Two words defined a good time on Friday nights during the long, cold winter of our senior year: Road Trip. Dolora and Katie both played on the freshman girls’ basketball team so Ryan and I and our friends spent many Friday nights traveling around to neighboring towns in the Heart of the North Conference to watch them.
I guess we really weren’t interested that much in watching our girlfriends play. First of all, they were only on the freshman team so the games weren’t that intense, and second of all, neither of them were very good. It was actually kind of embarrassing to watch Katie play. Sometimes it was even painful. Katie was so incredibly hot, but she had no coordination. Dolora was a little better athlete, but nevertheless, it was still pretty boring.
What we were mostly interested in was getting drunk in the Caravan on the way to the games and looking at the girls on the other team once we got there. We also liked to be “seen” by everyone. We thought of ourselves as more popular if we were seen more often.
A lot of people from Hayward went to the away games. Not only parents and teachers and principals went, but other people in the community, too. I think a lot of people in Hayward got cabin fever in the wintertime. The away games were a chance for people to get out of town and get their blood flowing.
Several of us would usually drive to the game and arrive just in time to see the freshman play. After Katie and Dolora were done playing, they would come sit with us in the bleachers and we would all watch the varsity game together.
After the game, we would usually go our separate ways. The girls would go home on the team bus, and we would go home in the Caravan. Sometimes we would meet up afterwards, sometimes not. Once in a while if we were lucky, Dolora and Katie would tell their coach that they were going to ride home with their parents after the game, but instead they would ride home with us in the Caravan.
A typical Friday afternoon in December or January of our senior year would go something like this. Ryan and I would make plans with Dolora and Katie to go watch them play in, say, Bloomer or something. The longer the drive was, the better. It gave us more time to get drunk on the way down there, and if we were lucky enough to have our girlfriends ride with us on the way back, it meant more time to spend in their pants.
Next, we would arrange a vehicle to ride in and someone to drive. If we were drinking, which was most of the time, we didn’t want to drive so we had someone else do it. Scott or Josh usually ended up driving because they didn’t have any girlfriends at the time, and thus, no real reason to celebrate by drinking.
Both Scott’s and Ryan’s families had Dodge Caravans. They both served us well during our senior year in high school. We took them everywhere, especially on road trips. The Caravan was a vital tool for us to work our mischief. First of all, it was large enough to accommodate several of our girlfriends and us. Not only that, it allowed us to stretch out and maneuver around to gain critical access to our girlfriends’ hard to reach places. It allowed for plenty of room to hide things, too, like alcohol. We would usually bring along several blankets on our trips to cover up the bottles of alcohol or beer or both.
The blankets served other purposes as well. First of all, Ryan and I were horribly underdressed for being out in the wintertime. We always tried to wear tight t-shirts whenever we went out so we could accentuate our arms and our stomachs. We would always wear a flannel shirt over the top, which we could take off when the opportunity arose. To stay warm in the Caravan we would wrap up in blankets on the way to the game. Finally and most importantly, the blankets were to cover ourselves up with when we were making out with our girlfriends. Even though the Caravan was pretty spacious, there were times when we liked to have a little privacy.
The most coveted spot in the Caravan when one had his girlfriend along was in the back seat. It was a little smaller than the middle one, but it had more privacy.
Nobody could see what was going on back there. Ryan usually had first pick if we were taking his Caravan, but sometimes I got it when we took Scott’s.
Once plans were made for the evening, Ryan and I would go work out in the weight room in the upper gym at school. We wanted to fine-tune our bodies before we went out. After we showered and changed clothes in the locker room, Scott and Josh would pick us up in the Caravan. It was either Scott’s or Ryan’s. We used Scott’s more often, but Ryan’s was better. It had a cassette player so we could listen to music. We would all go down to Hardees and get some fast food and then head out of town.
Of course no trip would be complete without some alcohol. Our best bet was to try to buy some at Ron and Alma’s bar in Springbrook or the little convenience store that was right next to it. Several of us had purchased alcohol underage there on many occasions. Sometimes we were turned down and then we had to resort to more drastic measures.
One time we were having trouble buying alcohol on one of our road trips and Jason Barber happened to be along. Barber was this tall Native guy with long, scraggly hair that always knew where the party was. Anyway, we parked outside of the ICO gas station in Trego and Barber waited around until he spotted the scraggliest, roughest looking guy he could find. Barber went up and asked the guy if he would buy for us and he did. Just for safe measure, he asked us to pull around behind the gas station so we could complete the transaction in privacy. We loaded our trophy into the Caravan, gave
the guy a few extra dollars and took off. Another evening was complete. It was always a risky operation to arrive drunk at a school function. However, we thrived on the danger. We had only one close call that I know of. It happened on a road trip to Northwestern.
