Insect Assault Sunday

Rarely do I feel I have news worthy of posting. I don't today either but I'm coming closer.

This past Sunday, June 3, Janeen and I drove up Mt. Walker, which is left of Nowhere on the Washington Peninsula. (That might not be accurate, but I think that when you say peninsula, you sound intelligent.) First, we drove to it and that was insect encounter #1.

Janeen was driving along at her normal 80 mph clip and something flew into my eye. It felt bug-like. Then I saw the dazed giant bee that I had just collided with. Jesus! It was one of those giant furry bastards with the maneuverability of a flying battleship. At that speed, it could have been driven into my brain, stinging my gray matter mercilessly. No harm, no foul, just a bit of swelling.

I shook this off and we figured out where the damn mountain was. It wasn't easy to find because of the stream of consciousness style of the guide book. The authors did not distinguish between getting there in a car and hiking with your legs. But on the plus side, the book is small enough to haul with you once you figure out when to ditch the car.

Before you abrade us for not walking up Mt. Walker, the guide book told us not to. According to Great Walks Near Nowhere In Particular, the "three mile ascent would wither the nuts and berries of the most hardy hikerman." Reason enough for me. So we drove to the top and figured that we could catch a trail up higher. After all, Mt. Walker was geared toward not hiking pleasure, but automotive panorama pleasure with one of the tinier hiking loops I've experienced outside of my studio apartment. Great views of Seattle, Mt. Rainier.

While we were gazing, this guy
flew onto my pants! The picture does not do it justice. We would have needed a magic camera (really, just a decent one) to capture the gaudy, yet subtle, iridescence. I moved der bug onto my hand and walked it around to the others on the hill. Everyone was blown away; nobody expected to see something like this outside of Costa Rica. I considered taking my new friend "Weevil" home but it flew away. It was a brief, satisfying affair.

Since the mountain was frugal with its trails, we took in the scene and decided to head toward barbecue (that was my hope, at least). The car wouldn't start. Classic. In a bad way, with wisps of electrical smoke escaping from the steering column. It was like we were witnessing the soul exiting the body. You can read Janeen's account but let me review a few salient points.

First, a wasp tried to land on my previously accosted right eye while we were deciding what to do. Thankfully, my mighty right eye deflected him away. A stung eyeball was the last thing we needed. It would have made an awesome portrait though.

Second, people were awfully quick to advise "just let the car coast down the mountain." Me, I don't know shit about cars. But I do know that they weigh a lot of pounds and some of their parts need gas, some need electricity. Beyond putting the "fillerup" nozzle into the gashole, I just couldn't tell you which needs which. I can tell you that guiding the powerless car down the very wind-y mostly one-land dirt road inspired strong visualizations of a car plunging to its metal death. Probably no fireball without the electrical though.

Third, it's fun to learn things! The guy who arced the starter gap (that's car lingo babies) and made the car go was our hero! Not only for getting us all the way home, but for teaching us something. I felt a mystic bond with all of those duffers of old, cranking their car's front end, churning it to life.

So three insect encounters, automotive troubleshooting atop a mountain, no towing charges and no blood spilled! That, my friends, is a Sunday.