A Three Hour Tour

 In honor of Labor Day fast approaching, here is one of the few Ho Fest stories that will make it to print.

For those of you that do not know, Ho Fest is a bunch of ladies taking a vacation to Ida-HO.  Don’t get excited. It's nothing dirty or hooker related.  We travel almost every year around Labor Day.

We have had some wonderful adventures and activities at Ho Fest over the last 10 years.  Some have included rafts, boats, horses, cows, wheelbarrels, swim fins, falling down, falling off, kayaks, dogs in bars and pick-up trucks with gun racks.  This little adventure was with a Sea Doo among other things.

Usually there are a dozen or so of us up at Julie & Russ Neil’s cabin for the weekend and let’s just say, some of us are more adventurous than others.  This particular trip there was a nice, relaxing sunset cocktail cruise planned on Mike and MJ’s pontoon boat on Cascade Lake.  Now Cascade Lake or Reservoir, if you will, is the closest body of water to the cabin.  It’s bigger than I thought at 693,100 acre feet and it’s kind of long and skinny.  There is an area along the coastline is covered in this nasty sea-weedy algae stuff, but more about that later.  The plan was (Note: There’s always a plan with Julie Neil)  the majority of Ho’s, friends and neighbors would launch the pontoon boat, start cruising and Gayle (I Da Ho) and myself (Gung Ho) would pretend to be 16 again and ride on Gayle’s Sea Doo to meet the boat.   In the middle of a lake. With no GPS.

There were a few things I neglected to inquire about prior to this; one was how to pilot a Sea Doo.  The other was how far we were had to go.  Now, I still do not know exactly how far we were from that boat but if you ask me it was the entire 693,100 acre feet.

So some of the guys trailer the Sea Doo and Gayle and I down to the lake and drop us in.  With a quick lesson we are sent off into the wilderness.  Let me explain.  I know nothing of Sea Doos or any other watercraft.  I am sport craft illiterate, but as usual, I was not about to admit that.  “Oh sure!  Ride them all the time!”   But I am just a passenger in this adventure.   What I do know is I am wearing a lifejacket, I have an ample supply of Giggle Juice (this concoction consists of a myriad of booze and fruit juice) and Gayle supposedly knows what the hell she is doing.  I also know that I am now riding on the back of a machine I know nothing about in a body of water I have never been in.  What could possibly go wrong?

Off we go.  The thing goes a lot faster than I thought, so I’m hangin’ on to poor Gayle for dear life.  The lake is a lot bigger than I imagined and Gayle admits over the roar of the engine that she “really doesn’t drive these often.  Mostly the boys use them”.  Thanks for that.  We head out into open water and I realize that I do not see the boat we are supposed to be meeting.  At all.  As a matter of fact, I don’t see any boats anywhere.  What kind of lake is this?

It becomes apparent after violently bouncing around the water that Gayle is not an expert, although she is maneuvering pretty well.  The bouncing is of the beast is making us crack up and before we know it we are two hysterical, puffy vest-wearing lunatics zipping across Cascade Lake.  She decides to stay within site of the shoreline so we don’t get lost.  There is no GPS after all, and I have no idea where we are headed.  She has never made this trip before.

I can’t recall exactly what struck us as so damn funny but 20 minutes later we were still laughing.

And then the noise started.  It was kind of a glub, glub, blub over an above the wailing engine, but it was evident that there was an issue.  The craft slowed down and so did the giggling.  Before we knew it, the Doo was at a standstill and well, if you don’t know, two women, one with a large ass (mine) cannot stay balanced on a stationary Sea Doo.  It’s like trying to balance on a bike at a stop.  It takes practice which we did not have and it also takes about 50 pounds less of ass in my case so – over we went into the drink. This all happened in about three seconds. 

Now we are bobbing in our jackets, treading water.   I have a sippy cup of Giggle Juice and we are both looking at each other with an “I hope YOU know how to fix this” look.  Gayle tries to start it again.  Nada.  So, crash course on Sea Doo.  This was the conversation, generally:  “There is some green stuff coming out of this pipe thingy.  What is the pipe thingy?  I found a screw driver.  Let’s stick it in the pipe thingy.  Let’s stick it in the other pipe thingy.  Hey, there’s a vine coming out of this framis-sarpis.  Put the screwdriver in the framis sarpis.  Hey look, there is a compartment door.  Ohhhhhhh, pliers!  Put the pliers in the thingy.   Put the pliers and the screwdriver in the thingy……” and on it went. 