Ryan and Scott and Josh and I decided to take a road trip to Northwestern one Friday night to see a boy’s basketball game. Scott persuaded Josh to drive because he wanted to bring his new girlfriend, Natalie Squires, along and make out in the back seat.
Scott had just broken up with his girlfriend Alita. We all had been waiting for that to happen for a long time because none of us liked her. I don’t think Scott ever really liked her either. I imagine he probably stayed with her for the regular sex he was getting.
That was important to a high school senior like Scott. At first he really enjoyed it, but after a while it started to get really weird. He would go over to Alita’s house to have sex with her and she would keep putting it off until around the time her dad was about to get home from work. Then she and Scott would have quick sex and finish just as her dad was coming in the front door. Scott said that the danger of getting caught turned her on.
He had wanted to break up with her for a long time, but every time he tried, she would tell him that she was going to commit suicide. At first he believed her, but after a while, he didn’t care anymore. “Go and kill yourself, then! I’m out of here,” he said one day. He thought he was in the clear for a while, but Alita started calling his house at all hours of the day and threatening him. One day she called when Scott was home, but his dad picked up before he could reach the phone. She told his dad all about their relationship and everything that they did. She told him, among other things, that they had sex dozens of times at her house and in Scott’s dad’s bed. Scott was listening on the other line and was completely mortified. That was the worst thing that could happen to a guy in high school.
Scott had been on the prowl for a few weeks for a new girlfriend who was a little less crazy. It didn’t take long to hook up with Natalie Squires. She was always available.
Natalie had made the rounds in our little group of friends. Several of us had dated her at one time or another during our senior year. She was kind of a strange girl, though. Jeramiah went out with her for a while and she ran away from her parents’ house while they were dating. Jeramiah called her house one day and her mom answered.
“Yeah, hello. Is Natalie there?” he said.
“No, do you know where she is?” her mom responded.
Jeramiah didn’t know anything about it. We all teased Jeramiah for quite awhile about driving the poor girl to run away from home.
Josh, Ryan, Scott, Natalie and I boarded Scott’s Caravan one cold Friday evening in January. Scott wanted to christen the back seat with Natalie, so he persuaded Josh to drive his Caravan. Dolora and Katie were out of town for a basketball tournament, so Ryan and I would have to spend the evening getting drunk and wrestling with each other.
Before we left town, we had to take care of some business. Josh pulled into the Price Rite Liquors parking lot. Scott took a deep breath and stepped out into the cold. Scott, like Ryan, was a master shoplifter. He had this big down jacket that came down over his butt and was several sizes too big. The best feature of it was that it had an internal drawstring around the waist area that Scott could cinch up. That way Scott could unzip his jacket, stuff a bottle in there, zip it up and walk out. The bottle wouldn’t fall out because the drawstring suspended it.
He chose Price Rite for several reasons. First of all, Price Rite wasn’t just a liquor store. It was a convenience store, gas station, and liquor store. We could gas up and get some liquor and snacks all in the same stop. Scott also chose Price Rite because of the way they arranged their displays of liquor. They always had some type of pyramid display of whiskey or vodka or some other equally potent liquor. Dozens of bottles were stacked neatly on several tables all through the store. All Scott had to do was go behind one of the stacks where the clerk couldn’t see him, stuff one of the bottles in his jacket and leave. It never failed.
The only thing that wasn’t great about it was that we didn’t really have a choice of what kind of alcohol we were getting. It all depended on where the displays were, how tall they were, and what type of liquor was on each one.
We waited anxiously in the Caravan for Scott to return with our booty. Was it going to be a good night or were we going to spend the night in the clink? Nobody knew until Scott returned with a smile on his face. We all clapped and cheered when Scott got in the van. Ryan and I were the first to inspect the bottle. It read: Musky Country Whiskey. We were all happy with the selection.
Sometimes we weren’t too happy with what Scott brought back, though. One time he got some Scotch Whiskey. That stuff was horrible. Every time any of us took a nip off the bottle, we would gag. It got us drunk, though, so we were happy about that.
