Sometimes a Cigar is Just a Vomit Inducing Item

I have racked my brains trying to figure out how to explain/introduce/do justice to Ranger Robert Newton (aka Newt, Ranger Bob, Bobby Newt, Fidel Castro). I can't. So I won't. I will just start writing stories about the man and hopefully his character will come through. Just know that I am not deifying the man, but believe me when I tell you he was a unique individual who meant a lot to a lot of people. KW and I were up at camp for ranger staff my second summer ('94). Ranger staff had not yet become a big thing the way it was a few years later so it was just the two of us and Ranger Bob getting camp ready for staff week and the rest of the Summer. There were a few other people around (the kitchen staff, old Bill, Big Bird) but camp was mainly empty. After two weeks of physical labor fixing up the camp KW and I were pretty tired and getting ready for camp to start. Bob and Old Bill took us out for dinner to a place in Chestertown. We took Old Bill's cadillac which was not as old as him (WWII vet) but was old enough that it was a two door and the back windows did not roll down. Ranger Bob did not smoke. He chewed cigars. At the time I chewed some chewing tobacco. Most of our staff did something stupid like that. No excuses, we just did. But we also looked up to Bob. Before we got in the car for the trip back to camp from Brant Lake, I asked Bob for a chew of his cigar. He gladly obliged by pulling out one of the ever present cigars from his shirt pocket and ripping off a chunk, which I took and placed in the back of my mouth between my cheek and teeth. I was used to working in the woods and fields of camp with the freedom to spit chew juice and eventually chew out at any time. For this car ride, of course, I had no spit cup. Did I mention the windows didn't roll down? With chewing tobacco, I would chew for a while and then spit out big wads of juice. With a dry cigar sitting in your mouth I didn't chew but your mouth produces saliva anyway. And this saliva mixes with tobacco and starts to build in your mouth. And you have nowhere to spit it. And you start to feel woozy. And then a bit sick. And the windows don't roll down. Chestertown is not far from Brant Lake, about a ten minute ride, but our camp was at the end of Brant Lake, a 7 mile drive around a twisty windy road. About halfway around the lake I was in panic mode. The saliva was building to over-sized proportions and whatever part was being absorbed into my blood stream was making me really sick. I had no exit strategy here. I couldn't open my mouth to ask Old Bill to pull over and no window to wind down. Even if I could speak, I would have been to ashamed to mention to Ranger Bob that I needed to stop to spit. So I did the only thing I could think of and dug around in my cheek to remove the soggy wet cigar piece. This disgusting smelly blob I held gingerly in my hand as I tried not to swallow the tobacco laden spittle sloshing around inside my mouth as the car slowly served around the turns of Brant Lake. As I was about to puke or pass out or both we pulled into camp and I jumped out of the car as soon as the door opened and the seat was pulled forward. Hitting the ground I threw the cigar piece down and spit and spit and spit as much as I could to clear my mouth. A minute or so later Bob came up to me and said, "You might want to spit the cigar out now, it's probably getting a little strong."