After 20 minutes of treading water and no sign of life coming from the machine, I start to panic.  A little.  Plus, we are out of  Giggle Juice, which actually is a legitimate reason to freak out.

Back in the day, I was a great swimmer.  Swim team, Dive Team, I even took the lifeguard course.  That particular course however does not have a chapter on Stranded In Cascade Lake with a jacked up Sea Doo and a quickly evaporating buzz.  So Gayle notices, I get just a bit nervous.

“We’re going to fucking DIE out here” I wail.  Boy the truth comes out in the middle of a lake, doesn’t it?  “Sweet Jesus we have to fix this thing…whatarewegonnado?” I’m babbling.  I’m kicking under the water frantically and expelling three times the amount of energy needed to tread water in a life jacket.  I honestly could have just stopped moving all together and been fine, but of course that didn’t even remotely happen.

Gayle at this point is again laughing.  Not only that, she’s laughing AT me, not WITH me, as I don’t think this is humorous.    And I tell her so.  “What’s so fuckin’ funny?” I scream.   “There isn’t a boat for miles, I don’t know where we are at and I’m floating out here in the middle of nowhere, I’m….I’m…. pruney!!”  They are going to find us out here….wrinkled skeletons grasping on to a defunct Sea Doo and you think this is funny you, you… HO!!”

Gayle is now in tears cackling watching me huff and puff, legs kicking, arms flailing in panic mode. 

 “Kelly” she says.  I don’t answer.  I’m too busy freaking out.  Gayle keeps trying to reach me…“Kelly, Kelly, KELLY….” 

“WHAT!!!” I blurt.

Gayle looks at me with the first straight face she’s had in 45 minutes.

  “Stand up”.

Well Fuck. Wouldn’t you know it?  I was about to drown in four point five feet of water.  Shit. 

Well, that launched us into ten more solid minutes of howls and screams to the point of exhaustion. 

We then took to fixing the damn Sea Doo.  The sea weedy crap that follows the shoreline of Cascade Lake had plugged up what we presumed to be the intake.  We stood there, yanking out about fifty feet of green slimey crap from that intake pipe for about thirty minutes.  Miraculously, the craft started.  This posed a completely different dilemma.  Have you ever tried to mount a small watercraft in roughly five feet of water?  Well, let me tell you, it’s damn near impossible.  What makes it worse is that extra fifty pounds of ass I referenced earlier.  Not too often in my life would I want a video camera present but fuck me if that wasn't a million dollar winner.

Gayle is trying to balance on a running Sea Doo and me, in graceful moves fitting a water buffalo trying to play hopscotch, I am trying to haul up onto a moving target.  Another twenty minutes later I have managed to hoist (and I mean HOIST) up on to the puttering boat and we are off.  You know we managed to clog up that damn intake one more time before we found the pontoon boat?  Lather, rinse, repeat.  The second time was not as time consuming, but not funny anymore.

There were not as many giggles for the rest of ride, with me being a confirmed idiot and all, but it was fun regardless. 

When we arrived at the pontoon boat, (miracle of miracles!) the Ho’s were in full swing.  We pulled up and they were laughing and hootin’ and hollerin’ clueless of our adventure.  The fact that our arrival was two hours later than planned apparently made no dent in the festivities.  They cut the boat engine and we jumped on thankfully without incident.  We tied up the Sea Doo to the back of the pontoon boat.  Mike Bowen, our captain and boat owner went to re-start the huge boat….turned the key.  Glub…blu…glub.  Nothing.   What the Fuck?  Is there some kind of mechanical curse following my big ass around Cascade Lake?  Now there’s eleven Ho’s, a captain and two additional bystanders stranded out the in the middle of the lake on a double decker pontoon boat.  Now honestly, the thought crossed my mind to jump on the damn Sea Doo and head to shore, because as you could imagine, I was over The Lake at this point. 

But no.  The team “Ho” that I am, I stuck with the group and helped develop a master plan, which sounded good at the time.

