Hello, Diary.
Finally. And I mean finally, we made it to the Yellowstone National Park entrance. That was as far as we got. Car after car after car on both sides of the road were stopped, their engines turned off. Dad turned off our car's engine, as well. In a short while, we knew there was good reason for all the stopped cars: Bears. Scads of bears, most on the roadsides, begging for food. Papa bears, mama bears and baby bears. More than a few stood on their hind legs and walked around as if they were people.
I didn't realize bears had so many different shades of brown, black, and tan. There were bears, bears, everywhere, and not a chance to drive beyond them. But who in their right mind would want to?
Some people were out of their cars, throwing marshmallows, peanuts, and even Cracker Jacks at the bears who gulped down the offerings and begged for more. "Oh, look at those babies," laughed Crazy Annie. “Aren’t they cute?”
They were light brown and I have to admit they were cute.
"I'm going to get out," said Dork as he grabbed the handle of the door on his side.
"I want to get out, too," I added, grabbing the door handle on my side.
"You kids are going to stay right where you are," Dad bellowed in his outdoor voice, much louder than his indoor voice.
"Why?" whined my older, shorter brother.
"Because I said so," countered Dad. "That's why."
That didn't stop Dork. "Mother, can I?"
"Those bears are wild animals," Mother cautioned her favorite.
"They don't look so wild to me," I said.
"Dumb ass," whispered Doc III as he snarled and punched my left shoulder, which was now permanently black and blue.
All of a sudden, a pair of army jeeps showed up, their engines whining. Inside each jeep sat two uniformed men wearing Smokey the Bear hats. Turns out they were Federal forest rangers.
"Okay, folks," ordered the largest of the four who got out of his jeep. Man, was he ever tall and big. His voice sounded like a trombone blast that came out of an end of a huge drain pipe. "Stop feeding these bears right now. And that means now." He grabbed his large black trousers belt with both hands and glared at a man who kept tossing marshmallows at a mama bear. “Can’t you hear?” he asked the man.
At once, the man stopped throwing.
The big fellow continued. "Those bears are wild and they could easily hurt you. We had one visitor only two weeks ago who was mauled by one of our park bears. That man lost an arm and is fighting for his very life in a hospital as I speak."
That was enough to cause a stampede of people, returning hastily to their cars. When they did so, that big ranger, like a traffic cop, started directing the first cars in each lane. "Move on," he bellowed. "Move on."
And so cars on both sides started to move. Our Oldsmobile finally did so, except Dad stopped when he was alongside the big brute in a uniform. Dad rolled down the driver's side window. "Which way to the campground?"
"Which one you looking for?" bugled the gargantuan.
"Canyon Campground."
"Straight ahead and to your left. You'll see signs."
"Thanks." When Dad drove ahead, Mother asked each of us, looking each kid in the eyes, "See what I meant? "You see? What did I say about those bears?"
"They're wild," said Dork.
"Good for you," said Mother.
I was the first to notice a dark wooden sign with yellow letters that read, "Canyon Campground Road, ½ mile ahead."
'Canyon Campground," I yelled.
"We see, dumb ass," whispered Doc III.
This time he didn't punch my shoulder after he called me dumb ass. That was the first time on the trip. In a way I don't really blame Doc III. I guess I would've been upset, too, if I had to sit in the middle of the back seat because my two younger brothers couldn't get along.
Dad stopped the car and checked in with the campground ranger who directed us to a spot where we could pitch our tent. Since it was the first time we did so, it took a long time with plenty of Dad's yelling and cussing and taking the Lord's name in vain.
"Not so loud, Jim," Mother warned.
"Goddamn tent, anyway," was Dad's answer.
I didn't realize the tent wouldn't stand without stakes being pounded into the ground. Finally, the darned thing was up. Inside, it smelled like new canvas mainly because it is canvas. I don't like the smell.
After moving food and clothes and towels and wash cloths and suitcases and sleeping bags inside the tent, it didn't seem so big, after all. In fact, it was small.
That night, we heard a lot of noise not far from our tent.
"What's that?" Mother asked Dad.
"I don't know, and I'm not going to find out, either," Dad told her.
She was really mad the next morning because I peed on the inside of my mummy goose down sleeping bag. She told Doc III to tie a rope between two nearby trees. She then hung up the bag, inside out. It had a huge wet spot, reminding me of what she did to my sheets at home. She began calling me "Mister Piss Pants" again.
Dork took on that superior look of his. "Gordy's going to end up in an insane asylum, isn’t he, Mother?"
"Unfortunately, you’re probably right," she said.
"I don’t piss my pants," I shot back. I said nothing to Dork because I knew something had to be wrong with me. Normal kids my age don't wet the bed.
"He's no longer a baby," mother said to Dad loud enough for me to hear after he asked her not to call me Mister Piss Pants. "I'm certain Gordy doesn't do it on purpose."
Glad somebody other than me will say that. Interesting, too, Doc III nor Crazy Annie say anything nasty to me about my bed wetting.
However, my wetting that mummy sleeping bag wasn't the biggest event that first morning. After Dork volunteered to take breakfast leftovers to the concrete and steel garbage containers, he came running back. "You oughta see what a bear did to the steel cover last night."
The rest of us ran to the huge container in order to examine it. Sure enough, what used to be a round, steel cover now looked like a crunched up page of newspaper.
"You see how strong these bears are?" said the campground ranger to us kids. "Now, you know better than to approach one or feed one."
Naturally, we all nodded in in agreement. Even if we’re kids, we’re no fools.
