kitchen and dining areas. The kitchen was on one side of the trailer, and the dining table was on the other. At the end of the kitchen counter was a breakfast bar and two barstool type chairs. Next to it was the other entrance to the trailer. Parallel to the kitchen was the dining area and directly from that was the living area. At the end of it was a small four-foot-long, four-foot-high entertainment unit that held a Smart TV, Blue Ray player, and CD stereo. Continuing along at the far end of the trailer just off from the living area was another bedroom with a double bed.
The streamline trailer comfortably slept nine adults, so accommodation would not be an issue. The design did not allow for dead space as every inch was utilized.
This trip would be excellent. Much better than using nylon tents and sleeping bags on air mattresses.
The only concern with the trailer was the interior color choices. It had a color scheme that seemed to be designed for women with pastels and floral patterns, and not a bunch of men.
Ron took a deep breath savoring that familiar smell, the wonderful aroma of “new.” Scott spared no expense, after all, you only live once.
Ron stacked all the bags in the back bedroom with the bunk beds. He then separated the fishing gear to the front bedroom. A quizzical look crossed his face as he gingerly lifted Bob’s ganky filth-crusted bag. His mind could not even begin to imagine how Bob’s fishing pole sustained its injuries. The fact was he didn’t want to know. He contemplated which bedroom to put it in.
“Ummmm,” Ron mused. “Definitely back bedroom.” He decided and chucked it back there on the heap. Loading the gear didn’t bother him since it kept him busy and away from small talk with the others. He was not a morning person and just wanted to be left alone until the journey was underway.
The trailer was hooked up to a two-year-old full-sized Chevy conversion van. The van comfortably sat seven with room to spare. The paint was superb, a metallic deep-prism blue. Fog lights mounted to the front bumper gave it an ominous appearance. The powerful V-8 engine was smartly tuned, all muscle, and would have no difficulty pulling the trailer, just a slight touch of the gas, and she took off. A three-step chrome ladder was mounted on one of the back doors and led to a luggage rack up top. The best thing about this beast is that it was trimmed out in chrome, a feature missing from most late model vehicles and is, to most people, the best part.
Ron walked over to where everyone was excitedly discussing the events they were planning for the expedition.
“All packed up and ready to go. You did the food already, right?”
“Absolutely,” Laura responded with a smile.
“Come on, guys!” Scott yelled with a huge grin on his face. It was a grin that would take a surgeon days to remove because it was the grin of true happiness.
Michael came barreling down the stairs and out the front door, full of happiness and excitement. All the campers clambered into the van. It took on the appearance of a ship at sea as it shook back and forth with the boarding.
“Shotgun!” John yelled as he raced for the front passenger seat. This was very out of character for him. His excitement had dissolved his inhibitions. Bob plopped down in the captain’s chair directly behind the driver’s seat and closed his eyes to sleep. Michael stretched out over the bench seat in the far back. Ron, being the last one to enter, grabbed the captain’s chair next to Bob. At least in this seat, because it was next to the door, he would be the first one out.
Before Scott assumed his place behind the steering wheel, he gently took Laura in his arms and gave her a tender kiss goodbye.
He carefully backed out of the driveway into the street. Scott shifted the van into gear, and they went off down the street, embarking on their mission. By now, the sun had risen over the horizon and shone brightly to illuminate the morning.
The miles of city travel seemed long and endless. Michael could barely contain himself as he eagerly looked out the window, hoping to get a glimpse of something worth seeing.
After what felt like an eternity, Michael’s heart began to beat faster as he saw the sign for Highway 119. They would soon be at the foot of the mountains with the city driving finally over. His enthusiasm caused his pulse to race and breath to quicken. He could hardly sit still.
Scott maneuvered the van to take the exit for this highway. The gentle lull of the van, as it rode smoothly down the road, was a good sedative. By now, all occupants of the van, except Scott and Michael, were asleep. They were not used to early morning hours, but Scott had to remain alert as he commanded the vehicle, and Michael was just too excited to sleep.
He sat wide awake taking in the landscape as the van continued down the highway. It didn’t even begin to lose power or speed on the incline as they approached the city of Golden, nestled in the base of the mountains. The lifeblood of Golden is the Coors Brewery. It stands tall and proud, its buildings towering over the city below. As usual the brewery was bustling with activity at this early hour while Golden was silent, still in a deep slumber.
The van ate up the road and sailed on effortlessly. After passing Golden, Scott slowed down at the last traffic light before entering the mountains. He turned north and continued through Golden Gate Canyon.
A multitude of aspen trees lined every inch of the roadside. Their leaves, heavy with dew, shimmered in the morning sun. Strong bold greens of summer gave a cool relaxing feeling to the canyon. Softer gentler shades splashed highlights over the foliage making it vibrant and alive. It made you feel as though the earth were fresh and young and new. Emerging from between the aspens were small bushes, struggling to break through the dense growth of the trees. It was as if they were playing a never-ending
