MacGyver

The Chool Bus (ch14)

CHAPTER 14: Professor T steps in it again and Billie arranges a mineral hot spring rendezvous with a kindred spirit.

Billie Schmidt has a reliable method for combating driver fatigue common in her family. Her dad was notorious for nodding behind the wheel. And though never a traffic tragedy, he did send family members into a state of watchful vigilance and maybe that’s why. And so Billie had several mitigations aimed at setting passengers at ease. “Sunflower seeds and citrus-infused seltzer,” she said when Jack marveled at her stamina behind the wheel.

Today however, Billie is on a mission… get to Missoula and get settled so she can duck out in the morning for some hot springs action, a’la natural.  And since they would be close, she made a mental note to contact an old friend from the wild days, MollyG. Their talent was staying out of jail by sheer will and MacGyveresque creativity. And so MollyG would meet the forks at the RV park, then spirit Billie away in her Mini Cooper…more of a covered roller skate than a car…but the gals didn’t need much as they were planning to soak, again, a’la natural. 

The site, located in Idaho’s Clearwater National Forest, a popular, accessible, undeveloped, clothing-optional natural spring. Three rock-lined pools nestled in a forest setting along a half-mile hike. It would take a couple hours to get there from the Missoula campground. A mostly unspoiled, natural, soak in the woods experience with no developed infrastructure, only user-made, rock-bottomed pools… and yes, clothing optional.

Billie was known and admired by many for her brave self-possessed countenance, and she had friends everywhere. But this detour was not something the rest of the Forks were prepared to endure so she was grateful MollyG was available for the outing.

She reached for the seeds and soda, just in case, but didn’t really need them today as she was anxious to meet up with MollyG for a blissful catch-up session. She chuckled with a wide grin reflecting on some of the things that should have but somehow didn’t land the gals in jail back in the day. Like the time they drove Molly’s VW Bug into the porch lattice of one of the neighborhood Mother-in-law cottages. It was an accident, truly, but alcohol might have played a role.

It’s not that the gals were overtly testing the boundaries of what smokin’ hot party girls could get away with…

…more a tale of skant drivers-ed attentiveness and a faulty clutch on the bug. That said, they were fairly sure the boys in her class would have been subjected to the sobriety dance, had their cooler confiscated, and written up for DUI. None of these things happened to Billie and MollyG. 

Billie fixed her gaze down the road. Thoughts of all the straight guys pestering them back in the day, and how they (the fellas) resembled embarrassed peacocks upon finding out the gals were unavailable filled her with nostalgia, a slight smile. Billy let out a shallow sigh. Sunflower seeds, citrus infused seltzer,  wistful reminiscings, and Sam Jackson to keep her heading down the right roads… what more could she ask for?

Meanwhile, Professor T was getting agitated by the Zoom conference he had endured the last hundred miles. It was an attempt to mediate a settlement regarding some alleged improper behavior toward long-time administrative manager, Abigail Weiser. Ms Weiser’s attorneys, Scheizer and Bok, had convinced Ms Weiser she should sue for punitive damages, alleging she could have advanced to a higher position at the university in the absence of Professor T’s bogus appeals, power imbalanced intimidation, and non-consensual groping. Of course, this was a believable allegation as Professor T had been committed to bachelor life ever since the dissolution of his only marriage. As far as the Forks knew, Professor T would go to the grave single harboring absolutely no regrets or aspirations for a different fate.

He finally snapped… there would be no settlement. “You’ll get a grand total of nothing, not a single penny from me, you two-bit ambulance chasing charlatans!” He was addressing Ms Weiser’s attorneys, nearly screaming into the headset microphone. “We’ll see you in court!” Professor T probably should have held his composure as this outburst was also witnessed by Ms Weiser and the court-appointed mediator. 

“Now now, temper temper,” Jack was starting to get worried for Professor T’s blood pressure.

“Lemmie at ‘em!” Billie piped in with her characteristically sanguine moral support.

Buck moved a little closer to the red-faced Mork Thompson asking if there was anything he could do to help the good professor navigate what was clearly becoming a career threatening, potential legal minefield. “In fact,” Professor T finally cooling off some shook his head slightly. “I think i need more intel… these shysters are leading Abigail down the road to perdition.”