Finally. And I mean finally, we made it to the Yellowstone National Park entrance. That was as far as we got. Car after car after car on both sides of the road were stopped, their engines turned off. Dad turned off our car's engine, as well. In a short while, we knew there was good reason for all the stopped cars: Bears. Scads of bears, most on the roadsides, begging for food. Papa bears, mama bears and baby bears. More than a few stood on their hind legs and walked around as if they were people.
I didn't realize bears had so many different shades of brown, black, and tan. There were bears, bears, everywhere, and not a chance to drive beyond them. But who in their right mind would want to?
Some people were out of their cars, throwing marshmallows, peanuts, and even Cracker Jacks at the bears who gulped down the offerings and begged for more. "Oh, look at those babies," laughed Crazy Annie. “Aren’t they cute?”
They were light brown and I have to admit they were cute.
"I'm going to get out," said Dork as he grabbed the handle of the door on his side.
"I want to get out, too," I added, grabbing the door handle on my side.
"You kids are going to stay right where you are," Dad bellowed in his outdoor voice, much louder than his indoor voice.
"Why?" whined my older, shorter brother.
"Because I said so," countered Dad. "That's why."
That didn't stop Dork. "Mother, can I?"
"Those bears are wild animals," Mother cautioned her favorite.
"They don't look so wild to me," I said.
"Dumb ass," whispered Doc III as he snarled and punched my left shoulder, which was now permanently black and blue.
All of a sudden, a pair of army jeeps showed up, their engines whining. Inside each jeep sat two uniformed men wearing Smokey the Bear hats. Turns out they were Federal forest rangers.
"Okay, folks," ordered the largest of the four who got out of his jeep. Man, was he ever tall and big. His voice sounded like a trombone blast that came out of an end of a huge drain pipe. "Stop feeding these bears right now. And that means now." He grabbed his large black trousers belt with both hands and glared at a man who kept tossing marshmallows at a mama bear. “Can’t you hear?” he asked the man.
At once, the man stopped throwing.
The big fellow continued. "Those bears are wild and they could easily hurt you. We had one visitor only two weeks ago who was mauled by one of our park bears. That man lost an arm and is fighting for his very life in a hospital as I speak."
That was enough to cause a stampede of people, returning hastily to their cars. When they did so, that big ranger, like a traffic cop, started directing the first cars in each lane. "Move on," he bellowed. "Move on."
And so cars on both sides started to move. Our Oldsmobile finally did so, except Dad stopped when he was alongside the big brute in a uniform. Dad rolled down the driver's side window. "Which way to the campground?"
"Which one you looking for?" bugled the gargantuan.
"Canyon Campground."
"Straight ahead and to your left. You'll see signs."
"Thanks." When Dad drove ahead, Mother asked each of us, looking each kid in the eyes, "See what I meant? "You see? What did I say about those bears?"
"They're wild," said Dork.
"Good for you," said Mother.
I was the first to notice a dark wooden sign with yellow letters that read, "Canyon Campground Road, ½ mile ahead."
'Canyon Campground," I yelled.
"We see, dumb ass," whispered Doc III.
This time he didn't punch my shoulder after he called me dumb ass. That was the first time on the trip. In a way I don't really blame Doc III. I guess I would've been upset, too, if I had to sit in the middle of the back seat because my two younger brothers couldn't get along.
Dad stopped the car and checked in with the campground ranger who directed us to a spot where we could pitch our tent. Since it was the first time we did so, it took a long time with plenty of Dad's yelling and cussing and taking the Lord's name in vain.
"Not so loud, Jim," Mother warned.
"Goddamn tent, anyway," was Dad's answer.
I didn't realize the tent wouldn't stand without stakes being pounded into the ground. Finally, the darned thing was up. Inside, it smelled like new canvas mainly because it is canvas. I don't like the smell.
After moving food and clothes and towels and wash cloths and suitcases and sleeping bags inside the tent, it didn't seem so big, after all. In fact, it was small.
That night, we heard a lot of noise not far from our tent.
"What's that?" Mother asked Dad.
"I don't know, and I'm not going to find out, either," Dad told her.
She was really mad the next morning because I peed on the inside of my mummy goose down sleeping bag. She told Doc III to tie a rope between two nearby trees. She then hung up the bag, inside out. It had a huge wet spot, reminding me of what she did to my sheets at home. She began calling me "Mister Piss Pants" again.
Dork took on that superior look of his. "Gordy's going to end up in an insane asylum, isn’t he, Mother?"
"Unfortunately, you’re probably right," she said.
"I don’t piss my pants," I shot back. I said nothing to Dork because I knew something had to be wrong with me. Normal kids my age don't wet the bed.
"He's no longer a baby," mother said to Dad loud enough for me to hear after he asked her not to call me Mister Piss Pants. "I'm certain Gordy doesn't do it on purpose."
Glad somebody other than me will say that. Interesting, too, Doc III nor Crazy Annie say anything nasty to me about my bed wetting.
However, my wetting that mummy sleeping bag wasn't the biggest event that first morning. After Dork volunteered to take breakfast leftovers to the concrete and steel garbage containers, he came running back. "You oughta see what a bear did to the steel cover last night."
The rest of us ran to the huge container in order to examine it. Sure enough, what used to be a round, steel cover now looked like a crunched up page of newspaper.
"You see how strong these bears are?" said the campground ranger to us kids. "Now, you know better than to approach one or feed one."
Naturally, we all nodded in in agreement. Even if we’re kids, we’re no fools.
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