Shovel-Face, Thin-Mullet, and Mr. Reaper

If you've never driven out east of Portland through the Columbia River Gorge, then don't. Its ugly and lame. A festering wasteland in western Oregon, smelling like toxic sewage and dump. Stay away from there, never look at the place, and never think about it again.

The farther east we went the more the terrain changed from flowing waterfalls, epic foilage, and ancient mountains, to the bushy plains of eastern Oregon and Washington. By the time we hit Idaho, the sun was nearly set, and I was set to be freaked out about that section of I-90. You see, Idaho decided to make their section of 90 "scenic." They succeeded in a Rumplestilkenish way (I just saw the new Shrek). That section of road is definitely one of my favorite pieces of interstate in the country (at least in terms of the view). The winds and twists and panaramic landscapes make it a breathtaking drive on a good day of sunshine.

The cost of having the scenery came in a winding death trap. It was night time and I was driving a car that wasn't mine. The road is riddled with deer up there. Alive and dead. I've never seen roadkill so scattered on a piece of road. One creature should not be in so many places, nor should it change the color of a road to so many shades of brown and red. Later into the night, a deer ran straight at the tail of the car. They all seemed to be in cahoots with the grim reaper. I could almost hear his voice saying, "hey... hey, little deer. Why don't you go jump out in front of a car?" I believe that the entire deer population of Idaho might be a doomed one. They should take a lesson from the Montanan deer, who stay safely on the edge of the road and stare at passing cars. Perhaps not as comforting for drivers, but definitely a bit more put together.

Later into the night, Taylor dozed off. I continued watching the road, which worked out well because I was driving. Eventually, I pulled into a very pleasant stop in Superior, Montana for some coffee.

I have never stopped in Superior, Montana before this trip. As far as I know, God came and blessed it as the most heavenly point on the globe, but at this time, it was pitch black and all I could see was a gas station pressed up to a shifty looking bar/casino.

What I do know about Superior, Montana's interaction with God is that at some point he picked up his "ugly stick" and plowed it into every person in that ill-fated town. The few people I met in that tiny town were some of the most unfortunately unattractive folks I've ever run across. I'll discuss two of them.

Thin-Mullet: I went to get the big-gulp of coffee. Taylor stumbled sleepily to the bathroom. Upon purchase, the clerk turned her great girth towards me and asked in a sweet voice, "how you doin?" This woman, Thin-Mullet, had crafted her less than luscious hair into a masterpiece of a mullet. Except for dirty Europeans and Australians, I haven't known a mullet to be cool since the late 80s, but Thin-Mullet was jamming it proudly. To make matters worse, the mullet wasn't full and beautiful as one might expect a mullet to be.

Let me go over the expectations of a mullet. The top and front should be full, big, and teased up a little. In my eyes, Don Johnson of Miami Vice has overwhelming potential for this "concept mullet." The back should be exceptionally trashy. The close cut hair on the sides of the head really allow the back to thin out while remaining long and greasy. (I have sported a mullet for a number of days, late in 2009, so I'm not too hypocritical about my mullet knowledge).

Don Johnson ^

Thin-Mullet lacked the full close cut on the top of the head. Instead she had grey, thinning hair looking like she might have had a bad bout with the mange. It was unfortunate how it all came together... in a flacid sort of way. My interaction with her was stunted by my preoccupation with her looks, but I hoped that the late night meeting masked that all as me just being tired.

Shovel-Face: After tearing myself away from Thin-Mullet, I wandered through the station in a stuper until Taylor came from the restroom. This took me out of the daze that Thin-Mullet had left on me, and I followed Taylor out of the gas station.

Outside, was a fine Montanian gent smoking a ciggarette after, I'm guessing, a long night playing keno and some slots. This man was Shovel-Face. He politely turned towards us and said, "hi!" as we passed. Taylor shrivelled away and quickly walked away from him. I was a bit further away, so it was a bit easier to hide the quick dialation of the eyes, the oncoming fight or flight response, and the increased heart rate that occured from seeing this man's face. I responded with my own, "Hey!" and walked to the car to drive. Taylor and I exchanged words about the man. It was mind blowing. Just mind blowing.

I'll go over what made Shovel-Face such a sight. Its really pretty simple. The jaw. That man had a jaw that looked like it could slice a knee cap through like a stick of butter. It just jutted out and over the bottom of itself in a most horrific way. Taylor and I were both struck with the same idea: "That man probably eats people."

Now, I don't go around calling just any person I see with messed up teeth, "man-eater!" or "cannibal!" I mean, how would that make me look? It just doesn't fit into society to use cannibal as a term for bad dental condition, and on top of that, my teeth aren't exactly "A" grade.

So with that said, you can probably understand that this was bad. Those teeth looked ready to chomp right through a femur.

We high tailed it out of Superior, Montana. Thin-Mullet and Shovel-Face would have to wait for another pair of travellers if they expected good conversation... Not these guys... Not these guys.