Traveling with Bob and Fern

We met Bob #1 somewhere between the barn in Potlatch, Idaho, and the Montana state line.  He’d been sitting in a corner, short, dark and obnoxious, just waiting for the right moment to approach us. 

            “There’s a fly in here,” I said, disgruntled as Bob buzzed around my face in ever nearing circles. 

            “Yes, I think he came with us from home,” Kori replied, “Maybe we can get him to go out the window.”

This seemed like a good plan but Bob was apparently adept at riding the airwaves to the outdoors and at the last minute zooming back through the window into the cab of the pickup.  I imagined him as a tiny surfer, probably showing the “hang 10” sign with his little forelegs, as he swooped in and out of the window. Bob gleefully stuck with us through the first 100 miles.  Since he was so fond of us, it seemed only fair to give him a name.  Referring to him as “that fly”, or occasionally as “that____fly”, seemed so impersonal.  We decided to name him Bob.

Bob, over the next 200 miles, proved to be a fine example of his species.  While houseflies are of the genus “musca domestica” Bob fell into the genus “giantus pesticus”.  Unfortunately, I had ample opportunity to observe his maneuvers.  His preferred move was to circle our heads at a level even with our ears while buzzing his wings in a manner reminiscent of a crop duster plane.  Another favorite pattern of Bob’s was similar to pole bending, wherein he darted close to our ear and then away in a weaving pattern.  Bob also seemed to enjoy our diet of nuts, fruit, jerky and vegetables, a healthy nutritional plan to which Marcia and Kori were adhering. After another 300 miles, this hearty fare seemed to give Bob more energy and vigor.  He zoomed between the front and back seat, determined to give each of us an equal amount of time in his dubious company.  At fuel stops we would try to shoo him out but he joyfully employed evasion tactics worthy of the best fighter pilot in the sights of a bogey.  We were getting close to our first night’s destination in Wyoming when Marcia had enough. 

Whack!  The pickup’s dash shuddered under the impact of her hand.  Marcia had employed a crude but effective method to dispose of Bob.

            “Never mess with a Marine, Bob,” I said as I shook my head sadly at his squashed remains.

After a peaceful, if short, night in Cheyenne, Wyoming, we loaded our horse, Stretch, again and mounted our trusty pickup for another day of driving.  With over 700 miles ahead of us before we reached our destination in Guthrie, Oklahoma, we knew we would be stopping only for fuel.  We had packed many healthful snacks and this would be day two of eating what I referred to as the “twigs and berries” diet.  I have nothing against being healthy but this regimen had a taint of bigotry.  You eat nothing that is white, meaning no white sugar and no white flour.  No bread, no pasta, no pastry, nothing breaded and deep-fried. This ban on white food is like reverse racism, although my chocolate covered raisins received stern looks and frowns even though they were the right color and had fruit on the inside. 

“They’re full of white sugar,” Marcia said as though condemning my raisins to the firing squad.  

On the other hand, with this diet, if you want to dip your Brussels sprouts in water, take them outside, roll them around on the ground and then eat them, there is nothing stopping you. That is perfectly fine.  As long as you can “harvest” it from the wild, you can eat it.  I can harvest deer droppings from the wild but I wouldn’t eat them, even if you soaked them in chocolate and cooked them in the deep fat fryer.

Anyway, we were about 200 miles along and I was rummaging in our bags of foodstuffs when I heard it. It was a noise like a turbo prop plane coming in for landing. 

“Hey, Bob’s back!” I exclaimed.  Then I remembered the carnage of yesterday.  “Oh, wait.  This must be Bob #2.”

“Geez,” Kori said, “What is it about us that attracts flies?”

“I don’t know and I don’t want to know,” I replied.  “It might be this food.”

Bob #2 had many of the attributes of Bob #1, including peskiness and tenacity.  Although originally from Wyoming, it was clear that Bob #2 had his sights set on bigger things.  He wanted to attend the American Horsewoman’s Challenge and nothing was going to stand in his way.  He had dreams of climate-controlled arenas filled with horses and horse deposits, dreams of huge areas full of food that came from vending machines and concession stands.  Ideas of grandeur and utopia were obviously filling Bob #2’s head.  Bob stuck with us all the way, surviving multiple attempts to ditch him in Colorado and Kansas, not to mention several attempts on his life.  Lucky for him, Marcia’s eye-hand coordination wasn’t that great after two days of little sleep and eating twigs and berries.

            Reaching the arena in Guthrie, Oklahoma, we opened the door and with no prompting, Bob #2 flew outside. 

            “Go be all you can be, Bob,” I said, waving and wishing him luck.

            We spent the next five days at the Lazy E Arena, meeting several of Bob’s kinfolk and learning to say y’all.  We were asked several times where we were from (whar y’all from?), as people didn’t recognize our “accent”.  At one point Marcia was asked if she was from England.  Through the use of some good fly spray and the strategic application of Stretch’s tail we were able to refrain from developing a close relationship with any of Bob’s Oklahoma cousins.  Marcia and Stretch competed successfully, garnering top 10 placings in liberty and trail, a win in cowboy dressage, and a 6^th place overall finish.  We were so excited and proud of our team!  At the end of the week we were happy but definitely ready to start for home.

            We headed west Monday morning planning our night’s stay in Colorado.  When we hit Kansas we realized we had a hitchhiker.  Bob #3 was buzzing around the cab like a chainsaw on steroids.  He was a busy guy and seemed to be everywhere.  I had a suspicion that he’d snitched some caffeine from our morning coffee cups and was on a high. It was as if there was two of him.  Wait a minute….

            “Hey, now there are two flies in here!” I exclaimed.  “Bob must have brought Bobette with him.” 

            “I bet these are Kansas flies.  She should have a nice Midwestern name,” Kori said.  “How about Fern?”

            “Perfect,” I replied. 

            Bob and Fern were obviously excited about the trip.  I was sincerely hoping they weren’t on their honeymoon.  We had no desire to be unwitting onlookers to the culmination of their relationship.  Not only that, but we also wanted to avoid being the transportation vehicle for any resulting progeny.  There are probably laws against that.

             Fortunately, Bob #3 realized that we were on the twigs and berries diet (again!) and decided he wanted to stay in Kansas where there is down-home cooking and he could get bread, pasta and sugar whenever he wanted it.  He made no fuss when we rolled down the window and offered him a path to real carbohydrates.  He zipped out the window as if glad to escape.  But alas, as with many newly married couples, Fern and Bob’s communication skills were lacking.  Bob flew out oblivious of the fact that Fern was still inside the pickup.  Poor Fern, upset about Bob’s defection, couldn’t seem to marshal her emotions and make a plan.  Buzzing on and on about the perfidy of males, she flew in circles and seemed to spiral between anger and depression.  It was obvious that Fern needed to spend some time with girlfriends and eat about a gallon of chocolate ice cream to soothe her hurts. 

            “Listen, Fern,” I said.  “You’ve got to move on with your life.  Bob was nothing but a pest and a bother.  He was more like a flea than a fly.  He deserves a good spraying with Raid.  You just forget him, girl, and go find yourself another insect.  Besides, you’ll never find any chocolate ice cream around here.”

Fern took my words to heart and out the window she went. 

The rest of our trip was thankfully uneventful.  We arrived home safe and sound and Stretch was happy to get out of the trailer and into the pasture.  I watched him pull the grass and chew with enjoyment.  Stretch, my friend, I thought, enjoy your twigs and berries diet.  I’m going to cook up a plate of pasta, bread and fried meat, followed by pie and ice cream.