ADVENTURES IN
THE
WILD WILD WEST
OR
WHY FOOLS HAVE MORE FUN
by John L. Fuhring
CHAPTER 1
The road East
The great movie
trip
started early on a Thursday
morning. I Picked up Rusty at his stable in Orcutt and was on
the
road by 7:00 AM. Wanted to have plenty of time to get to Simi
Valley
in case of slow traffic or car trouble or in case the other guys wanted
to leave early. As it turned out we made great time, got to
Simi
by about 9:45, but had to wait around an hour and a half while
everything
was made ready.
Before loading
up my
horse and all my stuff,
I had an opportunity to see what kind of trailer equipment we were
going
to use. Alarm bells started going off, but I really wanted to
go
on this trip and have this adventure, so at first I restrained myself
from
making any comments. The trailer we used belonged to one of our company
named Bob (will have more to say about Bob - boy will I have more to
say
about Bob). This trailer was old, rusted and junky and very
small
for 4 horses. The jack didn’t work, it did not have
a functioning
emergency brake or, for that matter, any functioning brakes
at all.
The next thing I noticed was that the "safety" chains were a
joke.
The chains were fastened to the trailer hitch with, if you can believe
it, light duty spring clips. I mentioned that these fasteners
would
never be able to hold even an empty trailer for one second, but when I
perceived that this comment was not at all appreciated, I shut up.
About 11:00 AM
we
pulled out and started to
pick up the other guys, their horses and equipment. I kept
noticing
other health and safety issues like not having the lead ropes with the
horses and a complete ignorance of what electrolytes are and for what
purpose
they should be administered before a long and hot trip. More alarm
bells
were going off as I realized that I was traveling with people who knew
just enough to be dangerous.
The group
consisted
of Dan, Keith, Bob, Greg
and myself. Dan was the owner/driver of the RV and a very
nice guy.
He owns a small black Morgan type horse. Keith is
an educated
and intelligent Englishman, a good rider and the owner of a well
trained
black Arabian. Bob is retired playground bully and a genuine,
100%
dumb ass SOB. Bob owns a gray Appaloosa (hereafter referred
to as
"Bob’s appy"). I’m sorry, but I found
absolutely no redeeming qualities
in Bob except that he had done nothing to date to land him in prison
(that
I know of and mores the pity). Lastly we also picked up Greg,
another
really nice guy. Greg didn’t have a horse, but had
arranged to rent
one (as we shall see). Finally, there was Yours Truly with,
without
doubt, the best looking horse in the cavalry, Rusty.
I tried to
avoid the
"what do you do for a
living" conversation because it seems as though people use that
knowledge
to place themselves or others in a rigid social hierarchy. I
suppose
that it is impossible for strangers to meet and not ask that question
eventually.
After we got going we introduced ourselves and I asked about what the
others
were interested in and where they have been.
Conversing with Bob was a
bit
of a challenge.
Bob wanted to know what I did for a living. In an attempt to
be funny,
I told him that I "Wasn’t Exactly a Rocket Scientist,"
paused, then continued
to explain that I was a rocket engineer. "I hate engineers,
nothing
is ever right with those people, they are nothing but a pain in the
butt"
was the gracious reply. The conversation didn’t
improve much when
it turned to National origin. Bob’s last name is
very Irish sounding
and so he assumed that I didn’t like the Irish very much
since my
name sounds German. I felt it necessary to explain
that I was
at least half Irish, had been to Ireland on vacation and had actually
kissed
the Blarney Stone while I was there.
Our first stop
was at
Barstow Calif. to allow
the horses to get out and drink. It was hot. My
horse was thirsty
and drank a lot (I had given him Lite Salt for a couple of days before
the trip). Two of the other horses drank lightly, but
Bob’s appy
didn’t drink at all. This was not too remarkable
and no one thought
anything about it.
We crossed the
California/Arizona border at
the Colorado river in the early evening and were not required to stop
for
any inspections. After dark we made a gas stop in a rural
part of
Western Arizona. I was standing between two gas islands when
I noticed
a pickup making a beeline for me. I had a very odd feeling
about
this truck and the way it was driven so I quickly stepped out of the
way.
Out comes this really (really) ugly looking guy. He was armed
with
a nickel plated .45 automatic - with the clip in it. This guy
was
dressed in "biker" attire, had a noticeable chronic limp and proceeded
to go into the station to pay for some gas. There was no
friendly
exchange of greetings. Did I mention that this guy was really
ugly?
He obviously meant to look as "macho" and threatening as possible and
it
worked. Thought to myself; "Sure am glad I do not clerk at
gas stations
in Arizona with these kinds of armed goofballs on the loose."
The
other guys in my group seemed to admire this gunman’s "free
spirit," but
I offered the opinion that this guy was some kind of low life walking
around
like that and not somebody I or they would want to emulate.
Didn’t
get too much argument on that one.
I know that
this is a
little mean of me, but
watching this armed and ugly guy gimping around, I couldn’t
help but think
of that old Irish drinking toast "May God turn the hearts of our
enemies,
but if He won’t turn their hearts, at least let Him turn
their ankles so
we will know who they are by their limpin’."
We continued on
to
Flagstaff AZ. and arrived
at very deserted and lonely forested area outside of town long after
dark.
As it turned out, we only had a couple of flash lights and could hardly
see what we were doing. Again, Bob’s appy did not
drink and I seemed
to be more concerned about it than was its owner. I suggested
some
electrolytes to increase its thirst and get it to drink, but the advice
was contemptuously ignored. We tied the horses to the trailer and
rested
ourselves for about four hours before resuming the trip.
In the early morning we
quickly
loaded up and got
on the road. I asked the others if the animals had a good
drink before
they were loaded and got the impression that very little time was
"wasted"
on that chore. This made me very concerned about the horses
(especially
mine) and said so to the others. If you can believe it, that
fool
Bob actually mocked my concern. I was hoping for an
opportunity to
unload the horses along the way and give them a good watering, but we
were
running way behind schedule and didn’t stop except briefly
for gas.
By
the way,
while backing up in the dark
pre-dawn hours while getting out of our camp, Dan jackknifed the rig
and
put a big dent in the front of Bob’s trailer. Bob
was very, very
upset about his poor trailer, but I think it actually improved the
looks
of the old junker. This big ugly dent somehow complimented
the trailer’s
overall ambiance. Sort of a vanguard expression of "Art de
Junque."
Arriving at Santa Fe in
the
afternoon and later than
we planned, we immediately went to wardrobing so that the costume
"artists"
could check out our uniforms and equipment to see if they met their
standards.
We had just left the wardrobing building and were heading for highway
41
to take us the 25 or so miles to the set (and where our horses were to
be kept) when the trailer hitch broke.
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