The Time I Said "No Thanks" to a Sleepover on Girl Scout Island
Back in 1989 I got my 1st driver's license. I was 17, had just grown about a foot in 6 months and no longer looked like a short fat kid. I was suddenly popular, going to parties and dating girls.
One Saturday morning in June, my mother wakes me up and tells me that my little, red haired sister missed the bus to girl scouts camp and would I mind taking her. I had come in late from a party the night before and had no desire to argue. Next thing you know, good ol' Mom is showing me the Road Atlas for upstate NY, Lake Placid to be exact. I was living in NJ. 300 miles each way, damn near Canada.
source I lived by the "Y" in New Jersey.
My mind starts racing. How many miles is that? How many hours? I've got a date to a party tonight. Any chance I can make it back in time? Let's vamoose!
Turns out, through some distant family friends, we had a brand new Spanish exchange student living in our house. Big family, he kinda got lost in the shuffle. Mom thought it would be a good idea for Oscar to go along for the ride and see the country. I didn't know how much of the country the Spanish kid was going to see from the NY State Thruway, whatever, throw him in the car too.
I fired up the Chevy Celebrity Eurosport, a car with a surprisingly powerful motor, and away we went. Let me remind you that I've only been driving for about a week, so long distance travel was brand new to me. I took to it very well. I was on a mission from God. I wanted to get together with my date in about 10 hours.
Halfway up the Thruway I'd say I caught my stride behind the wheel and the mph needle on the cluster was starting to dip out of view. We had achieved Ludicrous speed. We had hooked up with three other cars that appeared to have the same mission as us. We were hauling ass. Stupid, reckless, 17 year old me decided that 92mph just wasn't going to cut it after awhile and decided to go off on my own.
Big woman trooper lumbered up to the car, gave the usual spiel and dropped my first, and to this day, only speeding ticket of my driving career. I tuned it back somewhat after that.
The Spanish kid to this point had spoken as much as the luggage. His English was worse than my Spanish. He starts chirping about how women shouldn't be in authority and shouldn't disrespect a man like me in this way. Thankfully he went right back to being a deaf mute.
So, long story short, I call my mother from Lake Placid, so she can inform the camp that we would be arriving shortly with my little redheaded demon sister. The camp was on an island in a lake, so they needed to send a boat over to retrieve the little monster.
We get to the camp's boat launch and here comes their water taxi. I am so eager to get back in the car and tear up another 300 miles, I was nearly running in place as this tender meandered over to us. I told you, I was on a mission.
The boat docks and two of the prettiest counselors you've ever seen hop off the boat to gather their little scout. They were so nice. They new that I had a long way home, so the camp had made a provision for me and Oscar.
I was gruff and dismissive, thank you no, big plans, a lot of road ahead of me....I don't think I really heard their offer clearly or my mind was already back on the Thruway. Anyway we parted ways. Me and the deaf mute piled back in the car, not a word was spoken on the ride back, save a few grumbles about lady cops from my compadre.
The ride home was uneventful. I was able to pick up my date before 10pm, but I was so tired, we didn't have any fun that night.
Just once in awhile I think back to that fateful moment, when I said no thanks to a night on Girl Scout Island. An offer that few young men have ever been given. Visions of my own personal harem, including the grapes and the wine, the whole spread. In reality I likely would've gotten a folding cot in the maintenance shed, but a boy can only dream.
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LOL! Great story well told. Thanks!
Thanks, I had fun rehashing that memory.
Ah... Memories of the NY State Thruway! I forget where it turns due west but I was on that part in my 66 SS 396 (650 HP) I got clocked at 210! The cop was great (he had a 383 Interceptor that he "played with a little on weekends) The thing was a dragster, he caught me in about a mile! He warned me that his jurisdiction ended in about 15 miles and the "next guy was a real prick"... I got off with a warning and "nice ride."
Damn, he closed on you doing 210! It turns left heading towards Albany and takes out to Rochester.
Albany is what I thought but it's been many, many years (and miles). Yeah- the guy was driving a dragster! His first words were "pop your hood." He took me back to the cruiser (a Fury III) and popped his... It looked like the cover of Hot Rod Magazine! He had nitrous... that's how he got me so quick I'm sure.
"pop your hood" rather than, "do you know how fast you were going?"
That's a terrific story.
Camp Counselor, the words uttered in hushed whispers around campfires for generations.
Now they'd probably tie you to a post on an ant hill.
"Uttered in hushed whispers" lol.
This day and age I wouldn't put it past them...two young men were never heard from again.