Best Laid Plans Of Mice and Idiots

Thought for the day:

The grass is always greener on the other side, unless Chuck Norris has been there. In that case the grass is most likely soaked in blood and tears.


It started out like any other plan for a free weekend - lots of high-minded intentions, plenty of beer in the cooler, gas in the tank, friends to meet. If only I could have remembered where that road led that was paved with best intentions...

Memorial Day weekend was going to be outstanding. I could feel it in my bones. First, I would head out to my mother's hometown for the annual Circle C celebration. I would sit around with my cousins and their fellow cowboy degenerates, drink beer, eat hamburgers, and generally mock those who are not adept at riding a hide behind a galloping horse. From there, I would borrow a trailer, load up my horse, head to a buddy's place in the country for a weekend of canyon riding, food, and general laziness. Monday morning would see us on the Niobrara River for a day of canoeing, sunburning, and stuffing our faces. Notice a common theme here? Yeah, I don't leave home without the grub.

I awoke Saturday morning to gray skies and drizzle. Ok, I can live with that. A little sprinkling from the skies never kept me away from a rodeo. I loaded up the coolers, made my kitty litter cake for the afternoon (yes, it's in a litter box and it was excellent), and ran out to my mom's to grab my saddle. Only now, it was no longer drizzle. It was full-on showers from the heavens and the temperature had dropped about 15 degrees. This day was not going to go well.

I decided that spending the morning sitting on soaking wet tailgates and sludging around like a pig in slop wasn't my cup o' tea, so I scrapped the rodeo idea and decided to head to my buddy's house early. He lives about an hour away, so I could get in a little riding time, and surely the weather would be wonderful at his house. The sun would be shining, the bluebird would be perched on my shoulder, and all would be magical.

Yeah, so the bluebird crapped on my shoulder and then made out with my grandma. It poured the entire way to his house, I had to wait for almost an hour at road construction, the horse was pissed, I almost got the trailer stuck on the muddy country roads, and there was no way any of us wanted to ride after the lightning knocked out the power in the house.

We made the best of being stuck inside, and we all spent the day playing games, watching movies, and making chocolate fondue. The weather cleared up just long enough for us to ride about four miles on Sunday, which was better than a jab in the butt with a carrot. The highlight of the ride? When the know-it-all Wisconsin girl next to me was giving me advice on how to handle the horse I was riding, then her horse shied and she fell off. My innards did the happy dance at the sound of her 35-lbs-crammed-in-a-5-lb-pair-of-jeans arse smacking the mud. The leprechauns in my head giggled with evil laughter when they heard, "I think I broke a rib. I think I broke a rib!" No worries, honey. Those ribs have plenty of padding to protect them. We had just put the horses away, Ms. All Hat and No Cattle had limped to the house, moaning in dramatic fashion, and the storms hit again. Back inside for beer and kitty litter cake.

And then Monday rolled around. Once again, there was an 80% chance of rain, and all those cornfed sissies were afraid to go out on the water. No canoe trip for us. I was in full-on scoffing mode when the thunder cracked and the skies opened yet again. In no time at all, it was raining, hailing, and the wind was about 50 mi/hr. Ok, ok, so maybe it would have been a little chilly on the river. The day was shot, and I'd pretty much had my fill of Pictionary and Guesstures by that time. I decided to load up the horse and head for home as soon as the storm lessened a little.

But the moment we started loading Kismet for the trek home, we nearly became extras in Twister. Funnel tails started dipping in and out of the clouds, and ole Noah started herding critters two by two. We scrambled to get everything hooked up, only to discover the lights on the trailer weren't working. My buddy monkeyed with the wiring and repaired the trailer lights, just about the time I discovered the blown fuse on the truck that knocked out my brake lights. We jimmy-rigged the fuses to get me home, and I set out for greener pastures.

It was raining so hard, I could hardly see to drive. I made it about 30 miles when the trailer started pulling in directions I didn't want to go. I was right at the turnoff for a little podunk town, so I whipped 'er on in to confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, I'd blown a tire on the trailer. I started muttering vows to murder the trailer's owner, who had assured me the tires were just fine, and climbed out into the still pouring rain. I then discovered not only does my mother not carry a four-way lug wrench (or any other kind) in her truck, she only had a baby jack that comes under the back seat of a Dodge Dakota.

I unloaded my saddle, flung it into the front seat, and was lying on the floor in the back seat to remove the cursed jack when a guy pulled up. Mind you, I was soaked to the skin, looked like I'd been set on fire and beaten with a track shoe, and my patience level had been hurtled past about 20 minutes before. He took one look at my pathetic jack and just grinned. He had a handyman jack, a four-way, and few words. He changed the tire without me having to unload the horse, and was done in about 10 minutes. AND he refused payment, as any self-respecting cowboy in these parts would do. Of course, as any self-respecting appreciative unprepared fool would do, I figured out who he was, where he hung out with his buddies in that nowhere town, and returned a few days later with a case of beer.

From this point on, there is now a four-way wrench under the seat. There will soon be a decent jack in the back. And the next time someone asks me what I'm doing over a three day weekend, the answer will be, "I'm staying home."