There were roughly a dozen of us now, on a two story floating plank with pontoons strapped to each side.  There have been plenty of beers consumed and cocktails were a-flowin’…so the fact that we didn’t have enough REAL paddles didn’t seem to faze any of us.  All items even having the resemblance of a flat surface were used as oars.  Cooler tops, swim fins, seat backs, lawn chairs and even a couple of actual oars were located.  We even used lifejackets as if I recall, pretty much everyone had shed them at this point. 

So we paddled.  And paddled.  It was now dusk.  And we paddled.  By some miracle we got to shore and loaded up the boat.  Buzz gone, arms tired, and bitching up a storm we descended on the only full cooler remaining in the truck and soon, all displeasure faded into giggles and stories. 

Apparently, the Sea Doo story was not enough excitement for me, so I threw in a stranded pontoon boat kicker.

Although shockingly, the option has never again been presented for the borrowing of the Sea Doo, every year Julie seriously asks, “So, how about a cocktail cruise on the pontoon”.

All the Ho’s just smile and say “Uh, NO”.

What you don't know CAN hurt you.

As I mentioned before I travel quite a bit, which means leaving my car at the airport in long term parking.  Abunch.  It’s actually much safer there because for some reason, people like to try and steal my car.  Sometimes successfully out of my own driveway, but more on that later.  The reason I mention this is that my car is not some great prize.  I love it, but frankly most people think it’s a big piece of shit.  It’s a 1994 Honda del Sol.  I bought it about 5 years ago off of Craig’s List.  The car was cheap.  It came with no manual, a short in the aftermarket radio and one single key with a key fob that did nothing.  I asked about this when I purchased it and the response I got was “Dunno.  Guess there was an alarm, but it don’t do nuthin’ now.”  I just left the fob on the ring.  Fair enough, off I drove, useless fob and all.

Fast forward 5 years – FIVE -  and here I am at McCarran Airport in Vegas.  I just had a whirlwind of a trip to Phoenix/Tucson/Phoenix that included piles of invoices, meetings, billboards being torn down, one old friend, a mysterious bag, a hooker, 240 miles of driving and a Waffle House.  Again, another story.  Regardless, I was wiped out.  I landed, threw my backpack over my shoulder and with the iPod still blaring, waltzed to the long term parking.  It was a Saturday around 9am and in another freakish coincidence, raining in Las Vegas.

I found my car among the masses, dug out my keys and opened my trunk and heaved my bulging backpack into the abyss of crap (see chicken story).  Mind you, iPod is still on, and loud.  It’s a good thing too, because some idiot’s car alarm is just wailing away.  I open the car door, plop down, insert key, turn.  Nothing.  Wonderful.  Dead battery.  Did I leave my lights on?  No.  I get out of the car. 

WHEEWWHEEWWHEEWWHEEWWHEEW……Damn that is loud.  So I figure I need a jump, and this not being my first encounter with a dead battery at the airport I lock up my bag and  decide to head over to the “Emergency Phone”  which, by the way, if there ever actually were an emergency, we’d all be fucked.   It is at that point I turn off the iPod and get the full effect of the idiot’s guilty car alarm.  Where the hell is it coming from and why won’t it stop?  And then I see it.  Flashing parking lights.  On my car.  Ok wait, I have no alarm.  Never have.  Not even a hint of an alarm.  What the hell is this?  It stops.  I am now baffled.  I gingerly walk back over to the car like there’s a field of land mines surrounding it.  Tippy toes.  I open the driver’s side door….. WHEWWHEW WHEWHEWWHEW WHEW WHEW lights flashing all hell breaks loose again.  Now I get a look around and realize travelers have been glaring at me for 10 minutes as they retrieve their vehicles because as it turns out, I’m the idiot with the car alarm.  This does not answer the issue of well, I DON’T HAVE AN ALARM.   Never ever.  This car has been smashed into, jacked with a slim Jim and once (just since I’ve owned it) stolen.  Out of my own driveway.   They shimmied the window, shoved a screwdriver in the ignition and stole it t around 4:30 in the morning.   No alarm.  It was found after being picked of parts, including the roof and seats - not one peep out of an alarm. 

