Kite Wars

Chapter 15 Camp Keowa Monday, August 3rd The bus was much too close to the edge of the cliff. From my seat, I could see straight down the rocky embankment to the narrow river below. “Man, you look green,” Filthy yelled over the sound of the engine. “You’re not going to make it, are you?” Until his diagnosis, I’d managed to suppress the queasy feeling. I held a hand over my mouth. “Filthy, I don’t feel so good.” “Maybe you should look the other way.” I turned towards the window and immediately the rushing landscape caused my head to spin and my stomach to groan. “Why me?” “Why? How about all the food you munched away for lunch?” Oh yeah, it’s not easy to forget three chili-dogs, not when they’re coming back up. The bus didn’t help, not when I felt every nauseating tilt and curve of the road. The sudden acceleration as the driver jerked and pushed the reluctant stick shift through its gears. Of course, the diesel fumes sucking in through the window only served to turn me greener. Junior wouldn’t stop jumping in the seat ahead of me, showing off all the Oreos, Suzy Qs and Moon Pies, his mother packed. He turned around in his seat and held out half a Devil Dog in his sticky hands. “You want some? I’ve got loads.” Junior’s open mouth exposed a nasty glob of half-chewed chocolate drool. That was all I needed. I thrust my head out the open window and heaved. “Aaaaagh!” Four rows back someone squealed. I quickly learned that it is not a good idea to expel anything from a moving vehicle, and that if you must sit near the rear, it would be wise to keep the window closed. When the bus turned onto a dirt road, we all cheered at the sight of a large brown sign with bright yellow lettering that read Ten Mile River Scout Camp. The month before, my stupendous wilderness adventure, Scoutmaster Del Fuego rounded up the troop at our meeting and said, “Don’t forget, next Saturday we go to Dr. Peterson for physical. And for goodness sake, don’t forget to take a bath.” Garbanzo leaned towards my ear. “You ever seen Dr. Peterson?” His stupid smirk told me something was up. “No, why?” “He squeezes your nuts.” He made a grimacing face as he glanced at my groin area. “What? You’re joking.” My hands instantly crossed in front of me. Garbanzo lifted his eyebrows for emphasis. “You’ll see. It’s part of the test.” “Test for what?” He didn’t answer. All that week, I was tormented with nightmares. I dreamt Dr. Peterson was a crazed scalpel wielding surgeon about to stick me with a long needle, gag me with huge tongue depressors, and squeeze my…. On the morning of the physical, the other scouts were already at the doctor’s office. I found myself, twirling my thumbs and sliding off the plastic covered love seat as I waited. A hefty nurse stepped in, looked over her clipboard and pointed at me. “You’re next.” I froze. “Yes, you.” She took me by the hand and dragged me towards the examining room. “Come on, it’s not going to hurt.” “Much,” Garbanzo chuckled as I was taken away. I sat and waited in that chamber of horrors with my eyes closed and my legs crossed. When Dr. Peterson opened the door, he was not the scary Dr. Frankenstein I’d expected. With his bald head and white lab coat, the man was an Elmer Fudd look-a-like. He looked inside my mouth, my eyes and my ears, which he said I should keep cleaner. He took my weight, listened to my heart and said, “Drop your pants.” “What?” Garbanzo was right. He’s going to squeeze ‘em. “Turn your head and cough.” He applied a slight pressure to my side and that was that. He pronounced me fit and reminded me to wash behind my ears. That’s it? I’m done? I couldn’t believe it. I pulled up my pants and shot out faster than he could say, “Have a good time in camp.” The bus bucked and bounced over every pothole as it scraped by low branches on the narrow dirt road. After three agonizing hours of nausea and anticipation all I saw from the window was dense forest. We finally emerged from the tunnel of trees into a sunny open field of green. I could not wait a second longer to get off that suffocating vehicle. I hurried to the door, jumped off and sucked in a refreshing gasp of mountain air. I later learned the camp’s earthy smell was that of hay, fresh pine and newly cut grass. The intermingled scents were as sweet and warm and comforting as any I’d ever known. The meadow sloped gently to the shores of Crystal Lake where a swimming dock, silver canoes and rowboats awaited my arrival. In the center of the field, a tall flagpole marked the ceremonial reviewing area my troop and those from other districts were sent to assemble. There to greet us was Mr. Benson, the one-legged ex-Army general camp director. “Welcome to Keowa, the best of all the camps in Ten Mile River.” The General, as he liked to be called, saluted us and spoke with such a loud voice, it boomeranged over the hills. I was very impressed by all the pins, medals and patches he wore—especially the one over his left eye. Ignoring the fact that we were itching to go, he proceeded to tell us in great detail about the camp’s history and its rules. Despite my silent plea he’d stop talking, he continued by pointing out the mess hall, the softball field, the chapel, the arts and crafts cabin, the hiking trails, his headquarters and the waterfront. Without taking a breath he bragged on about the functions of the canteen, nature lodge and infirmary. His speech covered every geological feature of wilderness we would enjoy on into the next county. I couldn’t take it and thought our camp stay would be over before he’d shut up. When my already shaky hold on patience deserted me, I hissed, “Hey, when are we getting to the fun stuff?” It was loud enough for Mr. Del Fuego to hear. He gave such a look, I was afraid he’d throw me back on the bus. “… So make your stay at Camp Keowa a happy stay.” I shouted, “Amen,” when The General, or Ol’ Peg Leg, as we later called him, finally finished. I shouldered my backpack and happily ran off with the other screaming lunatics to our cabins and into my bathing suit for my first cool activity—the swim test.