The road was slick as Margaret Trudeau's midnight minge beneath me. The Hammer had her snotty nose drooling down the back window as we passed through junkyard farmyards only the rich can afford within a hundred miles or more of Dope City. A mare and her weanling caught my eye, the mare patient with her wild eye baby.
I had one of the Drive-By Truckers' early records shaking the windows of my alcohol powered Cadillac. When "Demonic Possession" hit its groove a smile replaced my redeye concern with not yet having had a drink and I was ready to rock again. I love the drum sound on the whole record - it sounds just like Jerry Lee Lewis' old records and the cardboard boxes I beat on in the basement aping Keith Moon just about the time rock 'n' roll fucking near died.
When the Hammer and I reached the river trail we saw a few people and an equal number of dogs had just left their dirty cars ahead of us. We followed behind, the Hammer ahead of me waiting for an invitation to join the noisy pack splashing in and out of the water. When at last the invitation arrived the four dogs had the sort of ball only dogs can have. The biggest of the dogs tried humping the Hammer. If you want to see just how pissed off a dog can get try fucking one unexpectedly. The humpy dog learned real quick not to fuck with the Hammer.
The creek we walked along is a salmon stream, one of the few not yet completely fucked up by human activity around here. The water is pretty clean except for the all the garbage floating in it. One of the pieces of garbage in the way of the current geddily rushing by was a television.
Come visit SuperNatural Beautiful British Columbia this summer and do not miss the Steepleton stream famous for its spawning televisions.
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