"THE RABBIT HUNT"

A couple of days ago (Saturday) I got up at sunrise drank a couple of cups of coffee and then headed to the barn to get a long day of chores done.

I serviced the tractor, cranked it up and started mowing the pastures.  My wife Pat put on her overalls and started digging in the flowerbeds.

Other than a lot of pit stops and a break for lunch we worked our buns off all day.  Along about sun down we called it quits and retired to our balcony porch. I had fixed Pat a bloody Mary and a bourbon and water for myself.  We were both filthy dirty sunburned and sweaty.  We joked about being so tired we doubted we had enough energy left to even take our baths.

“Bath?”  I said.  “Let me tell you some stories about baths.  Riding that gut jarring hot tractor all day is a lot like some of my old bike trips.  Back when we did it the hard way.”

(Here we go Pat mumbles)

I remember a two week trip a buddy named Clyde and I took during the mid 70’s. He rode a chopper with raked front forks and no fender or windshield.  I rode my new 73 Sportster.

CLYDE

We rolled up our sleeping bags in a small 5x8 tarp and tied them over our handlebars.  In a duffle bag we crammed our leathers, a few T-shirts, some underwear and a couple of pairs of Levis.  We strapped the bags to our sissy bars for a backrest.

On our first day we cruised the back roads and state highways heading for West Texas.  It was hot and dry and we felt that special exuberant feeling of “FREEDOM OF THE ROAD”.  That kind that only a biker on a long escaping trip on his scoot can feel.  It’s him versus the elements and the unknown environment, and his pride and joy motorcycle is going to carry him to and thru those challenges.

Near Canyon, Texas we came upon the first of those challenges. The sign said “Road Construction Next Two Miles.”  What the heck, we thought.  A couple of miles can’t be all that bad.

WRONG! They had tore all the black top surface off that road, spread a deep layer of sub base clechie, and water trucks had soaked it good.  The guy holding the “slow” sign cautioned us that it might be difficult for us to ride motorcycles through that area.  The option was to go back and around another route- about a 40 mile detour.  We elected to try our luck and dirt bike our way over the obstacle course.

We slipped and slid our way over that slick rocky mud pit with white knuckles all the way. Clyde learned in a hurry why front fenders were invented and that choppers don’t make good dirt bikes.  The two miles seemed like an eternity in a combat zone but we finally

made it.  We were splattered with mud from head to toe, especially Clyde since he fought side-to-side trying to avoid that rooster tail that slung over his front wheel.

Eventually we called it a day and pitched camp at a lake near Clayton, New Mexico.  The first order of business was to dive into the water with all our muddy clothes on.  We took a “bath” and did our first load of laundry all in one operation.

On the way back up from the lake we saw some cottontail rabbits hopping along. I picked up a rock and squared off to throw at one of the them. Clyde laughed and said there’s no way I was going to hit that little varmint.  Especially while he was moving.  I said, “just watch me” and I chunked that flat stone as hard as I could.  It saked like a miniature Frisbee and curved to the right, well off the mark.  But once I threw it that crazy rabbit took off running.  So help me it ran right into the path of the stray rock. Thud…the cottontail dropped like it had been shot with a gun.

“Damn!” Clyde exclaimed. “you really got him.  But that had to be an accident.”  Of course I took credit for planning the whole freak deal.  Purposely curving the missile to intercept the animal that would obviously run.

I skinned the rabbit and hung him from a rafter of our camp shelter.  We’ll go back into Clayton and get some canned beans and stuff then roast the rabbit for supper, I said.  Clyde was a little leery of that plan since he was a city boy. But he went along with it.

"JQ HOLDING SKINNED RABBIT AND KILLER ROCK"

We got some dry clothes on, hung our wet laundry on the rafters with the rabbit and headed to town. 

The one little grocery store had closed.  They roll up the sidewalks at 6 pm except for a gas station/convenience store that we rounded up some vittles at.  Clyde picked up a pack of hot dogs, explaining that was just in case he didn’t like roasted rabbit.

The clerk overheard and asked, “Ya’ll got rabbit?  Where did you get rabbit?”  After explaining the lucky throw story the lady told us to be careful.  “It’s a $500 fine if a park ranger catches you killing or maiming any wildlife at the State Park.  You can’t even kill a rattle snake out there.” She added.

“RATTLE SNAKE?  There’s rattle snakes out at the lake?”  Clyde asked fearfully.  “Oh yeah.  Lots of them but mostly among the rocks and high brush, “ she added.  “Hell that’s all there is out there,” Clyde responded.

We returned to our camp and quickly pulled the rabbit off and got him cooking on the campsite grill.  Sure enough a ranger came driving up and inquired as to what was smelling so good.  Clyde, never being short on words, says “Chicken- you want some- it’ll be done in a little while.”  The Ranger said, “Thanks anyway, I just came over to advise you of something.”  Uh-oh we thought.  Here it comes.  Someone reported.  “What ya'll need to do is pay the $5 camp fee.  There’s envelopes at the entrance gate. You can

drop it in the box as you leave in the morning.  And another thing- watch out for snakes.  We’ve got all kinds out here.”

After eating our uh... chicken supper we raided another camp sight and brought its picnic table over.  That way we both had an elevated bed frame to sleep on that night.

By the way…….Clyde enjoyed the chicken so we saved the hot dogs for breakfast.

part 2