Walkabout: Pumpjack: Part 3

The world is filled with morning people, or as I like to call them “freaks of nature”. I am not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. This particular morning was worse than most.

That said, it started well enough. I got up and got dressed inside my tent. (This was the first time I’ve been able to stand up and get dressed inside a tent in years! It sure beats standing outside in the cold pulling on jeans… especially in a non-private camping situation.)

After that I was a bustle of efficiency. In no time, I had a propane stove lit, water in my percolator, and it was already simmering. Hurriedly, I prepared the filter basket and…

Full stop! Red alert.

I. Had. No. Coffee!

Holy shit!

I almost always have coffee in my truck, but I remember packing for this trip thinking “I’ll pick up some coffee grounds on the way”. The truth hurts! Regardless, I tore the truck apart looking for any hint of caffeine.

Nothing.

I was at least a 40-mile round-trip to the nearest coffee, assuming I could figure out my way back (which was unlikely). I can MacGyver my way out of most problems but not this. No amount of cleverness is going to create coffee grounds where none exist.

Shit was getting real. This was not a drill. No coffee for the Curmudgeon is a very bad thing.

Bargaining for time against my world-class coffee addiction, I whipped up breakfast and tried to choke it down. It was pointless, without coffee I don’t want to eat. Who am I kidding? Without coffee I don’t want to live!

There were perhaps a half dozen RVs nearby. Most of them were packing up and readying to depart. I’d planned on spending all day hanging around the lake but, once again, I was an outlier. Folks were speedily clearing out; more like businessmen at a hotel than campers at a park.

The park ranger, who diligently patrolled the place (probably better than the prison in town), swung by. I flagged him down.

“Excuse me, is there a place to buy coffee? Grounds, brewed, anything?”

“Sorry, nothing here at all. Even in my office I don’t have a coffee maker or I’d give you some from that.”

“You have an office without coffee?” The mind boggles.

“I bring a cup from town. It’s only 20 miles to town. You take route 23, then 14, turn at the Federsen ranch, turn again at the rail crossing, then take 28 south…” He was rattling off directions so complicated there was no way in hell I was going to retain them. After six or eight more ‘you can’t miss it’ turns, he wrapped up. “…there’s a Wal-Mart on the right, and a Dairy Queen too!” He ended proudly.

He was trying to be nice but all I got out of that was “it’s 20 miles, you’re going to get lost, and the coffee in town sucks.”

I thanked him and he drove away. Then I returned to my picnic table and sat with my head hanging. I pondered the many mistakes in life I’d made that led to this catastrophic moment. It loomed large and I decided everything is awful all the time, there is no hope, and freewill is an illusion.

In desperation, I checked my first aid kit. Years ago, after a similar mistake during an antelope hunting excursion, I stashed a bottle of caffeine tablets in my first aid kit. That was a long time ago. Predictably the tablets were long gone. (Note to self: fix that error pronto!)

Two behemoth fifth wheel trailers rolled out in convoy. Soon I was going to be entirely alone. It was time to act. I had to quit being antisocial, admit my failures, and seek charity from fellow campers. I absolutely loathe asking for help. In general I’d die before seeking assistance. If I had, say, a broken leg, I’d probably hobble around for hours before I admitted defeat. But… COFFEE.

I reluctantly trudged to the campsite next to me. Two fellows were packing up. They had a gorgeous fifth wheel hooked to one truck and a new and outlandishly overpowered motorboat hooked to a second truck. Classic American recreation; a hundred grand worth of gear for two dudes to go fishing. I love my culture.

“I hate to be that guy,” I said “but do you have any coffee grounds?”  was hoping against hope they had a can of stale Folgers in a cabinet in that fifth wheel.

This is when one of them said the most American statement I’ve ever heard:

“Gosh, I’m really sorry, but I don’t have any coffee grounds. Can you get by with these two bottles of Starbucks vanilla Frappuccino?”

It took all my self-control to keep from snatching them like Smeagol reaching for the ring. I thanked him profusely and offered to pay (which he refused). Then I scampered back to my camp clutching two bottles filled with “elixir of close enough”.

Back at my camp I chugged the sugary concoction. Urge to kill fading…