Josh sped out of the icy parking lot and pointed the Caravan north. It didn’t take long for us to open up the bottle and pass it around. Scott and Natalie got busy right away in the back seat. We didn’t hear much from them for quite a while. Ryan and I passed the bottle back and forth and chatted. He complained about how Katie wasn’t letting him have sex with her. “I’m tired of getting blowjobs all the time,” he said. Poor guy. I wasn’t even getting that with Dolora.
By the time we got up to Northwestern, Ryan and I, with a little help from Scott, had drunk about half of the bottle of Musky Country Whiskey. We had a good buzz going. Josh wasn’t sure where the high school was so we drove around a little while looking for it. None of us could offer any suggestions of where it was, so Josh took it upon himself to do a U-turn and look in the other direction. This proved to be a mistake, because when Josh pulled over on the shoulder to make the wide turn he put the Caravan in the ditch.
Nobody except Josh knew we were in the ditch for quite a while. Ryan and I were wrestling in the middle seat and Scott and Natalie were still making out in the back.
For all we knew Josh had been trying to rock the Caravan back and forth for quite a while to try to get out. I knew something was wrong when the motion stopped.
“Where are we?” I yelled.
“We’re in the ditch,” said Josh. “You guys are going to have to get out and push.”
“Why don’t you try rocking it back and forth?” Ryan said.
“I’ve been doing that for ten minutes,” said Josh.
Going in the ditch was nothing new for us. We made a sport out of it. We had so much snow our senior year that the plows were constantly out on the roads pushing the snow banks higher and higher. When we were out driving on the icy country roads around Hayward, Ryan or Scott would just suddenly slam on the brakes and crank the steering wheel and we would go spinning off into the snow banks. We seldom actually went down into the ditch, because the snow banks were so tall. Most of the time we
would just bounce off.
This time was different, however. The terrain adjacent to the road on both sides dropped down four of five feet into a field. There was no place for the snow to pile up; it just spread out instead. When Josh pulled over onto the shoulder to turn around, he just got sucked right in.
“Get out and push, you guys.” Josh said.
Ryan and I opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air to inspect the damage. We got down on our hands and knees for a closer look. The Caravan wasn’t up on its frame. That was good news. If the snow got all packed up under the frame we would never get it out, even by digging with a shovel. We would have to be towed out.
Fortunately, it didn’t look too bad. The snow was all icy road snow filled with dirt and rocks and salt. Ryan and I got behind the van and pushed. When Josh hit the accelerator the van moved a little.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Where’s Scott?”
“Scott! Get out here, you fool!” Ryan yelled.
During all the commotion we had failed to realize that Scott was still in the back seat of the Caravan making out with Natalie. I sent Ryan in there to try to snuff him out, but to no avail. Scott was too wrapped up in the moment. We figured we were just wasting our time trying to get Scott to help us, so Ryan and I went back to work pushing and Josh went back to work rocking the Caravan back and forth.
Just then a car pulled over right next to us. Someone rolled down a window and yelled out.
“Hey, you guys need some help?”
“No, that’s alright,” Josh yelled back. “We almost got it.”
We went back to work pushing and rocking the Caravan. A few minutes later another car pulled over and offered to help. This time a man and a lady actually got out of their car and came over to talk to us. They asked us some questions about where we were from and where we were going. We told them that we were from Hayward and we were going to the basketball game here in town. They offered to help, but we told them that we almost had it. We must have been quite a sight stumbling around in the cold.
Ryan and I were in t-shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes and it was a bitter cold night out. We
were covered with snow and our pant legs were soaked half way up our jeans.
“Hey, Josh. Can I borrow your jacket for a minute?” Ryan said, shivering.
“Yeah, sure. It’s in the front seat here.”
“I have to take a piss,” Ryan said. He put on Josh’s jacket and disappeared into the dark windblown field. I decided to take a break and warm up. I jumped into the Caravan and wrapped up with a blanket in the middle seat. I still had a strong buzz going on and I was tired from pushing. Josh had the heat cranked and the radio tuned to KQDS classic rock out of Duluth. I drifted off into a light sleep to the sounds of 70’s rock. When I woke up, Josh was gone. Scott and Natalie were asleep in the back seat.
I could hear snow crunching underfoot from way out in the field where Ryan went to take a piss. I opened the door and poked my head out.
“What’s going on out there?” I said.
“Ryan lost my keys.”
I gasped. “You mean we’re going to be stuck here all night?” I said.
“No, he just lost my house keys. We still have the keys for the Caravan.” They were walking back towards the van now quarreling.
