Think tank members possess gray hair

Home Coun­try

Slim Ran­dles

The bonafide mem­bers of the Mule Barn truck stop’s phi­los­o­phy counter and world dilemma think tank adjourned early Sat­ur­day to recon­vene at the top of Geezer Hill.

That wasn’t its real name, of course. It didn’t have a real name. It wasn’t much of a hill, either. More like a twenty-foot elevation.

The young­sters called it Geezer Hill because sev­eral mem­bers of the think tank, being in pos­ses­sion of gray hair and semi-wisdom, had smoothed out a sled run that fea­tured style rather than speed.

Each win­ter since, when the moon was right, noth­ing good was on tele­vi­sion, and the joints didn’t ache more than usual, the afore­men­tioned geezers slid down the hill.

Herb and Doc and Mar­vin stood at the top and got the tobog­gan ready, while Steve just watched. He was younger, quite a bit younger, than the other three, but this cold weather got his hurt parts riled up and he was sit­ting this one out.

I keep look­ing around for some­one young enough to make the first run and kinda top it off for us,” Doc said, “and we don’t have anyone.”

I’d go first,” Herb said, “if I hadn’t promised my wife I wouldn’t.”

Can’t be that hard to do, I mean, just to go first,” Mar­vin said. “Where’s your pio­neer­ing spirit?”

So you’re going first, Marvin?”

Not today. Today is … some­thing … can’t remem­ber what. But if it was tomor­row, I’d go first.”

Tomor­row that run will be all smooth and packed down and old ladies could go down it,” Herb said. “Tomor­row, we’ll have been over it dozens of times.”

Got any old ladies around?” Doc asked.

Steve did a cou­ple of squats, and swung his arms around. He took the tobog­gan rope from Doc’s hand, sat down, put both boots over the front curl of it, and pushed off.

Yee­haw!” he yelled as the tobog­gan slid in slow-motion along its gen­tle path to the bot­tom. Both he and the tobog­gan arrived at the bot­tom together, and the three old­sters applauded as Steve walked back up.

Doc grabbed the toboggan’s rope. “I’ll go next.”

And as he sat down in it, he grinned up at the tall cow­boy with the wal­rus mous­tache. “Steve, I believe that’s the first time I ever saw any­one spur a sled to the bot­tom of a hill.”

Doc,” he said, “I can ride any­thing with hair. Or … wood.”

Brought to you by Sweet­grass Morn­ings, mem­oirs of an out­door life. Read a sam­ple at www.slimrandles.com.

Posted by kpotts on Feb 10 2013. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS Feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.