There are brave souls who battle severe hardships and inclement weather to climb mountains for a purpose. And then there are other brave souls who run marathon miles for a noble cause like breast cancer. And then… And then there are people like us who walk (not run, mind you) for a cause too. Such as buying racquetballs, eating cookies at a McDonald’s at the other end of the town or simply “I want to see how the Town Center is lit up at night”. Worthy or not, you be the judge of that.
Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado I present to you the latest edition of Weekend Warriors – Team Roadsters. Two eccentric dudes who lived it up every Friday night walking long distances dissecting every topic under the sun – girls, more girls, sports, politics, religion yada yada yada. Heck! One time we even spent an hour down on Hayden Street discussing my thesis topic. Agreed, this isn’t your normal stuff by any means. After all, any red blooded self-respecting graduate student would either be talking to his beer/whiskey or enjoying a movie on a Friday night. Not caught hiking down Rural Road at 3 mph in the middle of a severe summer…
Before you think that there’s more to this nocturnal tryst than meets the eye, STOP. We’re two perfectly straight dudes who’re always batting for the right side. I’m married to this beautiful woman whom I can’t thank enough, while K’s still painting the town red in the hope of finding his Ms. Right. Capisce? Considering the physical activity and conditions involved, our club wasn’t on the “to join list” among our friends.
And that meant to recruit more we could’ve just barged in and announced, “Guys. It’s 85 degrees outside, hot as hell. What the fuck are we doing sitting here drinking? Let’s go walk some miles” and expected something back like, “Oh yeah! Definitely dude. Let’s go”. I would’ve been damned if that took place. I mean, seriously. But even in that happenstance we’d done a block, all 10 of us, before someone would’ve loudly wondered if we weren’t better off at home guzzling beer. So yeah! Team Roadsters was/is/will be destined to be stuck with a membership of two, me and K.
That fateful Friday we decided to crank it all the way up. Enough of these itsy-bitsy 4 mile trips, let’s just do a really long one. Quite conveniently K realized we were out of racquetballs so why not go to Wal-Mart 10 miles away and get some? I nodded yes and we toasted a Gatorade to our unfit comrades smirking that they were certainly missing out on something. Missing out on what? Were we going to the North Pole or something?
No one to wave us off, we crept out of the back door and were on our way. The first hour’s always the easiest. Adrenaline’s pushing you and all you want to do is stick it to your friends (like they could care). At the first pit stop I realized that heat was way worse than I thought and we still hadn’t even come close to half the distance. Fortunately K seemed fresher, sucking on his cigarette, drawing a few gulps of Gatorade and announcing, “Fuck! We’ve got to do this every week” Whatever!
While we weren’t panting for breath, our step had slowed down during the next leg, which lasted almost an inordinate 2 hours. Girls were done with, nothing new in Cricket and religion suddenly seemed boring. I started talking about governance and it was obvious that K didn’t understand the meaning of two/three legal terms I slipped in. “Somebody’s forgotten their junior high civics lessons” I smirked to myself.
(Silence for the next 15 minutes)
Adrenaline had now officially given up and our brains had started screaming loudly for some food. And that’s when both of us saw those flashing neon lights. “Sonic: America’s favorite drive thru”.
Argue or not, there’s something erotic about a picture of a loaded burger, French fries and chocolate shake. I was almost turned on and started planning like it was the last meal of my life. K, I’m sure had similar designs. He was staring at the touch screen menu for 3 minutes and kept muttering something to himself about an ice cream sundae.
“We’re closed”
If two words could hit you like a sledgehammer, break your soul and spirit and make you scream like a madman, that was it. Obviously, the cute girl who had listened to us debate for 10 minutes on what’s tasty to order thought it’d be incredibly funny to let us know they were done for the day right at the crescendo instead of when we walked in. Life (and her) threw a nasty curve ball. Wow! Unfuckingbelievable! If there was a God I hadn’t seen him yet.
