A Most UnFortuna Event

I’m jumping ahead a bit here. I admit it.

Most of you likely think we are still struggling with Mexican intestinal issues. In reality we have now made it to northern California.

More on Mexico and border crossings later.

Last evening, after a peaceful day gallivanting through a forest of giant 2200 year-old California redwoods, I had a meltdown.

I carefully (as I am wont to do) pulled into the Riverwalk RV Park in Fortuna, CA.

A guy stepped out in front of our van. I hit the binders.

“Asshole,” said he as I halted.

Tinkling glass resounded in the cupboard behind me. Well… I lost it.

“Oh, Gerry don’t,” Florence pleaded.

I jumped out and confronted the jaywalker, mano a mano. He was a little older but ready to duke it out. We exchanged words and a shove or two before he wandered off to the shower.

“Asshole” he repeated, towel over his shoulder.

As we set up camp I contemplated this primeval-forest encounter. On reflection I realized I was in the wrong. At length my adversary reappeared. I approached him with rapprochement.

My hope was to make his day better than it would have been had our crosswalk encounter not occurred.

“I’ll bet that if you’d been a few years younger you’d have punched me right in the nose,” I said by way of apology.

“Damn right,” said he softening. “How old are you anyway?” he asked.

“Fifty three,” said I.

“I’m eighty-three,” he retorted, “and not afraid of anybody!”

He marched back to his fifth wheel, full of piss and vinegar, and probably bragged to his wife how he had “set a young Canadian punk straight.”

I bet his old California heart hadn’t beat like that for a while.

I love doing people favours.

Gerry