I’m reminded of that Bruce Willis movie, “Die Hard,” where he’s
crawling through the ventilator shaft and he repeats his wife’s invitation:
“Come on out to the coast; we’ll have a few laughs.” It’s exactly what I
thought of when Sally suggested we take the short trail to Angel Falls. “I saw
on a hiking site that no one is going up to Angel Falls; we can do the short
hike and see where all those people bought it.” In some odd way it appealed to
me.
With the help of Google maps and a guy named “Dave,” we found the
trailhead. The initial portion of the trail was absent of anyone. I was feeling
particularly confident, although my right foot reminded me the whole time that
it had been operated on last year, a message that only resonated louder as the
trek continued.
So.
I hear voices ahead and wait to examine the expected partially obscured faces as they come down towards us. Nothing partial about these faces. Two orange-shirted mask-less Bass Lake employees make their way by us, chin nods seemingly without regard for the suggested social-distancing protocol. I glare at their backs as they pass and then at Sally, who shrugs and rolls her eyes.
A few other “no one is going to the falls” people show up, and all appear without masks, save one. His eyes say it all: “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Lewis—or are you Clark?”
From then on, the parade of people who weren’t supposed to be
there grows and grows. Every time one of them passes, I feel like I am in
a seat at AT&T Park with everyone in my row walking by my seat at once, and
I have to stand to let each go by. No one in masks and no one practicing social
distancing. I did see one guy who I was sure had practiced it at least once—via
a restraining order.
A group of bathing-suited young women passes by, giggling and
appearing quite oblivious (intentionally so?) to current events. I’m losing it
now. Where the fuck am I? Why the fuck am I? I look down at the moving creek
and suddenly I’m Gregory Peck fishing with Ava Gardner (dream on, Raj) in “On
the Beach,” surrounded by tons of Australians singing “Waltzing Matilda.”
Suddenly Sally taps me on the shoulder and asks, “Ava who?” I know, if you
haven’t seen the movie, you can’t appreciate the complete depression it
rallies.
Back at the car I see what appears to be a ticket on my
windshield. A close examination reveals I’ve been charged $10 for parking
in a lot that has no such demand for a fee written anywhere! WTF? Sally
says, “There’s a Ranger over there walking; I think he’s placing them on cars.”
I drive over, and behind him on a billboard in large print I see: TEN-DOLLAR
USE FEE. Hey, I parked an eighth of a mile away. It didn’t say anything
about a fee! I mean, how about a discount for the distance I parked from this
fucking sign! This guy could be “tagging” cars in North Fork and who would
know what for?
I start to get out of the car and Sally says (in “the voice”), “SIT.”
Okay, now I feel like I should be wearing a flea collar!
“But …”
Sally spins around and says, “It’s going to take you at least ten
minutes to undistort your face. I’ll handle this!”
She gets out of the car, and the guy, who has a patch on the front
of his polo shirt and a pad of these “tickets” in his hand, is stuffing $10
bills in a black fanny pack. Sally positions herself between us and won’t even
let me do my best angry glare! I begin to raise my hand with its middle finger
displayed and then I realize that I’d be paying for days for two seconds of
satisfaction. I settle for gritted teeth, which grit tighter when Sally says,
“Oh, don’t worry, we understand.” Who is the guy?
He could be some con man who figured out the perfect con! Buy a shirt and logo
and make $2,000 a week!
Now, did that antagonize me? Well, let’s just say I wanted to
exit my Subaru and beat that man like a baby harp seal. Now the challenge is
changing the face I own into that plastic smile I used when someone would call
me a pig. She sees it immediately and says, “I just kept you out of prison—or
I saved a baby harp seal.”
The drive home was a quiet one, with lots of nods from me until I
felt I could talk. I finally said, “I’d like a very cold beer to wash down my
Covid-19.” Yes, there
was laughter.
The falls were gorgeous. Worth the trip? I’ll tell you in two weeks …
The falls were gorgeous. Worth the trip? I’ll tell you in two weeks …