Now, two things could’ve happened after that. We could’ve snapped at each other and pretty much imploded on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. Or, we could’ve brushed ourselves and said, “We better get our ass on the road if we want to reach Wal-Mart by the hour”.
Option (b) of course, thanks to Mel Gibson and the visions of BraveHeart that floated before my eyes. I definitely seized the moment and promptly delivered a monologue. Yessir! K probably wanted his 15 minutes of spotlight too but I didn’t bother. I was already a football field away leaving the poor guy no choice but to scamper.
There wasn’t anything left to say. Obviously it was like a “Reality Survivor” now with a bunch of viewers (actually, no one) curious to see who’d drop off first. I mean, we didn’t care about any shit anymore. By now we were walking corpses dragging our severely malnourished body in search of Wal-Mart, which was now looking even more dear than the Promised Land. K by now for no apparent reason had resorted to loudly cursing politicians in India and I couldn’t help smile at some of his choice words. They should go suck their mom’s dicks? Wait… What? After 45 more minutes of eternity I thought I saw a bright white light and immediately screamed “Wal-Mart! That’s Wal-Mart! Yes!!!” K was still dazed and I violently shook him a few times until he too started screaming.
I don’t normally praise Capitalist fat cats (that doesn’t mean I’m a Commie), but that night I deemed that all Wal-Mart executives who decided that some of their stores should be open 24x7 unanimously deserved the Nobel Prize. I mean, I’ve never ever been so fucking grateful to enter a store before in my life. And like kids in a candy store we scurried to the cooler, grabbed ourselves a couple of Gatorade and gulped it down. Whew! I could sense my body coming back to life now. I looked around and found K sitting next to the cooler with a half-empty bottle.
“What the hell man? Are you all right?”
“Yeah dude! I’m just refreshing myself”
Refresh all you want, but we still had to drag our asses back home. It was 2.00am and it’s not like we had a limousine parked outside. Realizing that, K and me walked gingerly to the checkout counter and picked out the one who was most likely to help us and not call the cops. After all, we did look like a couple of bums. Unshaven, buttons out and with a face that screamed “I’ve been to hell and back”. Angela Unprounancable Last Name, a Native American was chosen and K was to throw the first pitch.
“Hi! Can we get a copy of the Valley Metro schedule please?”
“What??? Oh!... Wait! Why do you need one?”
Because, at 2.00 in the night, I’m dying to know what Route 61’s last stop is! That’s why!
I spied a look at K and thought he was about blow a blood vessel. Instead, he steadied himself and in one deep breath poured out our story. Truly impressive.
(Pause for 30 seconds)
The look Angela shot back will stay with me for eternity. Not even a “What side of the bed did I get out of?” or “Why me God?” did justice to that. I instinctively felt for her. I mean, here’s this kid who’s worked her butt off for the week, ready to go home and she runs into two bums who want to explain why they walked for 3 hours in the heat to buy racquetballs. Racquetballs?
But Angela’s got a heart of gold. And a cute smile, nice long hair and Heavens praise them knockers too. Oh yeah! God exists too.
“Where are you guys headed? I can drop you if you’re on the way” I swear to God if she hadn’t said that in the next few seconds, I would’ve fallen at her feet and repeatedly begged her until she said so.
“ASU”, we said in unison.
“Cool! I’m getting off in 15 minutes, so I’ll see you in the parking lot?”
“Thanks a lot”, I gushed, smiling more than was necessary. K looked as if he had won the lottery.
Angels come in all shapes and sizes. This one had no wings but a small old red Chevy truck who’s AC still worked. 20 minutes later we were deposited to our doorstep and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Angela had thought “Gee! No one has ever thanked me so much before”.
The best way to traverse 10 miles in oppressive heat in the middle of the night is by car. That lesson we learnt. K, who had been silent the past 10 minutes, suddenly blurted out,
“Dude! We forgot the racquetballs!”
“What??? I thought you had them” I shot back.
“Nooooooo. I thought you had them”
We could’ve kept pointing fingers at each other all night, but frankly we didn’t care. It was almost 3.00am, our legs were shot and eyes ready to pop out. I called truce and said,
“That’s ok man. We’ll go next week to Walmart”
“By bus, right?”
