Stories‎ > ‎

Trashed Can's

As we leave the wonderful state of Montana my mind wandered, first thought was “Were the fuck are we”? Somehow I was twisted around with no idea what direction we are traveling, I even lost my sense of North and hell we are the farthest North I have ever been! We had just stopped for fuel at the Freewheel, I bought a map, checked it before we left, shit that didnt help one bit. From the moment we left West Yellowstone for some reason I continued with this interdialoge that we are on the wrong fuckin road. Good thing Rage took the duties of Road Captain at this point because little did I know at the time, of all places on the planet Pocatello, Idaho would be a meeting place of the Can’s.
 
Canadians and Americans!

PicasaWeb Slideshow

 
After a good ride, about four states in two days, Utah, Wyoming, Montana and now we arrive at the Super 8 in
Pocatello, Idaho. That reminds me, I packed my sleeping bag, tent and camping supplies on this trip. How many times did I use them? Not once! But looking back it was a great decision not to camp tonight.
 
We started unpacking the bikes so I could drag all this camping shit we never used, up three fights of stairs to our room, guess that means this fat bastard needs some exercise! As we are unloading, a couple of bikers parked next to us started exchanged greeting with us as all bikers do, I think we do that just to see where you stand in the pecking order, then you can seperate the good people from the pricks. I decided these were good people, a little twisted, perhaps a little sick but what the hell being a sick twisted freak myself these people could be family! As we were talking to these two, they soon become four, as another couple gathered and invited us to join them for food and beer, that magical word “Beer” was all I needed, I’m in! Throwing the shit in the room, Rage and I headed in the direction that was pointed to by the bad ass biker group. When we arrived and the Red Lion Lounge, the others were no where to be found. The lady behind the bar told us we had a message from a group of bikers. Rage and I looked at each other like we were from Utah or something. The dude in the chair bellied up to the bar said “Yea, they told us if two of the uglyest mother fuckers you have ever seen in your life come in here, tell them we went to the only place in town to get food, at this time of night.  After a hike up a fuckin hill, thinking we should just crash the Class of 1980’s class reunion at the Holliday Inn, by stealing some nametags, we made the trek to meet the sick twisted freaks at the Applebee’s.

 

We exchanged greetings again and started dinner and what would become the constant flow of beer and alcohol...
 
Sitting at one table we had
Sysco, a truck driver from California, but we won’t hold that against him, who happens to be from Canada. Sysco was traveling with Postal, a hard core rider and part time letter carrier from Cangary, Alberta. These two hosers (to use a Canadian term) had just meet up tonight with a couple of Can’s from Alberta. This couple was Justice, who had a badge and his name has been changed to protect the innocent, with his lovely and talented assistant, Pillows, a part time backrest for Justice and full time psychologist, a plus for her being the only female in the crowd. To represent the U.S. is two brothers from Utah. Rage, part time ape hanger, full time Drill Pusher. And me, Ducktape, part time fixer and full time coal miner. We ordered food as we knocked back the first round of adult sparkling beverages, getting to know each other and exchanging “stories from the road”, your basic “bullshit fest”, stories that could not actually have been confirmed or denied. Had it been ‘real actual bullshit’ then Applebee’s would now be knows as the Apple Cattle Ranch, no one could have clean up that pile of bullshit! The food was served and after some confusion between Sysco and Pillows order that was placed in front of the wrong person, a switch was made and great thanks to Pillows for helping Sysco cut up his chicken so he would’nt choke! The food was great at Applebee’s but the drinks were better, they must have been because those drinks were ordered 5 to 1 over the food. In one case, jello shots were ordered 48 times more than food! As we sit there working on the International Canadian and American relationship, laughing, drinking and lying our asses off, more drinks, more bullshit, fun had by all.
 
Being the first group working on International Can's relationships in Pocatello, Idaho, this group was also the first International group to be “86th” from a local pub. This is also the first time I have witnessed with my own eyes a bartender wave his arm and tell me “that’s it, your done, all of you”. Now I have been told at various watering holes things like “last call” or even “just one more”, but never ever has and bartender with such kindness, even in all the places I have drank (too many to count) use hand signals in conjunction with words. Just goes to show you sometimes a bartender does know when enough is enough. This was the same
bartender, hour’s before whom made an attempt to “cut us off” by asking if we are driving. With a quick “hell no, were walking” and some reference to a Gieco commercial, the greatest bartender in the world continued our constant flow of adult sparkling beverages. We then received our tab from the first ever International C.A.N.S. banquett, paid our bill ( with American dollars ) then thanked the staff for their great service and putting up with all our shit. Then “were walking” but mostly staggering out of Applebee’s. As, one at a time, we reach the door, oh great, now we have Trashed Can’s let loose to run amuck in the city! It was all down hill from there, literally.


As we walked and walked and walked one of us busted out laughing as we passed this sign on our way, they must have been drunk or not very educated. As we continued the other side of the sign was even more hillarious, we laughed so hard I think a pissed myself, or at least somewhere, I was blinded by the tears of laughter. Note to self, never try to walk while
laughing so hard after several beverages, it’s worse than texting while driving. I wonder how long the sign was like that? Did they do this just for attention. Hope they fix it before someone gets in trouble!


Upon our arrival, as we stumble into the parking lot of our hotel, I bet we had been there a good two and a half minutes to our suprise we are met by Super 8 security. Now, here we are just like  Ron White said, minus being thrown in “Public”, we are drunk in “Public”, but, they let us out into the “Public”. Great, security is here, next will be cops, as my mind wonders, I flashback to the last time, after a long night of drinking, to the sound of a sold steel door closing behind me. That sound was not the most disturbing part, it was all the men in the same cell, being men was not a problem, it was the men dressed in woman’s clothes, giving me the look!!. That flashback (and the theme song to Deliverence) still sends chills clear through my soul, still being a cherry, but that’s another story for another time.
 
As with every mind, it never works out how you think it will, Super 8 Security was the best, he led us over to a spot where we could continue our party. So then Postal and I headed over to the convience store and loaded up on the beer. More beer is just what this group of already Trashed Can’s needed. The stories and lies continue into the night and once there was a row of pee Cans! As the night progressed, one Can at a time was MIA, until there was three, two Americans and one Canadian with all issues between our countries solved and relationships mended. I look over and could see the Sun starting to peek over the Idaho sky, wondered why we bothered getting a room for the night when you can party like this.

The next day was tough, rough and sucked more for some and less for others. Some were days away from home, others where hours. All the Can’s had one last picture in the parking lot to show off the effects of drinking excessivly. Said our good-bye’s and safe travels as six hung over, semi-sober Can’s fire up the Harley to help pound the already throubing crainum. In sets of two they leave in three directions, Justice & Pillows head North on a run to the border,  Sysco & Postal are Westward Ho with Rage & Duck pointed South to the State made up of Squares.

The next time your out on the road and off in the distance you see the riders coming your way take the time to give a wave. Take a little extra time to talk to a fellow rider, because you never know, like in this case you might just meet up with some of the best sick twisted people on this planet.  ~DT        
 
Comments