Stu News and Photos

If you haven't yet, read Part One here

When we last saw our intrepid blogger, he was... Ok, let me tell it in first person...

I was down from the tree, safely, proud, bragging about my abilities to my long-suffering wife. Tales of childhood tree, rock, and building-climbing were told. And the fact that I'd successfully climbed a tree at age 40 (in about a week) was mentioned several more times.

We walked back to our guitars, played for a bit, sang, watched other people (who were camped out nearby) pack up and leave...

"But why are they leaving?" I asked. Did my playing bum them out? Did I accidentally cuss too loud? My wife shrugged her shoulders and we blew it off.

Then, about fifteen minutes later, my fingers a bit tired, but none-the-worse for wear, I put down my guitar and looked at my watch. Leslie had said that the park closed at 5pm, and it was now about 4:40 or so. Time to pack up ourselves.

We grabbed our git-boxes and water bottles and our packs and headed towards the front gate...

...which was padlocked shut.

Yeah.

Turns out that the park closes promptly at 4:30, not 5. As the sign clearly states as you enter the park, the sign that I failed to read completely (and of course the time was at the bottom, not the top).

Yeah. Locked in. Cool.

Leslie was afraid I'd blow a gasket, as she was the one who spoke with authority about the closure time, but I told her I could have read the sign myself, and that this was just going to be another fun adventure.

Ah yes, prescient indeed.

At first I thought it would be simple to fix, 'cause, hey, this has to have happened before, right? There's got to be a system in place for this, right?

We looked around for a "Locked In? Call This Number" sign, but no luck. Just the 911 sign, and I wasn't about to disturb emergency workers because of my lack of brains.

But then what? We looked at each other for a few seconds, laughed, and decided that hopping the fence was the only choice left.

The fence was all around the park, made of chain-link, about 6 feet tall, with the edges left pointy at the top. Maybe this was to prevent vandalism, maybe this was to make sure no one stole a tree. Anyway, onward into the breach.

Leslie went over first, without any prodding from my side. She just hauled herself up and over. Well, not over, just up. Remember the pointy tops of the fence? They caught her good on a few body parts. Nothing deep, but there were abrasions (and bruises to be named later). Still, Leslie, ever the stronger one, didn't utter a whimper, just kept on going, until she was on the other side of the fence.

From there, things went very smoothly. We passed the guitar cases over first, then the pack, then the water bottles, and then it was time for me.

Yeah.

See, I'm not overly-heavy, but I'm not in great shape either. And while tree-climbing is a legs thing, fence-climbing is in the arms. And I have T-Rex arms. So, despite my best efforts, I couldn't pull myself up the fence. And my fat feet wouldn't fit in the gaps of the fence, so I was stuck. Very embarrassing.

After my inner-macho gave me a little grief, I swallowed my pride and set out to explore the park, in hopes that someone was camping overnight, and would be willing to give me a leg up.

It took a while, but eventually I rousted a couple of young men (in their 20s) and asked for assistance. They were polite, hiding their smiles, and walked with me to the fence. Adventure appearing to end, dinner within sight! Leslie's face lit up as I approached the fence, cavalry bringing up the rear.

The larger one, a big guy, almost beefy, stepped up to the plate and folded his hands in the perfect leg-up position. I popped a foot in, grabbed the fence, and prepared to pull myself over.

Except this guy didn't quite know his own strength, and I found myself being rocketed over the fence. Thinking quickly, I grabbed the other side of the fence, as far down as I could, in an attempt to swing my legs all the way over, so at least I'd land feet-first.

And it worked. Almost.

I landed just fine, but I wobbled a bit (bad middle-ear) and fell on my butt.

But that's not all.

Because what I failed to notice as I started over the fence was the proximity of the brick wall that made up part of the entrance to the park. So when I landed on my rear-end, I also fell back a little bit more, smacking the back of my head on the wall.

Yeah.

Fortunately, most of the energy had already been transferred, so I didn't get a concussion or even a lump, just got my bell rung a bit. We thanked the nice young men, got in the truck, and took off for dinner.

Oh yeah, when Leslie was in the truck, relating what she experienced watching me going over the fence, she suddenly burst out laughing. Turns out that when my head hit the wall, it made a very funny coconut-like sound, just like in the movies. She apologized as she laughed, but it was clearly too funny. I laughed myself, regretting a lack of recording equipment, as I'll bet the sound was indeed hugely funny. And as I was relatively unscathed, and as Leslie had her own injuries, I was fine being the object of a good giggle.

And that was our Saturday night adventure. Sunday's adventure was far more traumatic...