Two escapes in one day are enough. Not only did he and a college friend get stuck after roping down to a small peninsula with no exit strategy, but then fell prey to a rough southern “good old boy” welcome.
A famous trail and a stunning lake view set the stage for their first decision along the bluffs of Fontana Lake, NC. How to get back up? These sorts of thoughts are considered unconsciously one must imagine, but do not sway youthful exuberance from asserting reign. Three days on the small 12’X 20’ paradise was plenty long enough and discussion on escape stirred around the fire pit.
Using the cheap air-filled raft he had reluctantly strapped on his pack three days prior, they secured both packs inside with the black lab pup on top. Swimming back about a mile and half to the rig was cold but successful.
Standing at the open trunk of his 72’ Charger, they discussed the map as it lay stretched over the packs. The pup was sleeping in the back seat when the huge yellow truck with the confederate flag decal stuck on the rear glass between the gun racks, both occupied, roared into the gravel boat launch parking area.
Something about the derogatory language and the immediate anti-northern verbal abuse caused him to withdraw his large Mexican blade he kept stashed in his pack. With it still concealed he continued to discuss the map and avoided a confrontation. Until he had no choice.
When he saw one of the guns now out of the rack they both reacted rather quickly. He dove into the front seat window and his friend the opposite side. He had the wheel and his friend was face first and hands on the gas pedal. Out of control immediately, the Charger went off into a ditch only to flop up airborne onto the pavement, tires screaming. Within a half mile or so they pulled their legs in the windows and regained control. The greycoats in pursuit.
Sun was all but gone when they made a quick turn off and stopped deadly quiet for a few minutes until the truck roared by unknowingly.
If they had not been able to agree on a direction earlier, they knew now. As they sped down the road in the opposite direction of their pursuers, they saw the flashing red lights. Ahh, the law, this was good. Or was it. The sheriff yanked their cooler out of the back seat and spilled it out on the road. No beer as he undoubtedly suspected. The pup jumped out. The badge was rude and explained the actions of the boys as “jus havin’ sum fun,” and suggested that we blue bellies move along now before he cites us for littering, and having an unleashed animal.
We headed north, back up to the land of Lincoln.
