My folks had us stylin all over the country in what my little brother dubbed Hell Bus- mostly a result of my dads dedication to his schedule, and the fact that there were so many of us in the smallest motor homes ever put up for rent. After he retired, the folks bought their own, larger version of same. My dad was always trying to talk me into borrowing for a family trip, which I always recognized as the opportunity for disaster it was. But one fateful day I accepted.
We went down to a park on one of the Fingerlakes. Got set up, leveled, and off to the lake to go fishing. The wind was blowing into our faces at about 674 mph, so we switched to skipping rocks. The sky turned green. Decided to head back up to start a fire, which was easy as it was really getting a lot of oxygen. With little effort I could have lit up the whole campground. We roasted hot dogs, did schmores, returned the campground neighbor's chairs that had blown into our space, several times. Then it got windy. And rainy. And lightening. I shoved the kids into the motorhome, and started putting all the shit away that goes in all those ridiculous bus-like cargo areas on the outside of the rig. Shit was blowing everywhere, camp chairs, umbrellas, toys,camping stuff, pets. I finally got everything stowed, went inside soaked to the skin. My now ex-wife said, I told you this was a bad idea.
Then the tree at the edge of our campsite, about a 40' maple, blew over and fell on the hell bus.
My brother was right.
RaFfa, I look forward to your reports. Your magnetic attraction to debacle exceeds even my own.
It's lime the battles between sperm whales and giant squid half a mile below the surface of the ocean. Only it happens in the palm I your hand.- thndr
when I fall, I am still cold and wet, but much more stylishly dressed. as my hat disappears in the riffle- flybug.pa
"Sugar? No thank you Turkish, I'm sweet enough."