Whiskey and Country

11

NICHOLAS

Ileft Medora Beach with a lighter heart than when I arrived, but also with a twitch of pain of leaving Amanda and Kelly. In the short amount of time we’d known one another, they had injected my life—and my entire being—with new doses of love and compassion. Nobody asked them to strike up a conversation with a stranger or invite him over, but they did, and somehow our encounter patched some of the wounds I carried around.

“If you made it happen, bro, thank you. I needed that.”

An hour later, I took an exit when I crossed a sign announcing a distilleries and breweries tour. It was something Jace, Tucker, and I had talked about doing for years. Since I had almost three weeks to spare before arriving in Green Mountain, I could make pit stops wherever the opportunity presented itself along the way.

To grasp as much as possible from my journey.

On the country road, I rolled the windows down, cranked up the volume of the radio, and hared off, following the road signs to a small town. No, tiny would be a better word to describe it.

I parked my truck in front of what resembled a century-old brick edifice. The early spring breeze swept my face. From the backseat, I fetched a hoodie and made my way to the main building. After paying for the tour, I joined the crowd of people as they left for the hour-long visit.

After lunch, I walked to the site announcing the bourbon trail and embarked on a bus trip to two distilleries. In front of a wall of wooden barrels with a tray of samples, I snapped a picture of myself and sent it to my friends back home.

Jace: You didn’t.

Tucker: Fucker

Me: I did. *winking emoji*

Jace: I hope you liked the practice tour because we’ll do that again sometime. All three of us.

Me: Wasn’t a practice tour. Was awesome. Tasting great stuff. You should be jealous. You have a right to be.

Tucker: I may choose to stop talking to you for a while.

Me: Haha. I’d like to see you try. You won’t last a day.

Tucker: ...

Me: I got each of you a nice bottle. Stop being babies about it, or I’ll drink them myself.

Me: We’ll do the Kentucky bourbon trail together. When you guys are ready.

Jace: Awesome. Thanks for the bottle, man.

Tucker: Okay. Fine. You win.

I grinned at my phone. My best friend was predictable. Whatever he said, or chose to believe, whiskey and women were his two weaknesses.

Jace: I’ll ask Pam if I can get away for a weekend

Tucker: Jace! Balls, man. Get. Them. Back.

Jace: My balls are doing just fine. Thank you for checking up on them.

Me: And they prefer red lace.

Jace: Need to go.

Tucker: Red lace? What does that even mean? How do you know what his balls like?

Tucker: Lace? Really? What did I miss?

Tucker: Guys?

Tucker: Answer me before I get the wrong images in my head.

Tucker: Too late.

Tucker: It’s etched in there forever.

Tucker: Not funny.

Tucker: Come on, guys. What did I miss?

Jace: Nick. Shut it.

Me: My lips are sealed. Talk later, guys. They’re waiting for me to sample a single-barrel bourbon that hasn’t hit the market yet.

Tucker: That bottle better be good because I’m hating you right now.

Tucker: And don’t think you’re off the hook. I’ll get to the bottom of this lacy-balls. Be warned.

I stifled a laugh and followed the tour guide outside as we boarded the bus to our next destination.

For the rest of the afternoon, I strolled around town and grabbed a bite to eat from a local sandwich shop.

Sitting on a park bench, I checked the options for my next stop. A town about thirty miles from here was hosting a rodeo next weekend. I’d never been to one of those. It sounded fun. Chicago wasn’t big on the cowboy vibe. Well, it was non-existent if truth be told.

According to the app on my phone, all hotels and B&B had no vacancy for that weekend, so I decided to drive and see for myself if I could find something once I reached there. Maybe they could recommend me a place to stay.

The sun hung low in the sky, replacing its usual blue color with orange and pink streaks. In my life, I never took the time to just admire everything around me. To savor the beauty this world had to offer. Nature was the true artist if you paid attention.

And now that I had the time and the will, I considered myself lucky to be able to enjoy this moment as the bright day ceded its place to the upcoming darkness.

Lost in my contemplation, I passed a pickup truck hauling what looked like a livestock trailer parked on the side of the road. I slowed down and caught sight of an elderly couple arguing while poking at a deflated tire. A few yards away, I stopped my truck and got out.

“Barb, are you going to help me or not?” the man asked.

The woman rested her closed fists on her hips. “I’m past the age where you get to tell me what to do, Harold.”

The man lifted a spare tire from the back of the pickup. “I’m too old for this.”