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H-Roc
When we left Wynn/Encore...Brimming with the feel of making money (I had won over $400 in craps), I check the time…and oh shit! We should leave soon…
So we drag ourselves upstairs and start waking the rest of the guys up. And blearily/drunkenly pack. And then smoke a bowl. And then pack. And then check-out. And then head to the van.
It’s 11am and even with sunglasses the light is searing my contact fused retinas. We manage to load everything into the van and then peel off for LA.
We breezed thru the first hour, the windows rolled down in our 1980’s full-sized van to keep the temperature reasonable (it was around 120 degrees). A few bowls were passed. Some comments were uttered. Rap music blared.
And then with a hiss the van broke down in the middle of the desert.
We were miles from anything. There was barely any traffic on this road because intelligent people understand engines overheat in the desert, especially during the scorching midday hours. Especially when driving a 1980’s American made van full of luggage.
Our cellphones also had no reception in this hellhole. Not that we could’ve called/flagged any officials. The van
Vams
Chillin, outwaiting the desert was reeking and three straight days of minimal sleep had accentuated our bloodshot eyes
We had a few (small) bottles of water. And a Popeyes large soda. And some leftover whiskey.
We were, for all intents and purposes…fucked.
We just started laughing. Kentucky, who had abstained from smoking the whole weekend (he had aspirations of working in a government agency I will never name), was pissed.
We laughed and laughed at how retarded we were. And the smoke coming from under the hood strangely resembled the smoke coming from within the van.
An hour later and it wasn’t so funny.
Try spending an hour in the desert without AC and with minimal water. See how happy you are.
We decided the smart thing to do was to push the van to the shade of an underpass. Hopefully the engine would cool a bit and we could finally get some respite from the insane heat.
We got in the position to push…and AHHHH FUCK.
Three brilliant minds had forgotten the van was made out of metal and had been sitting in direct desert sunlight for over an hour. We got
Kentucky-Sans Head
Pissed as fuck
(H-Roc in the foreground) out some towels we had stolen from the hotel and pushed the van.
Except what looked like twenty yards was in actuality closer to two hundred. And once we got into the swing of pushing the van, our sweat drenched the towel, making it slip…and leading to our bodies sizzling on the van’s surface. Thankfully, Kentucky can bench press triple his weight and was pissed as fuck and just started attacking the van like a tackling sled.
After being derailed by accidently burning our skin against the van, seeing mirages of pools and beautiful women, we finally made it to the shade. We lay exhausted on the cool road and gulped down the rest of our water…and then we had nothing to do.
We smoked a bowl.
Two hours later.
H-Roc (the owner of the van) felt confident the van could start up. More importantly, we needed to get going as we had been sitting on a road for two hours without water. We piled in and with bated breath, he pushed the key in and turned the ignition…and the van sputtered to life. We cheered! He pushed into first gear and the car started creeping forward. We cheered! Slowly, gingerly, carefully he applied some gas until we hit a nice clip of ten miles per hour. We cheered!
Amidst all the revelery, Vams pondered out loud. “Imagine if the tires just popped.”
A huge silence floated into the van.
And then we just started laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation. All of us screaming and yelling and jumping.
And then we heard a loud
“Pop! Bang!” and it wasn’t funny anymore.
Author's note:
We managed to make it back by gingerly driving to LA on two tires at night. None of us died or had extreme dehydration. Don't worry.
This entry sucked (I wrote it in ten minutes), but I had to get it out of the way to write more interesting shit. Sorry.
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