So, since the alarm made a comeback, I tried the mystery key fob.  Nope.  Nothing.   It will not turn off.

 WeeeeeHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEW……

So ladies, what is the first thing a married lady does when in a pickle?  Call the husband.  My husband is a no-nonsense kind of guy, that’s why I married him.  But in this particular instance, a little sympathy might have been in order.  I drove at 4am from Tucson to Phoenix, returned the car, hopped a plane schlepped bags out to my car for a drive home in the rain only to be confronted by the loudest most obnoxious car alarm ever and I can’t turn it off.  What does he say to me?  “Well, what do you want ME to do?”  I hung up on him.  There was no help to be had there.   Not that I could hear him anyway… WHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEW…………..back I trek to the emergency phone.  “Hullo ?  Yes, I’m on level four. LEVEL FOUR IN A YELLOW HONDA”.  I scream. “YELL-OW HONDA.  YES IT’S AN ALARM.  YES I NEED ASSISTANCE…”  and so it went on,  And on. Me hollering into the funkified emergency phone in the parking garage.  I walk back to the car.  It has stopped.  I crawl in the driver’s side window head first, my huge ass sticking out the window.  Legs a-kickin'... I don’t want to open the door and start the offending noise.  I'm twisted under the dash looking for some sort of light, switch, lever, something.  Nada.

Finally, “emergency” Assistance arrives via Gomer in a pickup.  So start the questions…Battery?  Not exactly.  I explain that a mystery surprise car alarm has revealed itself and will not turn off.  He looks at me like I have two heads.  No really, I explain, there is no alarm on this car.  So what does he do?  Opens the driver door………….. WHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEWHEW……. The genius then proceeds to do what I have already attempted.  Looks around for a switch, kill switch, something.  Of course there is nothing.  So he calls Gomer number 2 over and he gets on the radio to Gomer number three on the security bike and before you know it, I have an impromptu imbecile convention in front of my still shrieking, flashing Honda.  After all this, four mechanics, two sets of jumper cables and a now an hour of “Yes, I tried that” I finally send all of the Einsteins on their merry way and do the only thing left in my arsenal.  Call the Honda dealership.

Have you tried to find a maintenance guy at an auto dealership at 10:30am on a Saturday?  Press two.  Press three.  Press zero.  Thank GOD it wasn't voice activated.  My side of the conversation: “Hello?  Yes, YES. KELLY SHEEHAN (insert alarm whewwhewwhewhwhew) at the AIRPORT.   NO AIR port.  It’s a DEL SOL.  Yes, the alarm that you hear.  It tried that.  I tried that.  Yes, that too.   Well gee, thanks”.

And the recommendation?  Call a tow truck.  No shit.  Isn’t there some secret button?  Nope.

It is at this point, my cell phone battery runs out., which is awesome.

Of course the only thing I can do is plug it into my finally silent car and turn the key, which of course turns on the alarm. 

 WHEWWHEWWHEWWHEW “HELLO EWING BROTHERS?  I NEED A TOW.  THE AIR PORT.  AIR-PORT.  IN THE GA-RAGE” WHEWWHEWWHEWWHEW….and so on.

The driver had to call me for directions.  I’m sorry, could you not follow the shrieking and find the flashing yellow car? Apparently not.   And guess what… I didn’t hear the phone on the call back.  He couln't hear me on the return call and so on.  Back and forth.  Another 45 minutes and Mr. Tow guy shows up.

At this point, I learned something new.  If you try and tow a car and cannot turn off the alarm, it just stays on.  There is some sort of elevation trigger that sets it off.  So here I am, almost four hours later, in a tow truck in the rain with my flashing yellow SCREAMING Honda all tilted up in tow.  That car screamed, wailed and flashed all the way across town to the Honda dealership. 

Oh, the looks I got. 

We pulled in to service.  “So, problem with the alarm?” 

Did he REALLY just ask that? Asshole.

So, four hours, $285 and NO alarm later I drove home to my don’t-call-in –a-crisis husband.  So not speaking to him.

Flash forward and do you know, I just paid $175 for a new alarm on that very car.  They said they found the remnants of a very fancy-schmancy alarm system already installed, but it looked like something may have been wrong with it.

“Really?” I said.  “Who knew?”.