(no subject)
Honest to god conversation with my mother:
me: "So I'm going a couple of hours into the interior to try and poke around some tiny gold-rush town and museum, and I'm going alone with my computer and my camera."
mom: "Oh my god. So basically you're going to get snatched by some possibly-cannibalistic banjo-playing microcephalic overall-wearing porch-dweller who's either going to keep you in his basement or in pieces in his fridge."
me: "Pretty much why I was calling. If you don't hear from me by about 8 tonight, I'm either manwich or wife."
In fact, I did NOT get eaten by hillbillies, but that might have something to do with the fact that I didn't even get out of my car. Something about the streets full of roaming stray dogs, and completely devoid of ALL signs of human life except for the one weird drooling guy that screamed at me as I drove by suggested that maybe, JUST MAYBE, I had stumbled onto a Bad Place.
By the way, and this is totally hand-to-god serious, that Bad Place happens to be exactly 101km east of Hope, and to get to Hope one need pass through Hell's Gate. Also, there's a bit about crossing the summit of Jackass Mountain, driving thru a town called Spuzzum, and passing such awesome establishments as the Pig's Ass Saloon and, my new favourite place ever, the Elvis Rocks The Canyon Cafe, Hell's Gate BC's only restaurant wall-to-wall Elvis-memorial-themed roadside diner.
Yeah.
Anyway. Survived the experience (we'll call that Stupid-Ass School-Inspired Road Trip #1; there are at least two more forays to equally scary assortments of backwater destinations in the works) without getting the hose again. Have a great number of other things to say, many of them about Thanksgiving and how I fail at pies but win at bacon, but if the radio silence hadn't given it away, I'm living pretty deeply in my own head at the moment, and exposition just isn't in the cards.
me: "So I'm going a couple of hours into the interior to try and poke around some tiny gold-rush town and museum, and I'm going alone with my computer and my camera."
mom: "Oh my god. So basically you're going to get snatched by some possibly-cannibalistic banjo-playing microcephalic overall-wearing porch-dweller who's either going to keep you in his basement or in pieces in his fridge."
me: "Pretty much why I was calling. If you don't hear from me by about 8 tonight, I'm either manwich or wife."
In fact, I did NOT get eaten by hillbillies, but that might have something to do with the fact that I didn't even get out of my car. Something about the streets full of roaming stray dogs, and completely devoid of ALL signs of human life except for the one weird drooling guy that screamed at me as I drove by suggested that maybe, JUST MAYBE, I had stumbled onto a Bad Place.
By the way, and this is totally hand-to-god serious, that Bad Place happens to be exactly 101km east of Hope, and to get to Hope one need pass through Hell's Gate. Also, there's a bit about crossing the summit of Jackass Mountain, driving thru a town called Spuzzum, and passing such awesome establishments as the Pig's Ass Saloon and, my new favourite place ever, the Elvis Rocks The Canyon Cafe, Hell's Gate BC's only restaurant wall-to-wall Elvis-memorial-themed roadside diner.
Yeah.
Anyway. Survived the experience (we'll call that Stupid-Ass School-Inspired Road Trip #1; there are at least two more forays to equally scary assortments of backwater destinations in the works) without getting the hose again. Have a great number of other things to say, many of them about Thanksgiving and how I fail at pies but win at bacon, but if the radio silence hadn't given it away, I'm living pretty deeply in my own head at the moment, and exposition just isn't in the cards.