I’d never been kidnapped before. I don’t think you can count the occasional overzealous fan who invites you to party, as we used to say in the eighties, and you end up in some neighborhood in a town where you haven’t a clue how to get back to your motel where if memory serves you well the band is staying that night. Oh, let’s just say it’s been a while…for the party or the band.
I really can’t say how it happened. I’d taken the #2 Woburn bus, as one does, from Nimrod’s Bar in Lower Woburn to St George’s to pick up the brand new Volvo exhaust elbows to replace the ones that had rusted out and clogged up the works. The good news is that the #2 stops right at the post office in St George’s and with any luck at all I could make quick work of picking up the package and get back to Escape Velocity in time to install the buggers. I don’t like having just one engine. I’m well practiced at retrieving the packages but the #2 bus to Woburn has been getting scarce lately and today was no exception. Finally a #2 Grenville pilot stopped his bus but I said no, I’m going to Woburn. He smiled and said no worries, I’ll take you to Woburn. I had to tell him the last time this happened the whole bus got upset about the detour. Hey man, no problem. I got in.
When we passed the last turnoff to Woburn I looked over at the driver, he smiled and said no problem. Ok, no problem is no problem, I’m not an expert on Grenada roads by any means so I sat back and decided to enjoy the scenery and there was a lot to enjoy. Grenada is beautiful.
Before long I started to notice familiar landmarks. Yes, I’m definitely going to Grenville. Grenville is a good hour away from Woburn, through and around steep mountainous switchbacks. I gave the driver another questioning look and I got the classic “no problem man” look back. I had that sinking feeling that we really weren’t communicating well.
Finally rolling into Grenville as the sun was beginning to set, he pulled into a gas station and said,”Grenville.” Yes, I know it’s Grenville. You were supposed to take me to Woburn. Oh, he’d forgotten. Well, I take you back, he said. It was a terrifying dice with death through single lane mountain roads and rain-swept switchbacks. He dumped me out in St George’s where I’d started out two hours ago.
In thirty minutes I was calmly sitting in a #2 Woburn bus pulling up to Nimrod’s Bar while the sky was looking really ugly and gusty wind whipped the bay into a frothy confection. It was going to be a wet lumpy ride back to Escape Velocity but I still had our precious package under my arm and I knew Marce would be worried so I hopped into a wildly gyrating, bucking Catnip and bounced my way back home just as it got dark.
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