It was Sunday, February 2nd, 1997 at 9 AM. I was living in my Frat House at the time. We had a party the night before, so I was knocked the fuck out, in an alcohol and drug-induced coma that would have taken difibulators to get me out of. My buddy, Z, kicks my door open, jumps on top of me in bed, and starts wailing me in the Charley Horse with his fist. This is only a way best friends wake each other up! I figured he just wanted to shove his fingers up my nose so I could smell how filthy the pussy was of the whore he violated the previous night. Little did I know what Z had in store. I was about to embark on the best road trip in the history of road bowls. Here is how it went down.
Z
What are you doing today?
Me
(Half asleep)
Uhhh, nothing.
I then remembered that I had two tests to study for and also needed to do laundry, buy before I could change my mind, Z dropped a bombshell.
Z
Let’s go to Punxsutawney…it’s Groundhog Day!
Suddenly, my academic and hygienic futures were put on hold. Tests come and go, I reasoned with myself. “I’ll probably have another one next week”. I then decided that clean clothes weren’t that important, as I never went to class anyway. A trip to Punxsutawney?!...on Groundhog Day!? That was a once in a lifetime trip, and there was no way I was passing that up. I would remember it forever! Even if I got Alzheimer’s, this was something my grandkids could tell me about someday. It was a no-brainer!
We had to leave immediately, so I jumped out of bed, took a Puerto Rican shower, threw on some dirty clothes, and went downstairs to meet Z. Another of my brothers, Spgork, and his girlfriend, Babs, finished out our foursome. We checked our bags, then piled into Spgork’s Jetta, and peeled away.
By the time we got on the road it was 11:00. This was a completely spontaneous trip, so we didn’t know that the Festivities at Gobbler’s Nob had been over for hours already. Good thing, or else this random, crazy adventure would have never happened. After leaving, we stopped at a gas station to fill up and get supplies. Z and I went in to get food and shit while Spgork gassed up. On the way in, Z reminded Spgork to check the oil. We got our beer, smokes and chips and exited. Once back at car, Spgork informed us he was going in to buy oil cuz he was down some. We nodded and loaded in the back seat so we could start drinking. Our friend came out a few minutes later, holding a brown grocery bag. We handed Babs a beer and the 3 of us sat and drank while we waited for Spgork to put the oil in. We were drinking and being jolly, so we didn’t realize that Spgork was up in the hood for a good 20 minutes. Plus, the hood was up, so even if we were curious to see what he was doing, our view was blocked. Finally, he loaded back in the driver’s seat, just as I cracked my 4th beer.
Less than five minutes later, as we were approaching the town limit, a cloud of thick, black smoke began gushing out of the tailpipe. When I say thick, I mean we were surrounded by 4 solid walls. It was like the car was trapped in a shoebox. I literally could not see an inch beyond the window. We discuss briefly and decide that this isn’t a normal feature of Volkswagens, and start freaking out. Babs reaches in glove compartment and grabs the owner’s manual. She flips through the pages in attempt to identify the problem. The smoke then starts flowing into the car through gaps in the doors. As the cabin fills with smoke, we frantically roll down the windows so we don’t die of suffocation. Spgork cannot see the road at all, so he rolls down the window and sticks his head out into the fresh air while he steers, Ace Ventura style. While he weaves all over the road, narrowly missing numerous head-on collisions, the rest of us roll down our windows so the smoke can escape. As we struggle to breathe, Z ponders for a moment and asks Spgork how much oil he put in the car.
His answer is priceless.
Spgork
I couldn’t find the stick thingy to see how much I needed, so I just put in 5 bottles.
I figured that would be enough. Why, do we need more?
Bingo! We have our problem. Z explains to Spgork that he only needed to put 1 quart in. Once again, Spgork amazes with his knowledge of fine automobiles.
Spgork
Only one, really? I should be good for awhile, then.
Dumb-founded and unwilling to explain any further, Z just stops talking and shakes his head. We reluctantly agree to call off the trip. We were only 5 minutes into a 2 ½ -hour trip and had already put 3 holes in the ozone layer. We turn around and head back home. I try to look at the bright side in that at least I will get some studying done now.
Suddenly, SIRENS are heard in back of us. No one can see out the back window, but we figure it’s in our best interest to pull over. After the smoke clears away, we see a cop car stopped behind us, lights flashing. The cop gets out and approaches us, looking around at the cloud surrounding him. We stare at him the entire way up to the front window. The cop asks Spgork sarcastically why he thought he got pulled over. He explains our mishap, and how we were just going back home. The cop takes his license and goes back to his car. He returns a few minutes later, ticket in hand. He hands citation to shocked Spgork.