“Of course.”
Thank God! Because that needed some universal clarification.
Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado I present to you the latest edition of Weekend Warriors – Team Roadsters. Two eccentric dudes who lived it up every Friday night walking long distances dissecting every topic under the sun – girls, more girls, sports, politics, religion yada yada yada. Heck! One time we even spent an hour down on Hayden Street discussing my thesis topic. Agreed, this isn’t your normal stuff by any means. After all, any red blooded self-respecting graduate student would either be talking to his beer/whiskey or enjoying a movie on a Friday night. Not caught hiking down Rural Road at 3 mph in the middle of a severe summer…
Before you think that there’s more to this nocturnal tryst than meets the eye, STOP. We’re two perfectly straight dudes who’re always batting for the right side. I’m married to this beautiful woman whom I can’t thank enough, while K’s still painting the town red in the hope of finding his Ms. Right. Capisce? Considering the physical activity and conditions involved, our club wasn’t on the “to join list” among our friends.
And that meant to recruit more we could’ve just barged in and announced, “Guys. It’s 85 degrees outside, hot as hell. What the fuck are we doing sitting here drinking? Let’s go walk some miles” and expected something back like, “Oh yeah! Definitely dude. Let’s go”. I would’ve been damned if that took place. I mean, seriously. But even in that happenstance we’d done a block, all 10 of us, before someone would’ve loudly wondered if we weren’t better off at home guzzling beer. So yeah! Team Roadsters was/is/will be destined to be stuck with a membership of two, me and K.
That fateful Friday we decided to crank it all the way up. Enough of these itsy-bitsy 4 mile trips, let’s just do a really long one. Quite conveniently K realized we were out of racquetballs so why not go to Wal-Mart 10 miles away and get some? I nodded yes and we toasted a Gatorade to our unfit comrades smirking that they were certainly missing out on something. Missing out on what? Were we going to the North Pole or something?
No one to wave us off, we crept out of the back door and were on our way. The first hour’s always the easiest. Adrenaline’s pushing you and all you want to do is stick it to your friends (like they could care). At the first pit stop I realized that heat was way worse than I thought and we still hadn’t even come close to half the distance. Fortunately K seemed fresher, sucking on his cigarette, drawing a few gulps of Gatorade and announcing, “Fuck! We’ve got to do this every week” Whatever!
While we weren’t panting for breath, our step had slowed down during the next leg, which lasted almost an inordinate 2 hours. Girls were done with, nothing new in Cricket and religion suddenly seemed boring. I started talking about governance and it was obvious that K didn’t understand the meaning of two/three legal terms I slipped in. “Somebody’s forgotten their junior high civics lessons” I smirked to myself.
(Silence for the next 15 minutes)
Adrenaline had now officially given up and our brains had started screaming loudly for some food. And that’s when both of us saw those flashing neon lights. “Sonic: America’s favorite drive thru”.
Argue or not, there’s something erotic about a picture of a loaded burger, French fries and chocolate shake. I was almost turned on and started planning like it was the last meal of my life. K, I’m sure had similar designs. He was staring at the touch screen menu for 3 minutes and kept muttering something to himself about an ice cream sundae.
“We’re closed”
If two words could hit you like a sledgehammer, break your soul and spirit and make you scream like a madman, that was it. Obviously, the cute girl who had listened to us debate for 10 minutes on what’s tasty to order thought it’d be incredibly funny to let us know they were done for the day right at the crescendo instead of when we walked in. Life (and her) threw a nasty curve ball. Wow! Unfuckingbelievable! If there was a God I hadn’t seen him yet.
Now, two things could’ve happened after that. We could’ve snapped at each other and pretty much imploded on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. Or, we could’ve brushed ourselves and said, “We better get our ass on the road if we want to reach Wal-Mart by the hour”.
