After a lengthy, meandering trip through the Bighorns my partner and I come to the take-out point many miles from our truck and do the rock-paper-scissors deal to choose who is going to hitch hike back through the mountains to the put-in and retrieve our truck.

As usual - I lose. I'm still not sure how Brian does that. The only advantage to doing the hitch is that I'll get to the beer first...maybe after I get back with the truck I'll have to pull up to the take-out with the doors locked and savor a beer or two while I wave at him...he did seem to so enjoy watching me do that last time...he even applauded by banging on the roof of the truck.

This shouldn't be a terribly bad hitch, it's a nice paved road through the Bighorns and a single turn off onto a dirt access road; one good ride and a longish hike will do it. I walk out to the highway, stick out my thumb and start walking up out of the valley backwards, watching the cars come down the mountainside towards me.

A half dozen cars go by when I spy a mid-sized econobox coming down the hill. Coming down the hill slowly. V E R Y   S L O W L Y...As it get closer I see it contains two little old blue haired ladies. The car passes me by and V E R Y   S L O W L Y drifts over to the shoulder.

I'm pretty sure they're not offering me a ride (little old blue haired ladies + grungy, haven't had a shower in a week man = slim chance of a ride), so I walk up to see if they're having car trouble and offer to help.

No, they're not having car trouble, they really are offering me a ride...although it takes a while to figure this out; they're tourists from the Netherlands and only the driver knows a few words of English...which is a few more words than I know of Dutch (or Flemish or whatever).

No only do we have a bit of a language barrier, their car is absolutely packed to the brim with stuff. After quite a bit of rearrangement I'm able to squeeze into the backseat, holding a large portion of their belongings on my lap.

And we're off. V E R Y   S L O W L Y. I check the speedometer; 15 mph going up the mountain, almost 20 mph going down. Logging trucks are passing us on the uphill grade. Hell, the only thing going slower that us is roadkill.

The driver shows me a tacky postcard of a "Jackalope" and inquires "Vee zee maybe vun?". I don't have the heart to try to explain about "Jackalopes" and so let it pass. This about exhausts her English vocabulary and so we lapse into silence. V E R Y   S L O W silence.

I calculate how long the ride is going to take at an average speed of 17.5 MPH. I come up with a bit under 3 hours. Man, it's stuffy in this car. Boring too. Although actually, this is the softest, most comfortable place I've sat in a few days...and I'm kinda tired...and zzzzzzzzzzz.

I wake up with a start. It takes me a minute or three to get my bearings. OK, I'm in the back seat of the little old blue haired lady's rental car, still going V E R Y   S L O W L Y and I'm ...I'm ....oh shit, I have no idea where I am or how long I've been asleep. I don't wear a watch. Nothing looks familiar. The sun is setting. Or maybe rising; I'm not carrying my compass. I may have really screwed up this time.

"Yah, Vyoming"

Ok, that's encouraging. Although, maybe I should test that.

"Yah, Muntana"

Great. Just great. I can't even bring myself to ask about Idaho. OK, what are my options here. Ask if we've passed the turnoff to Tensleep ("Yah, Tenzleep") - nope, that's no good. Hmmm, ask to be let out and then...what - Hitch hike back in the opposite direction? Flag down another car and ask "Pardon me, where the hell am I?". Go back to sleep and worry about it later ("Sorry Brian, but Yellowstone was really neat")

In the end I decide to ride it out, try to stay awake and ask to be let out in the next town. I'll find out where I am and see if any bars are still open (I'm pretty good at thinking on my feet, but even better at thinking on a barstool). Maybe I can hunt up the local sheriff and ask if I can sleep in the lock-up tonight (don't laugh, it works).

And so we cruise along, V E R Y   S L O W L Y. I keep nodding off and then snapping back awake when I consider the consequences (Canadian Border???...the Mormon Tabernacle???...if I fall asleep again what WILL I see when I wake up?)

And then, off in the gathering gloom I see the sign. Tensleep! Tenzleep! The turn off! And there is a bar! A bar right there by the turn off! Mama, I'm home! Barkeep, run me a tab! Brian, get comfy back at the take-out...I may be a while!

I thank the little old blue haired ladies profusely ("Thanks for a great ride Ma'am, watch out for those speed traps" "Yah, zpeed trapz") and amble off to the bar. Have a couple beers, chat up the fellow on the next stool (one nice thing about that week-without-a-shower look; ya fit right in with the crowd in any backwoods cinderblock roadhouse) and snag a ride with him all the way to my truck.

I drive back to the take-out and relate this story to Brian. He seem unconvinced of the veracity of my story. HE remembers that there is a bar at the turn off to Tensleep. HE didn't see any little old blue haired ladies pass by V E R Y   S L O W L Y. HE can smell the beer on my breath. HE has known me for twenty some years and he knows damn well where I've been and what I've been doing.( "Little old blue haired ladies going 15 mph, my ass. McCrea, you've been in a bar this whole time"). I swear, he's as bad as my wife sometimes.

The moral of this story: Don't fall asleep on the shuttle ride. And always pack some Certs.