Spgork
What’s this for? I wasn’t speeding!
Cop
Unnecessary smoke. Get this car back home immediately.
The cop goes all hippy on us, gives us guilt trip about killing trees and polluting the atmosphere . He lectures us a little more and says he’ll be watching to make sure we go home.
“Unnecessary smoke , is that even illegal? “, we said. Then, our anger turned to sadness as realized the road trip was over before it began. Suddenly, I come up with an idea, we could steal another brother’s car. Everyone thinks this is a great idea and we should totally do it.
We get home and I run in the house, in search of a sleeping brother who owns a car. I find one in The Hammer. The Hammer is one of the funniest, quick-witted people I have ever met. He is also an arrogant prick, which is why he was the perfect candidate. He was also the most practical candidate, as he had his license taken away for a DWI and couldn’t drive anyway. I snuck in his room, snatched his keys and went back outside to tell the others. We loaded our bags into our new transportation, which was an old, beat-up Chevy Ventura. It was an ugly as shit, beat-to-hell, gas guzzling boat, but at least it was roomy. Besides, beggars can’t be choosers.
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| My bucket list also includes a joyride with Phil |
When I got in the car, the first thing I noticed was a car phone attached to the center console. Well, it wasn’t a car phone so much as it was a rotary phone, and it wasn’t strapped so much as it was duct-taped. I am not lying about this. The Hammer was the type to do this kind of thing, and I guarantee he pretended to use it on more than one occasion. After admiring this cutting edge of technology, we were once again off! Our second in what would become a plethora of surprises that day came when Babs turned on the car stereo, and we realized that all it had was AM radio.
After a few minutes of searching, she found a station that wasn’t weather, sports or news and played music. We discovered quickly that the station wasn’t exactly Top 40. It played the most random songs , by trivial artists who were known, just not by anyone under the age of 50…except Z. EVERY SINGLE TIME he would call out a random song or singer as a joke, his request would play on the station within 2-3 songs. It was weird shit, too, artists like Tom Jones, Engelbert Humperdink, Culture Club, and random one-hit wonder singers from the 60’s….it was unreal. It was like he was using his Jedi mind powers to get into the head of the DJ. It was also around then that we discovered another perk of this tank we were driving, it had no shocks. Every time we drove over a pebble the car would jerk back and forth like we were on Space Mountain. We lost at least a beer in spillage due to these hazards!
We got lost like four different times on the drive down. No one had any idea where we were going. Google Maps wasn’t around yet, and none of us could read a map. All we knew is our destination was south. We pretty much just kept turning on roads that had an “S” after the Route Number. We pounded beers the whole way and had inhaled a fair amount of cannabis as well on the drive. At around 3 PM, 4 hours into the trip, when we were at the tail end of our 2nd 30 rack, we finally arrived at our destination, How we found Punts I will never know. We found Gobbler’s Nob, parked and got out, looking for the party. Not surprisingly, the streets were deserted. Everyone in town had already gotten drunk, vomited on themselves, ass-banged a stranger in an alley, and then passed out wherever they fell. We walked around for a little bit to sightsee, then got back in the car to discuss our next move. After a few beers, we were out, which is when we decided on our next course of action.
We stopped at some hick gas station and picked up another 30 rack, this one of Old Milwaukee Red cans, a beer I had never seen before, or since. It is here at the gas station that I notice that the car is leaking radiator fluid. We had already fucked up one car on the trip and didn’t want to make it two. However, it was Sunday and no garages were open anyway. Plus we were broke and the car was only worth about $12 anyway, so we brushed this problem off and headed back to Alfred.
About 15 minutes later, our judgment proves a little off as the car overheats. We were in the next town over from Punts at this point. For the second time in 8 hours, we are forced to delay our trip due to a severe smoke issue. This time the smoke was billowing out of the hood. Spgork pulls over into the parking lot of a small bar. It was in the middle of nowhere, as there were no cars on the road other than us and I had to squint to see the nearest building. We unloaded and studied the signage of this establishment we found ourselves stranded at. The place was called The Camouflage Inn; I will never forget the name. I’m surprised we found it, being that its camouflage.
