The Arsenal II

Except for that hammock, each item has come in handy and if it´s waterproof, it has been critical. The longest day of travel thus far has been stacked up, knocked down, and tallying some 240 miles . . . about Canada to Oregon. It followed the pattern, one we call ¨The Standard¨. (¨Wanna pull a Standard today?¨) Start in a city. Hoard food. Leave. Find a river. Eat, camp there. The sturdy river was suitable enough with flat flashflood-susceptible banks and just few enough people. Andy ¨I was born to kill fish¨ Lemberg was wishing for a pole, or at best a net, anything to trump the other fishermen howling over their catch writhing in plastic grocery bags. The same day he gets his pole, I´ll land a harmonica to fully recreate a whitewashed Twain tale once and for all. Anyway. Dinner had concluded, the tent was staked, and a night of sleeping on sand (more relaxing than it sounds) next to the sound of water (more relaxing than I can always remember) was brutally interrupted by the upheaval of thunder and bleach flashbulbs of lightning. The sound of water is only soothing in a riverflow, not a downpour clattering off a tent. We´re a pair of Nor´westerns conceived among drizzle -- heck, proud of it! This was like nothing we had ever been in. Relentless gusts of wind and water crippled the tent into leaning over like a table with two legs kicked out. The whole sordid affair might have blown back to Kansas right then. Instead, we got up, dusted off the windblown sand, rigged some oatmeal, rolled smoothly into Cordoba and (guidebook be praised) right into the first all-you-eat buffet. I thought about how to strategically attack such an opportunity for many hours beforehand, like avoiding potatoes and concentrating the early plates on seafood. It was a phenomenal quality. Here, in the Land of Steak, there was a man, very serious with his work, who´s sole job is to roast as much steak as anyone wants. Afterwards, and I´ll be honest here, I wasn´t okay. I staggered back to a bed and, after the prior night´s torrent, into a coma. There was little breakfast the next morning.