“Say no more!” Buck knew a Corpus Christi couple in the business of gathering competitive intelligence (read: domestic surveillance and clandestine spycraft). “Head ‘em up… move ‘em out… them yella-bellied varmints are gonna have to deal with karma, Texas style.” Buck was channeling his inner gun slinger.

“Are we there yet?” Jack was eager to change the subject.

NEXT WEEK:
Billie and MollyG enjoy the steamy Clearwater Mineral Pool and Coeur d’Alene turns out bland as any mid-sized white-bread college town.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

Hot Springs or Busk: Chapter XII (gear up)

So, i’m about to embark on a 48-state odyssey, a soul-searching safari through the busking back alleys and dive bar stages of this fragmented nation. It’s equal parts Jack Kerouac’s road trip fever dream and John Steinbeck’s Dust Bowl desperation, with a healthy dose of Hunter S. Thompson’s gonzoid paranoia thrown in for good measure. But unlike those literary giants, i gotta make this whole operation mobile and self-sufficient. Buckle up, buttercup, because this ain’t your daddy’s garage band tour.

First up, the performance arsenal. Picture a traveling minstrel’s grand-slam menu – a trusty ax (a Martin cutaway dreadnaught) and a simple throne for belting out ballads of pathos. But there’s more to this minstrel show than meets the eye. I’ve got a Fender amp the size of a teacup poodle with built-in effects processing, putting the power of a mini-concert at my fingertips. And for the classier gigs (if such things exist for a homeless troubadour), a JBL PA system that rises like a sonic cobra ready to unleash a shimmering monsoon upon an unsuspecting happy hour.

All this wonderful noise requires some serious behind-the-scenes wrangling. Enter the trusty dude bag, a bottomless pit of cables and connectors that would make MacGyver wink and smile. It’s got enough three-pin grounded XLR to rewire Las Vegas and enough adapters to plug into a Lalapalooza (if those still exist). Rosinante, my trusty Ford Transit decked out with the “Wilma” package (thanks, Wayfarer Vans!), swallows this technological menagerie whole, with room left over for a week’s worth of dirty laundry (hey, not in it for the glamour).

But this ain’t just an earthbound cosmic studio on wheels, loopers. This is a multimedia exploration of the American psyche, a gonzo anthropological expedition into the seat of the heartland. To capture the soul of the unraveling nation, i need a decent computer, a field recording rig worthy of an NPR documentary, and a recording studio sophisticated enough to produce a double-album of social unrest (thanks, ProTools).

Now, the real meat and potatoes of any odyssey – the creature comforts. Forget five-star hotels and room service. Rosinante doubles as a rolling studio apartment, complete with a climate-controlled oasis to keep this digital nomad from succumbing to heatstroke or hallucinations. A two-burner propane stove fueled by those ubiquitous Coleman canisters (bless their portable hearts) takes care of culinary creations, while a power-sipping fridge keeps the cheese from achieving sentience. Let’s not forget the pièce de résistance – an ice chest that doubles as an air conditioner. No freon here, folks, just good old-fashioned heat exchange technology and the sweet embrace of icy breeze (big ups to Icy Breeze, tell ’em Ronnie Hays sent ya). When the nights get frosty, a propane heater with a programmable thermostat (courtesy of Wayfarer Vans, you beautiful bastards) ensures mornings aren’t a teeth-chattering affair.

But the true star of the power show is the Goal Zero unit, a beast of burden that drinks power from the van’s alternator like a thirsty camel on a sugar rush. And for those extended stays, a portable solar array keeps the whole operation humming like a contented hive.

Of course, there’s always more to be added to the gear closet. A rooftop rack and ladder for easy access (gotta check those rooftop fan seals, you know the drill), solar panels to supplement the sun’s generosity, an awning for shade – the list goes on like a Dylan ballad. But that’s the beauty of this nomadic existence, the constant tinkering and improvement.

So, there you have it, loopers. An overview of the arsenal we’re wielding on this quest to find the fibrillating heart of our divided nation, or at least a decent cup of coffee and a hot shower.

Onward through the fog… R.H.!