Sunday, February 01, 2015

Lake Thunder: Part Six

With only a few nibbles on our line on the Saturday, Sunday morning came like a freight train of reality. Some time in the night, Joel had tried to find the bathroom in the pitch dark after passing out, and in one fell swoop, knocked over a tv table and a side table, sending the jar of peanuts and a few cans flying, landing with a thud, and making a racket that sounded like a small herd of cattle being let out a pen. I shot up on the couch, thinking that an intruder might have stumbled upon us in Otter Lake, but I only heard Joel say "it's okay - it's just me. Ow. Joel fall down, go boom," he mumbled. When Steve got up in the morning and saw the crime scene in the living room and asked 'What happened?', Spencer responded "Joel happened." Chuckles ensued. We all helped clean the scene as Joel grabbed a few more z's. Cleaning the cottage is always a sobering task, but a small price to pay for entry to the promised land.

Spencer hit the road early to hit the slopes, and we wished him well.

Steve and I headed back to town and picked up some coffee and food. Smiths Falls looked salty and dirty. We didn't say much, as we knew the end was coming. Steve and I never have to say too much to understand each other. We blasted back to the cottage, found a living Joel, and we hit the lake for a few more hours of shack time. Steve vapourized as Joel and I cut a few log shards and stoked the stove. Heat was getting thrown about, and my frozen rock toes began to thaw. We looked around at our tiny sliver of winter paradise and marvelled at the arrival of February. A handful half frozen cans had been popped by the winter witch in the night. Steve enjoyed an icy Mill Street organic that Spence left behind. We let them thaw by the fire and cleaned up a bit.

The three of us hit the road after another clean sweep - Joel in his red truck and Steve and I in my CRV. I realized how much both of these guys mean to me, and in a moment of midday sun, I turned to Steve and said, "Well, even though we didn't catch anything, at least we got to spend time-" my philosophical moment was cut short by Steve still hashing plans for a revamp of the shack "-Ya know, Canadian Tire have these cool parabolic heaters..." and off he went, on a usual Steve build-wizard tangent.

I smiled at the hilarity and coolness of that instant.

And wouldn't ya know it, less than two kilometres from my house, the squealing belt finally snapped, and I forced my car through a few turns as the power steering was seized. But I made it home, and I took it all in.

Engine off.

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