Mountain Gods, Lesbian- Pimp Mobile and the Metallic Bird

Nov 1, 2008


Current mood: blissful

Girdwood refused to let go of one of her favorite children as a number of coincidents/mishaps happened that would make it seem as if the Mountain Gods had plans of their own to keep him from leaving the valley of glaciers and clouds. The night before his departure with the Autumn colors of yellow and orange blazing, were soon covered by the first snowfall of the year,  most residents being caught off gaurd, Pan was no exception. After saying his goodbyes (milking free drinks) to the locals down at “the dive” (Chair 5) and unable to persuade the beloved bartender, Gretchen to run him a tab, (He never run’s out, ….usually crawls) he decided it was time to head on down the road for one last ride in the Lesbian-Pimp Mobile

, trouble was that he never did figure out the short that kept the windshield wipers from working. One of the many electrical plagues that haunted him throughout his stay in the crushed leopard print walled,  wall to wall up on the cieling deep shag carpeted (usually only noticed by those lying on their back) smiley faced curtained “Lezbo”

. In fact he rather enjoyed going down the Alyeska Highway in the rain without them as the water ripples streamed along the surface, distorting time & space. But during a heavy and wet snowfall the windshield was simply blacked out, so there he was going down the road with his head sticking out of the window, his face frozen in a white cast of heavenly kisses, the rig sliding from one side to another as it cstruggles down into the darkness of  lonely highway. Then, just as he was turning into a driveway the “Lezbo” runs out of gas rendering the power steering/brakes inoperable and slides ever so gracefully into a snowbank, yeah all 3 inches of it, and of course sticking 1/2 out into the highway. Pan somewhat dismayed (actually pretty pissed) is cursing the door handle that decides “now” is the perfect time to quit working as he then turns on the hazard lights and is reminded that only one side seems to work and doesnt blink for that matter. He simply wants to throw himself onto the ground and throw a tantrum but its to wet and it wouldnt do any good anyway, Iwhat are the chances of everything happening right Godman now?” He wonders, and deems that the chances are overwhelming. If it wasnt for the “Grrd Girls” he may have simply laid down to die and allow the ravens and wolves to pick & skatter his bones about the forest, which most likely would have simply been plowed into a ditch to thaw out next Spring near the Bike Shop. One of the girlz’ comes to his rescue, running him down to get gas at the Tesoro (not to mention paying for) he returns and pours the fluid into the tank and then having no light in the “Lesbo” to see with, (The 12 volt system went dead weeks prior) he primes the carberator (the engine is inside the cab) and then turning  the engine “over” which, of course backfires and catches on fire ( must have poured to much gasoline)as the driver side door decides NOW it doesnt want to open or the window roll down for that matter and soon fire spreads over to the floor & onto the dash, Pan, screaming to the girls “Fire!”  who are oblivious to his cries and in the middle of some female dialoge of great importance even though they “noticed” a firey light emanating from within, (nothing new and out of the ordinary in a day in the Life of Pan) realizing he will have to contend with this himself, he grabs a bunch of snow and goes onto putting it out which takes a couple of handfuls of the heavy slop slamming it onto the multiple flames licking about like fiery maggots. The damage proved minimal except to his hands. If its one thing carberators hate, its water,… and so after much encouragement, cursing, crying and “freaking out” on Pans behalf, it barely sputters to life and is defiant in attempting to get, First: out of the mini-snow bank then into the driveway, Second: the angry engine kept running, Third: slipping tranny in gear and Fourth: tires that simply spin out, PAN is almost on the verge of a mental breakdown , Cussing, and a bit perturbed he finally coaxes the rig into the driveway and then stomps into the girlz “A-frame of warmth” disrobing his clothes and soaked boots proceeding, to drink most if not all of “Drinkards, Jim Beam”( Thanks Rachel). Of course he still has to get the “Lezbo” back to its rightful owner and find out when and where his plane takes off from the following day as Julie’s hounds from hell only seem to edge him further onto the precipace of insanity as they beg for attention. The following morning he is awakened by the sound of a plow grating through his mind and down the road, with a cramped neck and realizing that he has slept in two hours and is covered in 6 pounds of dog hair. Bleary eyed, he looks out the window noticing there is at least 6 inches of heavy wet slop to deal with as it snowed all night long, to say he is dismayed is an understatement and he contemplates drinking the rest of the bottle before he starts the day, maybe just a shot or two, to get things warmed up.
After sweeping off the “Lezbo” and firing up the coughing engine which by the way, didnt want to stay running,… he reverses out into the same bank of snow from the night before which has become coincedently become deeper and (of course) kills the engine, and of course………… gets stuck,…again. After about 15 minutes of trying to start the engine and using most of the gas he got the night before he finally breaks free and slides out into the highway, throwing it in gear and pumping the gas pedal he skids on down the road “Slideways” until he gets to the driveway he was looking for and when slowing down to turn, the engine (of course) dies and so once again,…….. slides into another bank, only this time the battery is so weak from afore mentioned debaucle, he cant turn the engine over and is now stranded at the bottom of a popular neighborhood access road, of course the drivers side door 

wont open so he is forced to go out the side door stepping over his huge backpack and tripping up on the stoop, sending him sprawling out into the snow. After much more cursing and messing with a variety of wires that hang off the battery in a display of electrical wizardry, he manages to get it started back up & slams it into gear and punches it so as to not die once again, by now his clothes and boots are soaked and he is cold. He believes the Spirit of the “Lezbo” 

did does not want him to leave her leopard print blanket cold and alone, but all things must come to an end, besides there’s next year to try and solve the furnace and water pump.
Some two hours later he is at the “Ted Stevens International Airport”,……………. Half frozen, yeah, I know. Of course he is the one that the security gaurd deems as a ‘terrorist threat’ and is asked to go into this glass enclosure to be prodded & man-handled by a total stranger. He slumps behind a bar where a business-woman ask if she can sit next to him, these two people from differant places amuse eachother with gossip and viewpoints of Sarah Palin and Ted Stevens legal issues and uncertain futures while awaiting their planes, coincidently the very same one that will take them to Seattle together. The 737-700 is a magnificant bird which easily escapes the grasp of gravity. 
As the metallic bird steadily climbed up to 35,000 feet above sea level, the clouds seem to be mimicking the topography, seemingly a three dimensional copy of water vapor contouring the form down below yet able to flow and bend unlike the Tera. The plane would  break through these waywinds for a brief glimpse of the white-blue glacier encrusted peaks of the Chugach, alone, dark and ominous. Out towards the West, the Sun would race towards the East, yet, as the plane flew further South it extended the on going sunset for a few all to brief hours. The hues of orange and yellow turned into vermillion and bright pink dancing with the contrast of cobalblt and purple then seperated by a thin “barely’ visible, green line that fades into the blackeness of Space. Venus sparkles alone in the Southern Hemisphere casting her beauty like a silent cry. when the clouds parted and the Cascade Mountains of Brittish Columbia, Washington and Oregon were siloueted against the dark forest beneath.  All to soon the lights of the highway meander like a serpent of red and white lights below, like a great and tragic migration they went about their business oblivious of the unfolding presence above. Cities of the Golden State shine like beacons for the travelers of the sky, reminicent of the Mayan hyroglyphics that seem mathmatical and complex within their intracacies or perhaps a modern interpretation of those huge mysterious glyphs of South America high Andes. The rice patties are being burnt for next years Harvest, leaving the sences reeling with the smell of smoke and the FIERY colors of Autumn within the last gasp OF the Sun, before it dips beneath the waves, Greeting and awaiting the unfolding of people of all tribes, on the other side of the globe .

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