“Just forget it, Josh. We’ll just get you another copy. We have to get going. Let’s try it again.”
“So, how did you lose Josh’s keys?” I asked.
“Oh, I was out there taking a piss and I must have fallen over and the keys fell out of Josh’s jacket.”
Josh frowned and took his position in the driver’s seat. Ryan and I got behind the Caravan for one last attempt. This time we didn’t fail. Ryan and I gave a mighty push and the Caravan slid forward several feet. We weren’t expecting the Caravan to budge, so Ryan and I fell forward when it moved. Ryan tumbled to the ground and I stepped on his head and stumbled several feet before falling down myself. When I got up to check on Ryan, he was lying there sprawled out in the dirty highway snow motionless. His face was all scratched up from the icy snow. He got up, leaned over, and shook his head. A large chunk of dirty, icy snow fell out of his ear where I had stepped on him.
In the meantime, Josh had managed to drive himself out of the ditch and onto the main road. He opened the door and shouted “Get in!” Ryan and I flopped down in the middle seat as Josh sped off towards the high school. Apparently, the last two people who stopped and offered to help also gave us directions.
When we got there, Ryan and I were still pretty drunk. I was kind of scared. I don’t think I had ever been this drunk at a basketball game before. Usually when we did this kind of thing, we slammed a few beers in the Caravan on the way there, but this time we were drinking hard liquor. It was a long trip, too, so we had more time to drink. In addition, Scott didn’t help us out much, so that meant there was more for Ryan and I to drink. Scott and Natalie were going to stay in the van, so Ryan and Josh and I went inside.
Ryan and I each put a fresh piece of gum in our mouths and then put a penny in our mouths, too. Someone had told us once that a Breathalyzer couldn’t detect alcohol on your breath if you had a penny in your mouth. It supposedly screwed up the machine or something. We could never be too cautious so we always did it.
First, we had to stop at the bathroom and take a piss. I walked in, unzipped, and let it loose. I had been holding this one for a while. Hmmm. There was somebody else in here with me. I looked over to the left at the urinal next to me, and lo and behold, who was there? It was Mr. McConnel. He was one of our junior high social studies teachers.
I was really frightened by the situation, because there was no doubt that he could smell the alcohol on me. I was sure I reeked of it. He turned and recognized me and offered a smile. His smile told me that he knew what I was up to. I attempted to smile back, but since I was so drunk, my motor skills were all slowed. When I tried to smile, the best I could do was part my lips and drool a little. In the process my gum fell out and into the urinal. Mr. McConnel rolled his eyes and looked away.
I looked down and stared at my fresh piece of gum sitting there in the urinal.
Without thinking I reached down and picked it up and put it in my mouth. Just as I was reaching down Mr. McConnel looked over at me. There was no divider between the urinals, so he saw everything. I know it was an incredibly disgusting thing to do, but my brain just didn’t process it fast enough. I didn’t want to waste a fresh stick of gum like that! Mr. McConnel shot me a look of disgust, quickly zipped up, washed his hands and left.
When he looked at me, I pretended like nothing unusual happened. After he left, I stood there pondering what I had just done. Maybe he was drunk, too or maybe he wouldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. I would have a hard time believing that someone would reach into a urinal, retrieve a piece of gum and put it into their mouth even if I saw it with my own eyes.
I tried to pretend it never happened and walked out to meet Ryan and Josh. I was just happy to have the gum in my mouth to mask the alcohol odor a little bit. We paid for our tickets and started walking toward the gym. Ryan was walking at his usual breakneck pace and Josh and I were behind him.
Just as we were about to walk into the gym a man standing at the door stepped in and stopped me. Ryan walked right past him and left me and Josh there to talk to him ourselves. I assume he was some type of principal or some administrator from Northwestern High School because he looked important. He stepped in front of me and held out his hand signaling me to stop. I was in trouble now. He studied me for a minute before he said anything and then finally spoke up.
“Say, we heard there were a bunch of guys from Hayward up here who were drunk and they put their van in the ditch. Do you know anything about that?” I didn’t want to get stuck here talking to this guy. I looked through the door to the gym where people were getting settled in their seats and the teams were warming up. Ryan had stopped about thirty feet ahead and turned around wondering where we were. I pointed to Ryan and said: “No, I don’t. I’m just with that guy up there.”
Before he could answer, I quickly walked past him and signaled Josh to do the same. My heart was pounding. I guess one of the people who had stopped to help us when we were stuck in the ditch must have informed the officials at the game about us.
They were expecting trouble.
