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The Fog

What happens in the fog, stays in the fog… we hope.

By L. Lane BaileyPublished 3 years ago 6 min read
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The Fog
Photo by anna breaux on Unsplash

Among a group of our friends, this is simply referred to as “The Story”. It has been told hundreds of times. My friend has stood next to me to aid in the telling of the story. Upon meeting his future wife, the telling of the story began only a few minutes later. Last weekend, at the Eagle Court of Honor ceremony for one of my sons, my friend’s son asked that I tell the story again… his girlfriend wanted to hear it.

My friend and I tell many stories. We have had exciting and interesting adventures together, travelling the country for fun. I have long told my sons that I hope they can have a friend with whom they have the same kind of relationship. Our two families are about as close as one.

Everyone needs to have a friend like that. We joke that we are as close as brothers, but by choice, not chance.

***

The Jeep only had the brief top and the tonneau cover on as I picked up my passenger for the three-day trek to Big South Fork. We were doing a recon run to an area some friends wanted to go four-wheeling. We were packed to camp, adventure and, if necessary, recover ourselves if we got stuck. We were set up to be self-sufficient.

As we motored north out of the Atlanta area, the first stop was Dalton… where carpet is born. We weren’t there for carpet, but to get gas. At least, that was the Jeep’s purpose on the stop.

By Luis Ramirez on Unsplash

My passenger dismounted and jogged in to “take advantage of the facilities” before we got further from civilization. I finished pumping gas. Then paid. Then thumbed through a magazine. And another. I was becoming concerned. An unusual line was forming outside of the men’s room. Normally, guys are in and out quick, but there was a delay.

After I made it through the sale ads for helicopters and small planes, my friend hurriedly exited the lavatory. He was discreetly trying to tell me that we should make haste. As he transited the short hallway pack into the main part of the convenience store, the person that entered the restroom behind him exited… the door had hardly closed before reopening. The hapless victim was coughing as if teargassed by an angry riot squad.

“You ok?” I asked as we both hopped back into the open-air Jeep.

“Last night’s dinner seems not to agree with me,” he explained.

A mere thirty minutes later we were pulling into the Tennessee Welcome Center so that we could “check out the maps”. As he proceeded to the restroom, I checked out a few travel brochures. And then some more. After thoroughly studying all that Eastern, Central and Western Tennessee had to offer, my friend reappeared, and we once again loaded ourselves up for the drive to the northern edge of the state.

By Rebecca Prest on Unsplash

A few miles up the road, as we approached the Hiwassee River, a heavy fog set into our early morning drive. It isn’t uncommon this area to have dense fog, especially early in the day. There are lots of warning signs and even extra road reflectors to ward off the accidents that were once all too common there. And this morning was one of those heavy fog days.

“How far are we from the next rest area?” he asked as we drove along in the cloud.

“Seven miles I think…”

“Nope… Pull over.”

I did as requested, sure my seats would thank you. Passing over the rumble strips, I pulled well off the road onto the shoulder. I jumped out of the jeep and opened the tonneau to retrieve a roll of multipurpose paper. Handing it off, my friend disappeared into the early morning fog, soon disappearing in the dim light of the woods beyond.

I milled around the back of the Jeep, making sure all our supplies were properly secured. I pulled a soft drink from the cooler. I counted trucks for a little while.

“Two-hundred-fourteen,” I said out loud.

Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye. My friend was running through the woods, toilet paper streaming behind him from where he had it cradled under his arm. He was holding his pants as he ran, his legs seeming not to be cooperating with each other… his normal lanky running style. There was panic in his eyes.

He tossed me the roll of paper, whisper-shouting for me to hurry up. I quickly buttoned up the back of the Jeep and jumped in, looking for a slot in traffic to ease back in.

“Might as well hit the rest area,” he said, a wild look in his eyes.

“Dude?!”

“Can’t be much more.”

I pulled off the highway yet again and rolled into the rest area. As I parked, he was out of the Jeep and trotting up the sidewalk seemingly before I was stopped… urgency in his steps.

With nothing else to do, I more carefully packed the toilet paper and then just sat back for a few minutes. The fog had started to lift and blow over, a beautiful morning shining down upon us. I took a moment to pack the upper soft doors away in the back of the Jeep, letting us better enjoy the wonderous day.

And with my friend’s gastro-intestinal issues, perhaps keep the air in the open cabin even fresher.

“I think I have worked through everything,” he said, mounting back up in the Jeep again.

“What happened back there?” I asked, merging onto I-75.

I settled in for the explanation. My friend is an amazing storyteller. My equal at the very least. However, I must say that when we tell a story together, we eclipse either of us individually.

“I jogged off into the woods… just far enough to not be visible to traffic,” he told me. “I found a nice spot, quite nice actually. There was a small clearing. And a deer that looked back at me as I dropped my pants while leaning back over a downed tree.

By Lukasz Szmigiel on Unsplash

“As everything finished up, I noticed that the sun was burning through. A beam of light appeared in front of me, lighting a patch of flowers on the ground. ‘How pretty,’ I thought to myself. Then I started looking around as I did the post-operative cleanup.

“I looked to my left… it was like a garden. That didn’t sink in until a moment later… when I looked to my right and saw a swing set. Swing set. My head swiveled back around to the garden, seeing the scarecrow. I continued to look back, craning my neck behind… a house. A kitchen window with a light emanating from inside. A woman standing at the sink doing her dishes.

“I was in someone’s back-freaking-yard,” he yelled. “My pants were down, and I was taking a dump in someone’s yard as they ate breakfast. Thirty feet away!” He dropped into his weather forecaster voice, “There will be a full moon first thing in the morning, low over the horizon… but only for a few rural residents of Calhoun Tennessee.”

I laughed.

“I had to run, man. The last thing I need is a pissed off, shat upon farmer chasing me through the woods with a shotgun.”

A few minutes later he laughed.

***

The trip continued. I would say “without incident” but many of our best stories are front that trip. The wild boar, the prehistoric mud, the giant dump trucks, bugs, and the skunk in camp… just to give passing mention to a few.

travel advice
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About the Creator

L. Lane Bailey

Dad, Husband, Author, Jeeper, former Pro Photographer. I have 15 novels on Amazon. I write action/thrillers with a side of romance. You can also find me on my blog. I offer a free ebook to blog subscribers.

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