Road Trip Travails

Some years ago I was traveling back to Arizona from Colorado when I noticed my gas gauge was fast approaching “the red zone” and so was my bladder. Unfortunately, I was in a part of the country where gas stations are few and far between. And, pulling to the side of the road was not an option as you’re winding through mountain passes.

It had come to the point where I was doing everything I could to distract myself from my immediate situation. Just how many verses does “She’ll Be Coming Around the Mountain” have? As I hit the flatland, I spied a gas station just up the road and, bonus, the sign said, “Clean Restrooms”.

Thank goodness there was little traffic and I crossed to the other side of the highway to stake my claim at the pump. I quickly swiped my credit card at the pump, placed the nozzle in the tank and skipped my way to the restroom. Damn! The door was locked. Skipping my way back to the island-cashier, I asked for the key. She opened the door to her bulletproofed dominion and handed me a bright pink hula hoop with the key attached. What the.....? This was definitely a first.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, again I’m skipping to make my way to relieve myself of an uncomfortable situation. I placed the key in the door, opened it and flipped on the light. Horror or all horrors – no toilet paper! Okay, back to the booth to ask for toilet paper. For some reason or another, the lady in the booth seemed to be put out with me as I made my request. Through the money slot, she slipped me four; four mind you, sections of toilet paper. No time to argue, I’m back to the rest room with hula hoop and toilet paper in hand.

I entered the restroom and, as I was assessing the toilet seat, I discovered a small packet of Kleenex in my purse. Yea, I can cover the seat and will have plenty to spare. Ahhhhh. I washed my hands, grabbed the hula hoop and strolled back to my truck. I threw out some soda cans, the remainder of the three-day old bag of Cheetos and a banana peel. I then returned the nozzle to the pump.

I approached the booth to ask for my receipt and to return the restroom key. She opened the door for me to slip the hula hoop through and, back at her window, she slipped me the receipt through the cash slot. I’m telling you, she was not the friendliest person I’ve ever encountered. I walked a few steps towards my truck, reached into my pocket and tore off two of the sections the toilet paper I’d been given. I then pivoted to return to the booth.

I had to wait a minute for her to complete her phone conversation with, what sounded like, her husband. As she hung up the phone, she looked over her glasses at me and questioned, “Yeeessss?” I slipped the two sections back through the money slot and proudly stated, “Thanks, but I didn’t need all of this.” Back on the road again, I had to smile.

Turquoise Moon Gallery - Desert Glow

Desert Glow

Ed Mell

24x18 Oil on Linen

Medicine Man Gallery

The Jackalope

It’s surprising to me how many are still so curious about the existance of the jackalope here in the desert southwest. So, I thought I’d share a bit of information regarding this rare and illusive creature.

The jackalope is a rare hybrid of the pygmy-deer and a species of "killer rabbit". Female jackalopes can be milked as they sleep belly up and the milk can be used for a variety of medicinal purposes. It has also known that the jackalope can convincingly imitate any sound, including the human voice. It uses this ability to elude pursuers, chiefly by using phrases such as "There he goes! That way!" The jackalope may be caught by putting a flask of whiskey out at night. The jackalope will drink its fill of whiskey and its intoxication will make it easier to hunt – the meat tastes very similar to lobster. And, if you find yourself in my part of the country, there are special tours and guides that will take you right to the jackalopes’ natural habitat. Careful though, they can be quite dangerous when approached. Read on; Hilma Volk’s poem, Jackalope, will enlighten you further.

Jackalope

by Hilma (Volcano) Volk

"Are there jackalope around here?"
The dude from Chicago asked.
"Well up here there's too much elevation;
They're down on sagebrush flats."

"Course the females don't have antlers.
Males shed theirs in early spring.
They'll bed down during the day
And come out in the late evening.

"They're masters of camouflage,
When scared they'll lay out flat.
Them antlers blend in like a bush,
An' they're silent as a cat.

"They're pretty cunning creatures, too,
Like if a coyote's giving chase,
A different one will whistle
An' throw him off his pace.

"They say they're mostly loners
But I've seen them in a pack
An' make a circle, antlers out,
To fend off a dog attack."

The Chicago man looked quite confused.
He said, "You're a pretty good liar
'Cause we both know they're a myth
Dreamed up 'round some campfire."

"Not so," I said, "they're real enough.
Every word I said was true.
Why, Friday night at the Longhorn
They'll serve up Jack'lope stew.

"And Max Green, the taxidermist,
Has a whole bunch he has trapped.
An' there's photos at the gallery
That you can get gift wrapped."

He said, "I want to see one alive."
"You'll need binocs and a good spot light.
Best time and place to see 'em
Is Rattler Flats at night."

He asked if I'd be his guide.
I drawled, "For a hundred buck
I'll guarantee you'll see least one.
If not, I'm out of luck."

Next night our light reflected eyes.
I said, "Look, there's a doe."
"Malarkey, that's a rabbit!"
"Nope, there's differences, ya know.

"Like see that faint stripe on the back
Or that light spot on the chest.
Them are jackalope for sure.
But a buck will be our quest.

"Them males are awful wary
'Cause they're hunted all the time.
Ain't no season on them,
An' right now them horns is prime.

"Look there!" I shined the scope,
"That there rack's a pretty sight."
"I don't see a thing," he said.
"Scan that bush that's on the right."

"I see it, yes I see it!
But wait, it doesn't budge."
"You wouldn't either if you was hunted,
You big fat tub of fudge."

We went on and spied three more.
"Them ain't fiction," I rebuffed.
Still them jack'lope didn't move.
He declared, "I think they're stuffed."

He sneered, "Let's go out there.
If they're real, they swill scoot."
Said I, "No one goes out on Rattler Flats
Lest they're wearing snake proof boot."

He stayed in the truck a grumblin'
Till I shone another critter
Whose head was slowly turning
An' his right ear gave a twitter.

The man left town that next day.
I handed Max Green fifty.
In my pocket's a big bonus tip.
Yep, mechanical things are nifty.