We were free for the moment, but this guy wasn’t buying my story. I turned to look over my shoulder at him once I was at a safe distance and saw him consulting with some of his buddies. They were all looking in our direction and talking in hushed tones. I tried not to look worried. Ryan wanted to know what happened.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“They know about us,” I said. “They asked us if we were the guys from Hayward who were drinking and put their van in the ditch.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I didn’t know anything about it, but they aren’t buying it. Don’t act worried,” I told him.
The three of us took our seats in the stands and pretended to watch the game. Before long we had a visitor. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a large shape approaching from whence we had just come. It was the shape of a large middle-aged man, well built. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and he had his usual sheepish half grin on. At one time many years ago he was probably a star football player on his high school or college team. He walked slowly toward us, stopping every so often to divert his gaze from us elsewhere (on the cheerleaders maybe) as to avoid suspicion. He was Mr. Mestelle, our high school assistant principal. He came and sat down directly behind us.
His scent was familiar. It was the smell of cologne mixed with sweat. We had smelled it thousands of times at school as he walked through the halls and gently prodded us to class. Even if we didn’t see him approaching we would still know he was here. We froze. Anyone within a six-foot radius could tell we were wasted. We probably smelled like we were pickled. We tried to act like nothing was out of the
ordinary. Mr. Mestelle wasn’t making any move or any indication that he was going to nab us. It was almost worse to suffer in anxious anticipation.
Pretty soon we couldn’t take it anymore. Ryan was getting antsy.
“Jamie, Mr. Mestelle is watching us,” he whispered.
“Yes, I know,” I said back.
“We need to get out of here,” he said.
“We just got here.” I didn’t want to waste our trip up here. I wanted to explore and be seen. I looked over at Josh. He was calmly watching the game and munching on some popcorn. He had nothing to worry about since he wasn’t drinking.
“What do you think we should do?” I whispered to Ryan.
“I don’t know. Let’s just go walk around and maybe when we come back Mr. Mestelle will be gone.”
“O.K. I’ll tell Josh,” I said.
I informed Josh of our plan. He was more interested in watching the game than wandering around the school. I guess that was fine. He wasn’t in any trouble unless it was a crime to transport drunks. Ryan and I stood up and walked out of the gym on unsteady feet. Josh stayed behind and munched on his popcorn.
On the way in we had noticed that Northwestern High School was a three-story building, so we thought it would be a good idea to go explore the other two floors. After wandering around for a while, we became lost. Schools can be very confusing buildings, especially multi story buildings and especially when you are drunk. Anyway, after a while we came upon a group of cheerleaders practicing. They were the Northwestern basketball team’s cheerleaders and they were warming up for the game. This was what we went on road trips for. Ryan and I thought this would be an excellent opportunity to do some flirting. Ryan walked up to one of the girls and started talking to her.
“Do you have anything against oral sex at all?” he said. The girl looked at him, smiled and replied playfully:
“I don’t know. You’ll have to wait until after the game and find out.”
Just then the stairwell door opened and a man appeared. He was the same man who stopped me at the door and asked if we were the drunks who went in the ditch. This time he looked angry and I could tell he wasn’t taking any shit. Ryan and I looked at him like two deer caught in headlights. He must have followed us up here from the gym.
“You guys are going to have to leave.”
Ryan and I didn’t even try to argue with him.
“Alright,” we said. We went straight to the Caravan. We didn’t even try to go find Josh. When we got back to the Caravan, we told Scott to go in and get Josh so we could leave. Scott was pissed because they made him buy a ticket just so he could go get Josh.
When we got back to Hayward, it was still relatively early. Not wanting our evening of fun to end, we decided to go to the hockey game at the sports center. Ryan and I saw a giant snow bank and we thought it would be fun to jump in and sink into the soft, deep snow. We got a head start and took a flying leap into the snow bank. When we landed in it, it wasn’t what we expected. Instead of leaping into a soft snow bank, it was icy and hard as a rock.
Jamie Simons, a native of northern Wisconsin, grew up amidst his family’s junkyard business finding inspiration in the relics of forgotten lives—be it old golf clubs, unopened cans of beer, or dirty magazines. This curiosity fueled his writing, capturing the raw essence of youth and adventure in the Upper Midwest. His work, a testament to these misadventures, has found a home in Spring Thaw magazine and the Argyle Zebra Gallery in St. Paul, Minnesota. He will also be featured in forthcoming editions of Press Pause Press and Dear Booze.
