DRINK OUT IN CARRION CANYON

Hi there, I go by the name of Guinness Bucket and this is the story of a time me and my woman Spiced Morgan found us in a strange new town run by a

guys and gals gang known as The Thames Valley Vultures.

It had been a long and dusty ride through the sun scorched back trails of Short Pines Forest, over the once mighty Tarmac River and down into the

Badlands of Burghfield. Looking for somewhere to pitch camp for the night we came across a small settlement in Carrion Canyon. Checking in with the local

sheriff we discover a ho-down is planned for that night. The locals, looking to swell the numbers, made short work of unloading our wagon and soon had

our meagre possessions transported to a small but pleasant grassed plain. With my trusty steed safely bedded down in the nearby corral we set off

looking for a shady spot to pitch camp we came across a number of old riding pardners. Lawless Les and Legless Steve were passing out welcome beers to

quench the parched throat. Cowpie Nick and his travelling companion Brandy Jules were there, he still looking for the ultimate burger whilst she was

frantically checking her timepiece waiting for both hands to pass the twelve. Canvas rigged and bedrolls laid out we set about scouting the area

and soon came across many infamous characters from our past, Gill Le-Fete and her faithful Freisian Toni Udders, Big Bull Nick and his equally

faithful Annabelle, Paul Barstuard and Miss Christine and not forgetting Senor Al and Senorita Annya  The beers going down fine much to the thanks of

Big Geordie Alex who having just rolled in had ordered his young blonde bombshell of a wife Margaret to take the drinks over to the tent area. This

she did and promptly set about ensuring everyone had one, helped kindly by Legless and Lawless. The afternoon is spent with the women catching up on

old times and the men folk comparing choice and size of pistols etc.

We suddenly receive a dispatch via Nokia Express advising Andy The Kid and Mandy The Kids’ Moll have arrived in town. The sheriff’s men are not sure

whether to let them pass as none of them have ever seen as bright a yellow wagon before. We quickly explain it’s meant to confuse any hostile Indians

into thinking the sun has come down to mate with mother earth and procreate a second moon. More canvas erection and introductions all round we prepare

for the evenings activities and head down to the local saloon where we find the strangest looking piano I’ve ever seen. No keys just round things and

bright lights, and the sound Yee Haa. Soon the piano player is replaced by a band who with the help of some woman shouting at the crowd and threatening

to hit them with a right weird whip (I’ve never seen one with a tail that short) cajole sufficient couples onto the floor to start dancing by numbers.

I don’t know how long we twirled and whirled but it seemed like hours before we were allowed to return to our seats for some well earned liquid

refreshment. The piano player is back again and sets about filling the hall with some musical melodies that just got your foot a tapping. Then came the

battle of the sexes.

I should at this stage point out that The Kid is our son and this is his first rally. I tried to explain that proudly announcing he was a rally

virgin was not a good idea and no matter what, don’t volunteer for anything!

If only the young would listen to the older and wiser. Not realising the danger he is in he drags The Moll on to the floor. What followed next is too

painful to recall, suffice to say, if nothing else, he still had his hat at the end. And so the night went on until it was time to find the bedroll and

lay-up for the night.

Dawn breaks and we’re off to the local cantina for breakfast. The Kid and I then decide to make full use of the mountain fresh spring water showers

whilst the women folk set about a steam bath. The Kid is soon glad he didn’t make use of them before last night’s entertainment.  

Word is spreading that volunteers are needed to ride to Hawkeye’s Conservatory to defend it against possible hostile attack. A large posse is

quickly formed and we set off with the sheriff in the lead and loads of marshals scouting ahead for any possible ambush. We arrive to find no

hostile activity but take the opportunity to water up and observe the local wildlife. Soon the air is filled with all sorts of fantastic birds swooping

down to grab any titbit offered. We move to a new location where numerous birds of prey are showing us how beautiful nature can be. These are replaced

by a huge vulture appearing overhead and proudly displaying its unbelievably colourful plumage. But wait there’s more, two black dots appear on the

horizon climbing higher and higher into the sky, as they close on us they take the form of huge eagles dominating the sky , carefree and handsome.

They land and we get the opportunity to see them close up, and what a sight, we’re definitely coming back to this valley. Our return to Carrion Canyon

passes without incident and soon we are all once again back with those who had volunteered to stay and guard the camp.

  Evening draws in and its time to get ready for a return to the saloon. The men have polished their boots and slicked down the hair, all except Cowpie

and Haystack, the women have donned their finest livery. Pictures are taken to record this historic moment, the herd is rounded up (all three of them)

and it’s off for another shindig. The piano player is back belting out a few ole favourites and word has obviously got around as the place is heaving. Travel weary and weathered

folk from all across the nation have gathered for the festivities. There’s Pancho Villas, Cowboys and Cowgirls, gunfighters and preachers, Indian

braves and squaws all come together for a whistle wet. There’s even a strange band of folks all done up in leather clothing with patterns sewed on

them. A new skiffle group take over from piano man, the noise gets louder, and soon you can’t hear the thunder cracking overhead. This causes problems

as we don’t hear the stampede, Toni Udders and Annabelle charge into the midst of the massed townsfolk.

A few of us realise the danger and react. I jump onto Toni Udders bony rump and ride him to a standstill, others corral Annabelle and pacify her and

with them both settled we lead them off to the nearest water trough.

I’m beginning to feel the pace, seems like I’ve been riding all day, and Morgan’s not looking too good either although Toni Udders seems to have got

more and more pretty. We mosey on down to the quiet end and have a yarn with some ole folk from way back when. Toni Udders and Annabelle return licking

their lips and at ease, that is until Toni sees what I’m doing and starts to complain I’m eating one of his brothers (burger). We quickly explain it’s a

flattened lamb chop and once again all is well. Night passes to early morning and we all meander down to the cantina for a coffee. Good nights are

finally passed around and we all head off to find an empty bedroll.  

Morning, yet another glorious dawn, and we decide to have a mass fry-up.

Fires burning we soon have breakfast orders from anyone in smelling distance, what a way to end a rally. Thank you to Mary, Andy & Mandy for

your campfire skills. A slow clean up and pack session follows, bedrolls rolled, canvas retied to the wagons and steeds and all too soon its time to

say adios and ride our separate ways.

A cracking weekend, a huge thank you to those vulture people for their hospitality, a job well done.

See you at the next one.

Dave & Mary J

Post script - we’ve just heard Toni Udders gave birth to a black and white calf late Sunday. Both are doing fine, the calf is with Gill Le-Fete and

Toni is slowly recovering at a local but very private sanatorium.