Never Trust A Rotarian

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"So," Mark said, glancing at his demon-twin, "where are you guys from in THE STATES?"

Ah. Social pleasantries. There just may be hope yet! I look at your mom to see if she's picked up on the subtle change in the tone of the conversation. It was hard to tell. I noticed that during the last few minutes she'd started to twitch slightly.

"We're from the Seattle area. Well, actually a small town about 40 miles southeast of Seattle next to the Cascade foothills."

I find that adding 'small town' usually will put people at ease. I have no idea why. Maniacs and psychopaths are abundant in small towns. Why, visit any Rotary Club meeting and you're sure to see at least three serial killers at any given time. Don't even get me started on local Chambers of Commerce. Let's just say that most of the Boards of Director's for Chambers are full-blown, unrepentant, closet Satan worshipers. Anyway, back to the small town thingee. I look to the group to see if this bit of info has had a calming effect.

More simple nodding, but this time I detect a slightly positive vibe.

Carl spoke for the first time. His voice was exactly like his brothers, but a tad higher. "I've been through Seattle a few times."

Pause. Silence. I waited for the follow up. The 'and it's a really nice place', or 'incredible scenery', or 'not as bad as I expected'. But no . . . nothing followed. Just a blank stare.

"Oh," I remarked, "well . . . good!" I mean really, what else could I say?

"Yeah," he said, "too many people for my taste."

Martha, his mother, cleared her throat and rolled her eyes. Admiration for this beautiful lady had now blossomed into full blown love.

I study Carl. How dare he not acknowledge the awesomeness that is the Pacific Northwest? And I'm not fond of your nose there chuckles, but I'm not going to point it out. Well, at least not yet. The day is young. I sized up the brothers as a unit. Even though they could outrun me, I was pretty sure that in a street fight I could handle myself. Or at least bean them with my cane into some form of submission. Mom could have kicked their asses straight up, but I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to that.

*** the journey continues ***

Volcanoes of DOOM

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Thankfully, that was the last incident before we pointed our metal steed over Chinook pass. Ah, Chinook. We are truly fortunate to reside at the base of the Cascades with their miles of great riding roads and spectacular views. Well, unless you count that whole "You're sitting at the bottom of an active volcano - an ACTIVE volcano for God's sakes!" thingee. Wimps and wusses one and all.

Personally I believe thumbing your nose at nature adds to the excitement of living here. I mean, seriously - how many people have this conversation several times a week?

"Mt. Rainier sure is beautiful today."

"Why yes it is. Absolutely gorgeous. I never grow tired of the view. The sunlight on the glaciers - just stunning!"

"That it is It’s like an old friend that always there to greet you."

* Insert Long pause*

"Of course, you know that it could blow any second, and we would have no chance at escape. It would be certain death from the pyroclastic mud flows raging from the melting glaciers."

"Oh I know! We would be screwed! No chance to run."

"Yep screwed. Dead in minutes. So . . . you going to the Daniel's party this weekend?"

Plus, and you know this because you lived it, how many kids get to put together a 'Volcano Emergency Kit' for school every year? That was always a little creepy. Oh, not the peanut-butter crackers or the juice boxes, those are fine. No, it was the 'sealed note' that we, as parents had to write you every year to place in your bag in the unlikely event that you would, at some point, need comforting. I mean really, what can you say as a future dead person to your living child? We never let you peek, but I guess that now that you're all hoity-toity and Naval I can tell you now what we wrote in those letters. I can't remember exactly, so I'm paraphrasing here, but it was along the lines of, 'Hi! We're dead. Don't forget to brush your teeth.', or something like that.

Good thing you never had to use that, huh? Couldn't have been easy for you though. Remember that one special day in third-grade when they would sit you down and explain to you what a volcano was and what volcanoes did - chock full of useful charts and maps and pictures of Mt. St. Helens and Pompeii - and then walked you over to the window and pointed to this huge time-bomb ticking on our horizon? I always knew when they had reached that point in the academic year. It wasn't hard to discerne. Watching a whole herd of eight-year-olds walk out of the class teary-eyed, shell-shocked, and trembling - well, it was obvious. Either they had just had the 'Volcano Talk' or Jimmy had finally choked to death eating the paste. And we all know how the class felt about Jimmy. Wanker.

Anyway, back to our trip.


*** the journey continues tomorrow