H. Neal Glanville: 'Bumper tag' cures boredom

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H. Neal Glanville

H. Neal Glanville's column appears in the Craig Daily Press on Mondays.

— We've talked about riding amongst a herd of elk and the insanity of throwing a loop at one of them.

Last week, I recalled our attempts at sending yet another wive's tale to the land of "far, far away," with the pixies and culvert-hugging trolls, when we tried roping a "runaway" porker.

That's a pig for you folks east of the fair grounds.

I'm still working on a top-secret plan to try that one again. I figure you should try the impossible at least twice.

If it doesn't work either time, it can then be called highly improbable.

Since highly improbable isn't exactly impossible, it should be worth another try.

Make sense?

Doesn't matter. I'm going to try again anyway.

For those of you who think all my attempts at roping were a failure, I say "read on."

During the long Wyoming winters, after every board and card game had been worn out, we'd invent things to do.

One of these was "bumper tag."

No, we weren't running into traffic touching bumpers yelling "your it." That would be silly and dangerous.

No, our version was actually quite safe and rather fun when played by the rules.

Time has darkened my memory of any rules, though I'm sure there were one or two.

The object was simple: find something to sit on that would gently glide upon snow covered roads, and slip a loop around the bumper of a running, not moving, vehicle.

Doc Johnson said that if he had to pop another shoulder in he would "rat" us to the sheriff.

Actually, sneaking up on a running car or truck without being spotted made it a lot more fun.

Back to the game. You and your object de glide had to put the sneak on a vehicle, put your loop around the bumper, and await the ride.

To win, well, not really win, more like complete this game, you had to pull yourself back up the rope, and unhook yourself from the moving vehicle, all without the operator of said rig ever knowing you were there.

Sometimes we'd be spotted and an irate, usually non-resident driver, would yell at us about safety issues and what we thought we might be teaching the youngsters in their car.

Other times, we'd get spotted and have the ride of a lifetime.

I learned late one afternoon to never attach oneself to a delivery truck.

Not only are they oblivious to their immediate rear end, they take sadistic pleasure in hauling you all the way to the next bread and donut stop.

I would also add that no matter how you try explaining to law enforcement why you're hitchhiking with a grey tray marked "glass's only Wrangler Cafe," and inside your object de glide is 20 or 30 feet of rope, well, you're better off keeping your mouth shut and letting them haul you home.

Now for something completely different

This is the time to be fishing.

Grab your kids, grandkids, heck, ask the neighbors for their kids, find some water and start fishing for the big ones.

And from those of us who enjoy your company, "Welcome Hunters."

Enjoy all we have to offer, and please play by the rules.

Until next time :

Yup, there I was surrounded by a Cash for Clunkers program; no, a health care proposal that's dumber than a spit on rock; no, two committees, 14 people and Mrs. Brown's one eyed cat (who by the way knows the answer to our city deer problem); no it was that gaggle of people who are always complaining about what they deserve or should get for free, when I said to myself, "Self," I said cause that's what I call myself when I'm talking to myself, "to earn it is to keep it. Get it for nothing, and it's a throwaway"

Thank you for your time.

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