Chautauqua: A Story in Seven Parts

Chautauqua: A Story in Seven Parts

Inspired by Actual Events

Part 1—The Open Road

            There is no experience quite like a great road trip; that born-again feeling of freedom and serenity that cuts through your soul as you’re cruising along endless highways with the windows rolled down and the wind whipping through your hair. (My apologies to all my bald friends out there, though, on second thought, the notion of the wind gliding over my hairless head suddenly seems so titillating that I’m considering shaving my dome just to experience the sensation. Perhaps you actually have it better than the rest of us?) There’s a good reason that the drive is oftentimes more memorable than the destination.

But what makes for a great road trip? In my experience, all great road trips entail what I like to call the Four S’s of The Road:

S#1: Snacks. You’re going to get hungry on a long drive. I recommend taking no food with you—you’re not going to know what you really desire until you’re good and hungry. Once that craving ingrains itself into your prefrontal cortex, then, and only then, should you stop and stock up on snacks. 

S#2: Sights. A great road trip always has great sites. Stay clear of the major highways if you have the time; they’re usually straight, crowded, and boring. Take the back roads, scout out breathtaking scenery; things like rolling green hills, barren brown deserts, jagged mountain ranges, lazy winding rivers, trees so tall they disappear in the sky, and quaint little communities with smiling town folk who still possess the good manners to wave when you slowly drive by.

S#3: Sounds. A great drive always consists of great music. Here are your best three options:

            1) Bat Out of Hell, by Meat Loaf

            2) Bat Out of Hell II, by Meat Loaf

            3) Bat Out of Hell, (album version single) by Meat Loaf, on a continuous loop

S#4: Smells…

            “Smells?” my girlfriend, CC, asks. [Inside Note: After traversing a rather small stream on the western slope of Mount Hood, my girlfriend insists that she be called Katelin the Courageous Creek Crosser, but for the simplicity of writing, I will identify her as CC. Not C.C.. Just CC. No periods; thanks to the new birth control.]

            “Yes,” I say to her. “The smells!”

            “What kind of smells? You mean like manure?”

            “I happen to like the smell of manure.”

            “You like the smell of cow shit?”

            “Maybe ‘appreciate’ is a better word,” I say. “I appreciate the smell of manure. It reminds me of where I’m from. It reminds me of growing up.”

            “What about skunk?” she asks. “You can’t possibly like the smell of skunk.”

            “It reminds me of really good weed.”

            “Gasoline?”

            “Not bad.”

            CC rolls her eyes. “Rotting garbage?”

“♪♪ You took the words right out of my mouth…♫”

            “What?”

            “Sorry. I was just singing along: ♫ I was just about to say I love you…♪♪♪”

CC turns down the volume so Meat Loaf is barely audible in the background. “Are you even listening to me?”

            “Of course,” I say. “Rotting garbage—I can handle it.”

            “Is there anything that offends your sense of smell?”

            “Can I tell you the truth?” I ask.

            CC laughs. “Why start now?”

            “I don’t smell awful things,” I say. “Or I guess what I mean is, the things that most people consider rancid, they don’t bother me.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “I’m nose-blind.”

            “Nose-blind?”

            “Or scent-deaf,” I say. “Whatever you want to call it.”

            “You’re making this up.”

             “Unfortunately, it’s all too real. You see, something happened when I was younger…”

            “Oh, no.” CC  lets out a breath of air. “This isn’t another one of your tall tales is it?”

            “At least I’m not being short with you.”

            She gives me one of those looks—you know the kind.

            “Whatever you want,” I say, reaching for the volume.

            She quickly swats my hand away. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

            “Are you saying that you’d rather hear my story over Meat Loaf?”

            “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

            Me over Meat Loaf—the audacity! I have good reason to slam on the brakes and kick her out to the curb but then remember that it’s her car. Instead, I decide to tell my story...

To be continued...