The Apple Cider Trip

Reading my last blog, I realised that I had not written about my friend Vinnie’s funniest moment at the lake called Wedington. This moment will always be burned into my memory as the apple cider trip.The town we lived in was called Lincoln. Obviously named after Abe. In fact my grandfather on my mother’s side played Abe Lincoln in a Fourth of July town parade. As you drive into the town limits of Lincoln from the north you will pass an apple orchard. This orchard has been there for as long as I can remember. The folks who own it sell apple produce in the shops by the road. One of their biggest sellers has always been their ‘preservative free’ apple cider.

Now this cider is not hard cider aka alcoholic cider. No, that would be illegal  for them to sell as Lincoln is a “dry town” and alcohol for human consumption is not allowed to be sold within the town limits. In other words this cider is really apple juice. It is mighty tasty regardless of what you call it.

On this particular day Vinnie’s dad, and Vinnie of course, had invited me to go fishing at Lake Wedington. I have to explain that our family did not “do” lake fishing. We had always gone “creek fishing.” This meant driving until you found a farm or ranch where the owner did not mind you crossing his land to get at the creek  running through his property. Most farmers/ranchers readily gave permission as long as you closed gates behind you and did not litter up the place. The most important of these “understood” rules was closing the gates. If the owner’s cattle got loose and had to be rounded up, then the next person who wanted access to a good fishing hole was not welcome. After getting the required permission you then “walked” the creek. This involved sometimes walking for miles to find the best spots where the fish were “biting.”

To get a chance to go on an actual boat and fish in the middle of a lake was something I wasn’t going to pass up.

I got to Vinnie’s fairly early in the morning. But his dad had been out even earlier and bought two plastic gallon jugs of delicious apple cider. Vinnie was in the kitchen drinking glass after glass of the stuff. It was a little like watching an automaton. He would go to the fridge, open it and extract a plastic jug of cider. He would fill his glass and state, “Boy! I love apple cider!” He did this each and every time he drank a glass of the stuff. He did not stop until he had emptied an entire plastic gallon jug.

Apparently Vinnie was not affected by this massive consumption of fruit juice. We got all our fishing equipment loaded in the car and went to the lake. It is a fairly good distance, if memory serves me correctly, it is about a forty-five minute drive out to the middle of nowhere. During the longish trip Vinnie and I talked with his dad about fish, girls, school and other things. There was no sign of the problems that would soon erupt.

We all got to the lake, got our boat, loaded it and put it in the water. Vinnie’s dad took us right out to the middle of the lake. We got our poles baited and cast into the water. Then we sat and waited.

Well, we would have sat and waited except that now Vinnie was starting to act very strangely. I noticed that he had started squirming the minute we cast our lines from the boat. His dad had so far not left the meditative state that was required for lake fishing. Suddenly Vinnie bent over so far that his face was within kissing distance of the boats bottom. Then he started groaning.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom…NOW!!”  This was said with an almost hysterical edge to it. “What’s wrong?” Vinnie’s dad asked. Vinnie just looked at his dad, his eyes bulging and veins throbbing in his face. “I’ve got to go, NOW!!! “Just get me to the restrooms!” Vinnie’s dad was completely nonplussed. “I told you to go easy on that cider. Well, I’m not going all the way back to the restrooms. You’ll have to go into the woods.” With that pronouncement he started the motor up and went to the nearest shore.

Before we got within ten feet of the shore, Vinnie vaulted out of the boat and legged it for the tree line. From where we sat, it sounded like an elephant on a rampage. I swear he even knocked down small trees in his rush to go for a “dump.”

“Where’s he going? Texas?” Vinnie’s dad asked. We waited for what seemed like ages. Finally Vinnie came staggering back out of the woods. His face was pale and he was sweating like a racehorse. He climbed slowly and creakily back into the boat. Vinnie’s dad started the motor and took us out into the middle of the lake again. He had just shut the motor off when…”Goback,goback,goback!” Vinnie was yelling this as if it was one word. He was doubled up again. Only this time he was rocking up and down, as he tried valiantly to keep his bowels under control. His dad dutifully started the motor and back to the shore we went.

Like before, Vinnie did his rampaging elephant routine. After we sat there for awhile with no sign of Vinnie, his dad looked at me and sighed. “I didn’t come all this way for Vinnie to go into the woods and shit himself to death.” He looked in the direction we thought Vinnie had lumbered, “Vinnie! We going back out to fish! When you get done, come out to the edge and wave. We’ll come get you!” Without waiting for an answer, he started the motor up and we went out to resume fishing.

I’d like to say that Vinnie finished voiding himself of all that cider and continued fishing, but he did not. We checked the shoreline repeatedly looking for him with no sign. After awhile, we just sort of forgot to keep looking. Hours later, we remembered and there was Vinnie waving weakly from the shore. Vinnie’s dad mumbled something under his breath and we went to pick him up.

As Vinnie got back into the boat, he had gone through some kind of transformation. He looked and acted like he was about a hundred years old. His face had gone a horrible shade of white and he was now drenched in sweat. That pretty much ended the fishing trip.

I was, of course, very sympathetic towards Vinnie’s plight…NOT. All the way back to his house, I was in literal hysterics. I kept saying over and over, “Boy, I LOVE, apple cider!” And each and every time I said it, Vinnie’s dad and I laughed until we cried. I can honestly say my face hurt from laughing so much. Vinnie took all this in good spirits considering.

As far as I know, he does not drink apple cider any more.

I was also never invited to go fishing again.

Author: Mike's Film Talk

Former Actor, Former Writer, Former Journalist, USAF Veteran, Former Member Nevada Film Critics Society

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