Sitting at the top of my steps outside of my apartment door, I was struggling to undo the mud encrusted laces of my boot. The labored breathing I could feel in my ears was not unwelcome, but trying to bend over felt as if I might just pass out - I did not want this to be my last road trip adventure. So before I pass out trying to undo my boot laces, let me take you back a few years.
I believe it was 2009. I had just, err, finally graduated college, and was looking to find a way to relax, clear my head, figure out what's next.
Timing is everything and within that first week or two, Alan, my best friend since we were in underoos shot me a text saying he had a great idea. I would learn later that I need to question this statement, and not just accept it carte blanche, but, I digress.
Alan proceeded to layout a perfect trip to Upstate New York. We would hop in the car, drive 8 hours to visit his parents, stay on a cabin a mere 50 yards from Lake Algonquin, and then, oh, and then we would drive about an hour to head up into the Tongue Mountain Range, just across from Lake George and Whitehall, NY. This area has a long history of Bigfoot sightings. Well, needless to say, I started buying snacks and packing before the phone hit the table.
I don't remember much of anything from the drive up. What I do first recall was the wonderful welcome from Alan's parents. I believe the first thing we did was sit down for a home cooked meal. Alan's mom took us over to the cabin and stopped to chat for a bit while we unpacked, and started to settle in, Alan's mom said goodnight, but not before letting us know when we should be over for breakfast and making sure to point out the table full of cookies, and other decadent snacks.
The next couple days are a blur filled with streaks of fishing on the lake, heading up into the woods to do some day and night time wanderings. Oh, and running from a demon horde of fly's. We had stopped to check out a possible camping spot (there were multiple open spots along the winding road up the mountain to pop a tent. Alan pulled straight into the small pull off and got out to do a quick scout. I am not sure why, but I had stayed in the car. Half paying attention, I hear a high pitched girl voice, OK, that's not true, but I had looked up and a moment later Alan is hauling arse back to the car. Then I see it, I see them, a cloud of demon flys sent from the burning wretched bowls of hell. The cloud is alive, and like a cartoon changes shape as one autonomous unit, flexing and moving to chase him down. Alan gets in the car and we can hear the mini-demon flys hitting the car. It is a light pinging as they throw themselves into the car, relentlessly. Alan throws the car into reverse, does his best stunt driver tire spinning, dirt kicking, I am outta here in a cloud of dust. The little fuckers are chasing us as we drive away. We never did go camping up there. Nope.
It was the eve of our ascent into hell, err, um, I mean the climb into Bigfoot country. I was woefully unprepared.
PART 2 to come.