Inflatable Kayak Blog

(Candace Clayton is an author who’s written novels, poetry and other short stories. She was kind enough to write this fictional adventure series specifically for the Inflatable Kayak Blog about ‘The Traveling Man’, a kayaker who tells us tales about his youthful adventures with his buddies on the rivers where he grew up. We hope you enjoy it!)

Well, hello there, I see you are back for more of my little story. Anxious to hear if we found that there mermaid, are ya? I guess I will eventually get round to telling ya about that, but like my granpappy always said, “ A rushed story is like a shabby roofing job. Full of holes.”  So, all in good time my friend, all in good time.

Let’s see, last time we talked, John and I were hopping a bus, headed outta town. Yes sir, we were two young men out on our own for the first time. No more little boys going to school and doing chores. We were adults in charge of our futures and heading for a mighty adventure. A poorly planned adventure, I tell you what! We thought we knew it all, were prepared for anything. Our first few months away from home sure changed that. Yes sir, we quickly learned we were just young pups, still wet behind the ears. I’m not saying that we didn’t have fun, mind you, just that we still had a whole lotta learning to do.

Well, any who, there we were, on that ol bus. Had to be the oldest bus still on the roads. No shocks whatsoever.  That ol bus bounced and banged its way through dusty ol ghost town after ghost town. We sure picked the wrong bus for sight-seeing, I tell ya. Wasn’t nuthin to see out those cracked, dirty winders but cedar trees, cactus, and cows.  Looked pert near identical to our little home town. Finally, we came to the end of the ride. Yep, we had clean run outta money. No money, no bus ticket. The first of life’s lessons we learned. The bus driver set us off that bus in front of a ramshackle ol bus depot in the smallest town you ever did see. Wasn’t much there, just that bus depot that turned out to be the Post Office and the only fueling station in town. There was a little diner across the street. So, we picked up our bags and headed for it. We figured between the two of us, we had enough change for some soda pop to clear the dust from our parched throats. If we were lucky, we might even have enough for a slice of pie. We sure were hungry.

That little diner was plum near deserted. Wasn’t anyone to be seen, but the waitress behind the counter and a grizzled ol man down at the far, sitting on a stool, sipping coffee. Coffee! It had to be over 100 degrees out and he was drinking scalding hot coffee.  John and I nodded hello and took our seats at the other end of that counter. Wasn’t long before we were sipping our soda and sharing the best piece of apple pie we had ever eaten. I considered myself an expert judge of good apple pie. My momma, God rest her soul, made the best apple pie in town. She always took the blue ribbon home from the county fair. The other ladies in town were always trying to figure out her secret. But I am telling ya, whoever it was that had made that pie, had an angel’s touch with the crust. I can still feel that buttery crust, so flaky it melted on your tongue.

Well, as I was a saying, there we were scarfing down that pie like it was the first thing we had eaten in days. Course, due to our lack of funds, it was. The ol man said something to the waitress. A few short minutes later, she was setting a plate with two huge sandwiches on it, right smack in front of us. Smiling at our baffled looks, she told us that Ed, the ol man down the other end of the counter, was paying. We looked at Ed and mumbled our thanks around huge mouthfuls. I reckon he heard our stomachs complaining from the other end of that diner.

Yep, that’s how we met ol Ed. He took us under his wing for three whole months. Put us to work hauling hay. I tell ya, that is back breaking work. Paid well though and Ed gave us room and board on top of our weekly pay. We were able to put back our earnings and save up for when we headed back out on the road. After that first week, when we were so sore that every muscle in our arms and backs were a cursing us for the abuse, Ed says, “Boys, you did a fine job this week. Let’s go fishing tomorrow.”  Tired and achy as we were, our ears perked right up! It was decided we would get up early the next day and head to the local lake. We fell asleep that night with dreams of being the one to catch the biggest fish in the lake.

(Did they catch a ‘big one’ or did they catch something else? Visit the Inflatable Kayak Blog (on Thursday, 3-25-10) for part 2 of our story. If you’d like, you can set your computer to receive our RSS feed and you’ll be informed automatically when the next part of the story will be posted.)

The author, Candace Clayton, lives in Granbury, Texas with her Husband and family, spending as much time in the outdoors as she can.