My grandfather had a friend/neighbor who gave him a 1965 Terry Bass with an 18hp Johnson that had been sitting in his garage unused for over 20 years. Granddad in turn gave it to me and after a couple hundred dollars for a tune-up and registration, I was good to go. I hooked it up to my little Nissan truck and went down to the boat ramp, excited to finally have a chance to explore Lake Texoma by myself. (I had just turned 16)
It was a sunny, hot day and the first thing I did was buzz over to the red river dam to fish. After that I checked out Ross Perot's lakehouse and explored some coves before heading back. As I was retrieving my truck, I noticed a group of locals hanging out in the wooded area near the ramp. The road to the ramp makes a loop and in the middle a large wooden cable spool was flipped over to serve as a table. They were in various states of recline and inebriation, sitting there on a week night getting drunk. This was my 1st solo boat outing, so loading the boat on the trailer and doing everything right was not a given. I backed the trailer in and drove the boat onto the rollers with fair competence. As I was getting into the truck, a beer bottle zinged by and hit the water not 5 feet from where I stood. I heard raucous laughter from the cable-spool club and I decided to get the hell out of there before the natives got anymore restless.
Unfortunately in my haste, I forgot to strap the rear of the boat to the trailer. As I drove up the ramp and onto the road leading away from there, I hit a good sized chuck hole that threw my little fiberglass boat clean off the trailer and onto the ground, hanging by the bow line being dragged on its side. I stopped and jumped out, only to see the boat laying on its side with all my gear spilled everywhere. I ran to the back of the boat and tried to lift it back on the trailer, but had problems getting a grip. The spool-crew began screaming with laughter and chided me for having the gall to NOT be from around there. They ridiculed my truck, my intelligence, and my intelligence again. I realized they were trying to bait me into saying something so they'd have a reason to kick some ass, so I kept my mouth shut and managed to flop the boat back on the trailer.
I got back in the truck and took off in a spray of gravel. At the top of the road, there was a huge iron gate to shut the ramp off if necessary. I happened to have an old padlock in my glovebox. I was so pissed off I slammed to a stop past the gate, grabbed the padlock, swung the gate SHUT and locked the damn thing. If my granddad didn't live in that area, I'd have shouted a few disparaging remarks down to them from the gate, drawing into question their likely incestuous lineage, sister's favorite positions, and fondness of state assistance. They'd fire up their battered "Gentlemen Jim" edition Chevy truck and race up the road to find their exit blocked and me smiling on the other side with middle finger extended.
It was a sunny, hot day and the first thing I did was buzz over to the red river dam to fish. After that I checked out Ross Perot's lakehouse and explored some coves before heading back. As I was retrieving my truck, I noticed a group of locals hanging out in the wooded area near the ramp. The road to the ramp makes a loop and in the middle a large wooden cable spool was flipped over to serve as a table. They were in various states of recline and inebriation, sitting there on a week night getting drunk. This was my 1st solo boat outing, so loading the boat on the trailer and doing everything right was not a given. I backed the trailer in and drove the boat onto the rollers with fair competence. As I was getting into the truck, a beer bottle zinged by and hit the water not 5 feet from where I stood. I heard raucous laughter from the cable-spool club and I decided to get the hell out of there before the natives got anymore restless.
Unfortunately in my haste, I forgot to strap the rear of the boat to the trailer. As I drove up the ramp and onto the road leading away from there, I hit a good sized chuck hole that threw my little fiberglass boat clean off the trailer and onto the ground, hanging by the bow line being dragged on its side. I stopped and jumped out, only to see the boat laying on its side with all my gear spilled everywhere. I ran to the back of the boat and tried to lift it back on the trailer, but had problems getting a grip. The spool-crew began screaming with laughter and chided me for having the gall to NOT be from around there. They ridiculed my truck, my intelligence, and my intelligence again. I realized they were trying to bait me into saying something so they'd have a reason to kick some ass, so I kept my mouth shut and managed to flop the boat back on the trailer.
I got back in the truck and took off in a spray of gravel. At the top of the road, there was a huge iron gate to shut the ramp off if necessary. I happened to have an old padlock in my glovebox. I was so pissed off I slammed to a stop past the gate, grabbed the padlock, swung the gate SHUT and locked the damn thing. If my granddad didn't live in that area, I'd have shouted a few disparaging remarks down to them from the gate, drawing into question their likely incestuous lineage, sister's favorite positions, and fondness of state assistance. They'd fire up their battered "Gentlemen Jim" edition Chevy truck and race up the road to find their exit blocked and me smiling on the other side with middle finger extended.
