September 04, 2005
Thumbs up
The headlights rose above the hill behind us, stretching our shadows as thin as our blood on the asphalt of 54A in front of us.
Woody was a few wobbly paces in front of me. Without a word, we both held our arms out into the light, with our thumbs up in the air.
A white mini van slowed to stop beside us like Cinderella's coach with a sliding door.
"I saw you guys at the bar tonight, where you headed." the driver asked with a smile in his voice.
"That way." Woody said with whisky in his.
It all started a month ago. When Woody noticed the bartender in Maloney's Bar sporting his employer's product head to toe. And, being of sound negotiating skills and observant enough to recognize the potential for opportunistic situations of mutual benefit, Woody made a deal to return with a trade: he would trade to Nick the bartender a new wardrobe, which is easily accessible for Woody, for what Nick had readily available at his disposal- George Dickel Whiskey.
So tonight, one month and several thousand miles later, both held true to their respective ends of the bargain. Nick will go back to college well dressed, and we staggered out of town towards home down the middle of rt. 54A on the east side of Keuka Lake in the middle of the night.
"I think my hands are all bruised." Woody said.
"I thought your head would be after the window fell shut on you when you stuck it back in the bar to thank the band." i said.
"I saw you playing those congas." the driver said to Woody.
"Yeah....." Woody said. "Where are you from?"
"Summit County Colorado." the driver replied.
That's all the information Woody needed.
He began to work a Woody on our chauffeur with whiskey slurs about the specific road names and ski shops around Lake Dillon, and I stared out the window of the mini van into the darkness like a verse of a Kenny Rogers song, as we rode out of Hammondsport on 54A into the middle of the night.
