There is something special about the relationship I have with my cousin Gig. You can't pick your family, so when parts of your family become your close friend, it's like winning the lottery.
As mention prior Gig and I have no genetic relationship, yet we are dangerously similar. Both of us suffer from clumsiness, silliness, and occasional stupidity. We share a backwards sense of direction, a love for snack foods, and are both as easy going as the wind.
A interesting cocktail we make, for road trip adventures. I suppose the first time her and I hopped in the old steel wagon for a trip on the road (just the two of us) was in the year 2000.
It was the year we had really bonded over our lost relationships, and I was working in retail waiting to enter my final year of high school. My parents had gone up to a rented family cottage early in the day, and Gig was picking me up at nine from the clothing store so we could drive up.
Like every other road trip since, Gig and I left late. She picked me up at the store, but of course some asshole customer failed to realize it was time to get the fuck out, and she sat waiting in the near empty plaza parking lot as I cashed out.
We hit the road and headed north to the cottage, and we had laughs and jokes as we drove down the dark highway north. The music was playing, we were singing, and it was the start of a great trip, that is, until we crossed over a small bridge on the winding number 7.
As we started to cross the bridge a raccoon was suddenly in front of the vehicle and a car was coming the other way, with no choice, there was a loud thud sound as we struck the poor guy.
I turned the radio down, but neither of us spoke for some time. We drove into the night quietly, until nearly forty minutes later when I broke the silence.
"Do you think he's ok?" I said softly (knowing full well, he was not).
"No." replied Gig.
When we reached the cottage all was well, and the week was as regular as any trip to the cottage with my lovable freaks (but more on that another time). When it was time to head home I felt comforted by the fact that I could at least enjoy the trip home with my cousin.
We planned to leave early morning, and left just after lunch. As we headed down the highway again, we sang, chatted, ate snacks and of course drank our diet pepsi (my family were they not so ridiculous would most likely be the perfect lot to sponsor this beverage).
I think perhaps, we drank a bit too much of it, because before we were anywhere near the next rest stop, the both of us were experiencing the full floating of our back teeth. We tried to talk our way to the next stop but it was impossible, and suddenly Gig ripped to the side of the road and off into the woods we ran.
Thing is, it wasn't really "the woods". It was someones property, and as I ripped my pants down I looked over to see a shed and house off in the "not all that" distance, my heart jumped.
No worries, we were not escorted off the property or even seen as far as I know, however we were chased out. As my bare ass exposed itself to nature, I heard that dreaded sound.
You know, the summer "buzzing" sound, as you realize you are being eating by a swarm of mosquitoes. I started to smack my own behind and scream bloody murder as I overheard Gig off in the distance swearing up a storm.
We ran out of the woods faster than we did in; all the while screaming and pulling up our pants and we ran. We hopped in the car again and Gig sped off as though we had just robbed a bank.
"I think I may have peed on myself a bit!" I yelled as she pressed the gas.
"I know I did!" Gig yelled back, "but I don't care!"
To be honest, neither did I.
This was the first but not the last time her and I shared a rest stop in the woods. Most trips North almost always include a pull over somewhere, and usually because we have had to much diet pepsi, and neglected to plan for distance to next rest stop (because we don't plan anything).
On a side note, I have also done this without Gig, and indeed it ended worse than prior. I was driving out west to work as a Conservation Officer with a very good friend (who was doing the same) and kept up with the usual ritual of drinking too many damn beverages (non alcoholic).
My friend was in her own car as we were stationed at separate parks, but we kept in touch with radios. I had finished off a large coffee, a bottle of water and a can of diet pepsi as we rounded the turns of the trans Canada Highway just outside of Kenora, ON.
It was raining really hard, and I had reached a point of no return. It was terribly painful as I squirmed in my seat knowing if we didn't reach Kenora soon I was going to burst something.
Suddenly I knew it was pull over or piss myself (the rain really didn't help) and so I pulled a Gig and ripped to the side of the road. I didn't have time to radio my friend, it was the last thing on my mind as I raced out into a field off the highway.
I raced to the trees trying to protect my eyes from the rain, and dropped my pants while letting out a giant sigh of relief. As I hung off the side of a tree, ass out, I looked up in horror to see it again.
It was a house, and it was in the "not so distance." I then noticed a man, standing in the window watching me, at least I saw his shadow, and all I could do was keep on going and wave.
I made it back to my car, and met up with my friend in Kenora. One kilometer down the road, at the Tim's, as she was coming out of the bathroom.
Gig thought this, was hilarious.
. . .
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