Option (b) of course, thanks to Mel Gibson and the visions of BraveHeart that floated before my eyes. I definitely seized the moment and promptly delivered a monologue. Yessir! K probably wanted his 15 minutes of spotlight too but I didn’t bother. I was already a football field away leaving the poor guy no choice but to scamper.
There wasn’t anything left to say. Obviously it was like a “Reality Survivor” now with a bunch of viewers (actually, no one) curious to see who’d drop off first. I mean, we didn’t care about any shit anymore. By now we were walking corpses dragging our severely malnourished body in search of Wal-Mart, which was now looking even more dear than the Promised Land. K by now for no apparent reason had resorted to loudly cursing politicians in India and I couldn’t help smile at some of his choice words. They should go suck their mom’s dicks? Wait… What? After 45 more minutes of eternity I thought I saw a bright white light and immediately screamed “Wal-Mart! That’s Wal-Mart! Yes!!!” K was still dazed and I violently shook him a few times until he too started screaming.
I don’t normally praise Capitalist fat cats (that doesn’t mean I’m a Commie), but that night I deemed that all Wal-Mart executives who decided that some of their stores should be open 24x7 unanimously deserved the Nobel Prize. I mean, I’ve never ever been so fucking grateful to enter a store before in my life. And like kids in a candy store we scurried to the cooler, grabbed ourselves a couple of Gatorade and gulped it down. Whew! I could sense my body coming back to life now. I looked around and found K sitting next to the cooler with a half-empty bottle.
“What the hell man? Are you all right?”
“Yeah dude! I’m just refreshing myself”
Refresh all you want, but we still had to drag our asses back home. It was 2.00am and it’s not like we had a limousine parked outside. Realizing that, K and me walked gingerly to the checkout counter and picked out the one who was most likely to help us and not call the cops. After all, we did look like a couple of bums. Unshaven, buttons out and with a face that screamed “I’ve been to hell and back”. Angela Unprounancable Last Name, a Native American was chosen and K was to throw the first pitch.
“Hi! Can we get a copy of the Valley Metro schedule please?”
“What??? Oh!... Wait! Why do you need one?”
Because, at 2.00 in the night, I’m dying to know what Route 61’s last stop is! That’s why!
I spied a look at K and thought he was about blow a blood vessel. Instead, he steadied himself and in one deep breath poured out our story. Truly impressive.
(Pause for 30 seconds)
The look Angela shot back will stay with me for eternity. Not even a “What side of the bed did I get out of?” or “Why me God?” did justice to that. I instinctively felt for her. I mean, here’s this kid who’s worked her butt off for the week, ready to go home and she runs into two bums who want to explain why they walked for 3 hours in the heat to buy racquetballs. Racquetballs?
But Angela’s got a heart of gold. And a cute smile, nice long hair and Heavens praise them knockers too. Oh yeah! God exists too.
“Where are you guys headed? I can drop you if you’re on the way” I swear to God if she hadn’t said that in the next few seconds, I would’ve fallen at her feet and repeatedly begged her until she said so.
“ASU”, we said in unison.
“Cool! I’m getting off in 15 minutes, so I’ll see you in the parking lot?”
“Thanks a lot”, I gushed, smiling more than was necessary. K looked as if he had won the lottery.
Angels come in all shapes and sizes. This one had no wings but a small old red Chevy truck who’s AC still worked. 20 minutes later we were deposited to our doorstep and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Angela had thought “Gee! No one has ever thanked me so much before”.
The best way to traverse 10 miles in oppressive heat in the middle of the night is by car. That lesson we learnt. K, who had been silent the past 10 minutes, suddenly blurted out,
“Dude! We forgot the racquetballs!”
“What??? I thought you had them” I shot back.
“Nooooooo. I thought you had them”
We could’ve kept pointing fingers at each other all night, but frankly we didn’t care. It was almost 3.00am, our legs were shot and eyes ready to pop out. I called truce and said,
“That’s ok man. We’ll go next week to Walmart”
“By bus, right?”
“Of course.”
Thank God! Because that needed some universal clarification.
As told by S under copious quantities of alcohol to… anyone who cared to listen.
