LIaDVp.29: Horror stories from the rural highway

October 6, 2004, cont.

A group of German teenagers were visiting the lodge for a night. They were like a pack of beautiful, slender Abercrombie models. It's not the first tour from Europe that is like that. I'm starting to think that every European is beautiful by nature. Uh oh, I just opened a bomber of Arrrogant Bastard, that means I'm probably getting pretty drunk tonight. I have tomorrow off, and I'm not sure what I want to do. One guest got to talking today about the Oregon Vortex in Gold Hill. While most I've talked to have mild appreciation for the Vortex, this woman was clearly a fan. She said you have to go. I said I've been to the Mystery Spot in Santa Cruz, which she passed off as a pale imitator, one of several across the country, but the Vortex, that's the real deal. A natural phenomenon in the Earth's magnetic field. I started to get the feeeling that Crater lake was just a stop on the way to the Vortex for these people.

The guests during the last two nights have been overall, very cool people. Not cool in the MTV sense, but interesting and friendly. It's been sad to see a lot of them go. Like the leather-clad, young biker couple, the man with a braided goatee. They like Monopoly. Or the yuppie-ish Idahoans, also on bikes, but yuppie bikes, who had all kinds of experience working at various lodges. Or the middle-aged government worker who had been at the lodge for a few days by herself. She's an investigator for the Department of Justice, and had been in the area hunting a polluter. She had been dating a guy who's now living in Redding and it doesn't seem to be going well. He was supposed to meet her at the Lake. Instead she was travelling alone, but doing so very well and happily. She was on her way up to Bend to see what it's like. By her attitude, I got the feeling that she's sort of important in her circle. Kind of bitchy, but fun to talk to. She's contemplating moving, but is nervous about the social adjustment and the cultural value of the area. Now presumably single, I think she wanted a change, but was afraid of moving to an area with nobody to help her settle in, no other and no friends in the area. Of course, I strongly recommended Portland. We exchanged numbers, me and this 50 something federal lawyer, and she said she may be able to help me with work if I'm ever in the DC area (I told her my paper background). I told her I'd be happy to show her around Portland if she ever takes the dive. She seemed sincerely appreciative, although a very dry personality I really think she'll call if she's around. How cool is that?

October 15, 2004

Four days left . . . Cory has hit about 50 deer with cars in his life. He's about my age, and grew up in Nebraska. In Nebraska the overpopulation of deer is a serious problem. That's why they have open season for hunters. Grocery stores in Lincoln have long removed the sensor activated doors, since deer began wandering into WalMarts and Safeways. They'd kick around merchandise and scare the customers until some employee would have to take a Remington off the wall and plug the deer right in the store. It was too traumatizing to shoppers in the store so they took out the automatic doors. When Cory worked for the Department of Agriculture, they had several large pickup trucks with "deer-killer" grills of heavy duty, steel pipe. One month driving around in Nebraska, Cory hit about 15 deer. Almost all of them were killed by the nasty grills. The worst times were when the deer would try to jump over the trucks when they finally recognized them. All of the cab roofs were caved in from deer landing on top of the trucks and flying over onto the highway behind.

Once, Cory and his coworker hit a deer square on and it flew over them. They pulled into a gas station in central Lincoln, a large city, and someone asked if they had been hunting. The deer was lying in the bed of the truck, twitching and shaking in death throes. They didn't have any weapons, and they couldn't really fire any off anyway as federal employees in the middle of the city. But there they were in an urban gas station with a seizing deer on the verge of death in the back of their government pickup truck. They both looked around for something heavy or sharp like a shovel but the best Cory could find was a monkey wrench. His co-worker jumped into the bed and grabbed hold of the deer's head. Cory jumped up and started swinging the wrench into its head like he was chopping wood. The thing finally died and Cory and his friend collapsed on the tailgate of the truck. Cory had blood all over his arms and some on his face. His coworker had blood all over him. There was a crowd of about 15 people watching the spectacle. "I'm calling the cops," one guy said. They were at risk of being charged with inhumane killing of an animal. They waited for the police to arrive, and then for a deer autopsy. The animal had ruptured several organs including its lungs. It was dying when they bashed its head in, and likely saved it a lot of suffering.

I walked out of the employee exit of the lodge at about dusk today. The Klamath Valley was indescribably beautiful, pinkish or so with rolling hills and purple horizons. About 20 feet away was an adult deer, standing and watching me, barely afraid. I've learned from highway driving that when you see one deer, you really need to be careful of the two or three following behind. They were two fawns, stumbling clumsily behind about 30 yards. They saw me and scampered up behind the mother. I waved and said "hi," and since there was nobody around, walked alongside of them for the length of the parking lot, never more than a car's length away. When I reached the end, there was a tourist going to his car. I wanted to show him, but it would have spooked the deer. They were very close to his car. The deer lost their patience and scurried up the hill out of sight. The tourist never knew they were there.

I was sitting in Ben's dorm (he's from Chiloquin, so I expected no good). He was wearing baggy denim pants, a belt, some leather shoes, and a denim button-up shirt tucked in. "Looks like you're ready to hit the Rim Dorm," I said. "Yeah, you want to go?" "Fuck no," I said. So we sat around his dorm, drinking Black Velvet whiskey and cheap beer, talking about the season and looking at photos. Ben loves bluegrass and whiteboy funk and country. We were listening to Suicidal Tendencies, Lights Camera Revolution, with "Send me your money," circa1991. I asked him if he liked Primus and he said no. He had a bad experience:

"Me and a few of my friends were driving along Highway XX and we had just taken bunch of mushrooms and were tripping balls. We pulled over to the side of the road. and sat there for a while just frying and listening to Primus. This Jeep with government plates was hauling down the highway, and another car was coming the other way," and he made this crashing motion with both fists, to show a head-on collision. "We sat there and watched the two cars wreck and this chick was so fucked up her that her scalp was pulled away from her head and she looked dead. We were all frying so we just hauled ass out of there. So I don't like Primus."