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| There are 3 teeth combined in this room |
We went into the bar, hoping to use the phone and maybe get something to eat, as the chips were gone hours ago and beer munchies were starting to wreak havoc on our stomach. We noticed that every vehicle in the parking lot was a pickup truck, and they all had gun racks. We figure it was a hick bar and braced ourselves. Little did we know how big of a hick bar it was. As soon as we walked in the door, everyone in the bar stared at us like we had green tits growing out of our foreheads. Even the music stopped! I thought that only happened in movies! It was like that scene from Animal House when they walk into that bar where Otis Day is playing and discover they are the only white people and all the brothers are staring them down? Yeah, just like that. We review the décor and realize what we’re up against. Mounted deer heads and NASCAR merchandise donned all the walls. Everyone had on flannel shirts and jeans and had a combined maybe 18 teeth. The bar even had a chewing tobacco machine. They actually had a chewing tobacco machine there. To this day I have never seen another one. The machine worked, too, cuz the two females sitting at the bar were both sporting a fat wad in their mouth. In their hands were the Budweiser bottles they were using as spitters.
We went up to the bar to ask to use the phone and order drinks. The bartender was some clueless older woman. The stretch marks on her flabby triceps. I discovered that bartending was yet another thing she needed to work on when she came back with our drinks. Regardless of what we ordered, a bottle of Budweiser was put in front of all of us. I think it is all they had. She asked us if we wanted a food menu, to which we acknowledged. Making small talk, we explained how we were from out of town and how our radiator overheated. A Camo-clad, scruffy looking dude who was sitting at table behind us got up and stumbled over. Reeking of campfire and sporting an “I just farted” grin, he stood at the bar, listening to our tale of woe. After a few minutes, he broke into the conversation, claiming he knew a way to fix our radiator. He spoke like a hick, but had an Australian accent, which was mind-blowing, as I had always assumed all Englishmen spoke like sophisticated gentleman. This guy talked like Hugh Grant immediately after doing a huge Nitrous hit.
Bumpkin Mechanic
You just need to put peppa in the radiator, mate, it will fix everything.
Pour it in and it will sink down and clog hole. I swear, mate, I do it all the time!
This guy wasn’t telling us in an inquisitive way, he was riled up. I could tell he was excited as shit about sharing his prowess at fixing leaks in radiators. It was like Ron Jeremy telling his friends about the first time he used the Shocker! While he continued his detailed explanation, we studied our menus.
Z looks up at the tender and asked what food she recommends. Then, like a ninja, a different patron jumped in to put his two cents in about this conversation. He looked at Z and smiled, showing off his pearly browns, and asked, without a hint of sarcasm, if we wanted a groundhog sandwich. We laughed, thinking it was a joke. He insisted they tasted very good and that he ate them all the time. The mechanic stopped his one-way discussion briefly to vouch for his friend, but we all politely declined. Groundhog Sandwich guy then asks Z for a cigarette. Stunned and scared, complied. Groundhog man took the smoke and studied it, shaking his head. He looked at Z, chuckled, and said, “What’s with this filter shit?” He ripped the filter off, lit it then sucked it down, taking huge puffs like it was a joint.
The entire rest of the bar had moved in on us at this point, listening intently to our conversations. The crazy mechanic dude kept rambling, then pointed at the other patrons for their approval. They all nodded their head in agreement and started putting in their two cents about the issue. Finally, we agree to do it, mostly because we were scared and didn’t want to be in the next batch of Groundhog Sandwiches. Getting our reluctant approval, the crazy guy grabbed a pepper dispenser and waved for us to follow him out to the parking lot. It ended up being not just us who went out, but the whole bar followed us, too. When they see we are driving a Chevy Ventura, everyone gets jovial and laughs, then have a mass reminiscing session about how they used to drive around Chevy Ventura’s, cocked, in High School 20 years ago. Apparently every Chevy Ventura ever sold was bought by someone in this bar! We opened the hood and ghetto mechanic unscrewed the radiator and proceeded to empty the whole pepper dispenser inside. Once done, we thanked him, and everyone else- then got the hell out of there.
Amazingly, we got home, in decent time, too, arriving around 9:30 PM. Our Fraternity house was in the midst of our weekly meeting when we stormed in the door, eager to tell everyone about our day. When he found out what was done to his cherry automobile, the Hammer was PISSED. He lectured in his token sarcastic, demeaning way that his car had over 100,000 miles on it and shouldn’t be driven out of town, much less the state. Since I was the one who took his keys, he insisted I be the one to make it right. So, I was dragged out into the driveway, handed a long, thin tube, and told to siphon all the fluid out of the radiator. Feeling bad, I honored his request. I managed to get antifreeze in my mouth while attempting to start the suction, almost swallowing it, but that’s okay. It was a small price to pay for being able to share the story of the road trip for the ages.
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| The infamous Camoulflage Inn |
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