Crash! - (with minor profanity)

I had originally held off posting this one hoping to crowdsource the names of the two jerks whom I have indicated by blank lines in the narrative. But the Voyageur said the story was funny enough as is and he couldn't recall their names either. So here it is. One Sat. morning we woke up early and took off for Lake Placid. It was me and C and B. For the record, the crash was not due to fellatio or tetrahydracannabinol. That makes a good story, and the rumors dogged me for a while from those who wished there were crazier reasons going on, but neither were taking place that day. We were in my '86 maroon Plymouth Reliant. The muffler was held on with bailing wire, duct tape and melted on soda cans. But it worked fine and got us where we needed to go. I don't know why camp was so empty that weekend, but it was just three of us and we made the usual rounds: EMS, With Pipe and Book, the Alpine Gear Shop, the other bookstore, and some place to eat. On our way back it was rainy, I was sleepy, and my tires were thin. I think we were all asleep/nodding off, but at some point I heard B say, "What are you doi....?" That's when it happened. If you know route 73 between Lake Placid and Keene Valley, you know how it winds as it passes Cascade Lakes going downhill. This wet, windy, downhill road on an early Sat. morning with the sun shining was just begging for me to close my eyes and drift off. So I obliged. I don't recall the impact, but I do recall the massive g-force as the car swerved off the guard rail into the road and then back again as I grabbed the steering wheel and turned back towards the guard rail which I scraped along for a while before spinning around 100 degrees or so and coming to a rest facing uphill a little bit. Thankfully everybody was okay though obviously shook up. When we checked out the damage, the car was totaled. The right side looked like it had met a can opener, the front axle was cracked and lots of other little things were smashed. The guard rail ended a few feet after the site of the crash, if I had fallen a sleep a few seconds later, we would have been down a ravine. The state trooper was really cool. My car got towed to a junk shop at the bottom of the hill. (I later sold it for scrap for $50.) She took us to the Stewarts (I actually wrote 7-11 originally, memories do fade!) where we called camp. Here's where the dickish part happened. We called the main reservation office, Summit Base (not sure they had a phone yet) and Buckskin and got no answer. So we called Waubeeka and got ________________. He was reluctant to come and get us, but through a combo of anger and despair I finally convinced him that it was his duty. He arrived with, ________________ in tow in a tiny hatchback. With the two of them in the front seats, C, B and myself had to squeeze into the backseat, where there clearly was not enough room for us. And then he drove like a total asshole. The three of us had just been in an accident where we really were lucky to have not been seriously injured or killed and now we were being driven like sardines towards Armageddon. He sped, he swerved, he rushed to make lights, he overtook. I remember feeling sick and queasy and I think it was C who yelled at him to slow down already. Which he did for a bit. And then returned to his hellfire ways. The staff at camp, and especially at Summit could treat each other very cruelly. A mixture of testosterone, age, freedom from parents (and anyone over 25), ego, and macho insecurity, plus general hijinks could often lead to people being assholes. But it was always in good fun and never intended to hurt anyone (and always aimed at other members of the group who were "in on it") but we always, always knew when to stop. There were certain things you didn't do and places you didn't go. I felt extremely violated in the backseat of that car (no jokes) as it was zipping about; it felt like we were intentionally being put through some sort of hell by two staff members I barely knew for some odd reason. The next week I hitched a ride home with some troop from Long Island, and came back with an '82 Buick Regal and my dog (also named Summit), so it wasn't all bad.