From the Cyber-Files comes another fantastical tale of wonder, magic, and testosterone fueled antics way back from those old college days. Please insert massive amounts of yelling, cursing, and grunting when directed.
It had been nigh on a year since the men of 3rd Floor North had taken their little game of back-road dirt racing and turned it into a participative event so large that it could have qualified for college funding. Who would have thought that the simple combination of a car, a driver, a navigator, and a Texas road map could catch on like wild-fire? Of course there would always be a few rule breakers, but it was the honor system, and that meant you could go from point A to Z any way you wanted... you just had to keep to the dirt roads and the first one to the abandoned back-woods cemetery wins!
There wasn't a better team in the business than Eagle Scout behind the wheel and myself behind the map. Our first place ribbons were so copious that they could have wall-papered Donald Trump's penthouse. One might think we were an unbeatable team, but like many illustrious teams, a woman got in the way. That's when things got out of control. The future Mrs. Cyber an I were spending more time out and that meant the boys of 3rd Floor lost cyberman as their voice of reason. It ended one terrible night when Eagle Scout drove his suburban into a Sycamore tree and Gyuss landed his Landcruiser so deep in a muddy creek that his back axle was enveloped in the thick, heavy, North Texas clay.
It wasn't until the next day that I heard the news and that there was to be a journey out to retrieve said Landcruiser. It was an illustrious crew of eight men and a not so impressive Jeep. The owner of the Jeep truly believed his vehicle would be victorious against the entrenched behemoth, but it only proved to spin helplessly out of control on the slick grass along the bank. But the mob of men, thigh deep in muck, with shoulders thrust against the Landcruiser's steel bumper was another story.
From spinning tire to freedom, the entire process may have only taken a few minutes. However, as one member of the elbow grease behind the SUV, it felt more like an hour. I remember throwing all of my weight against the giant beast and feeling as if we were nothing more than an ocean wave crashing against an immovable cliff-face (insert sound effects). But over time, even the force of water can change the shape or rock. The second attempt yielded more of the same as mud and water splashed high into the air, covering everyone from head to toe in muck (insert sound effect). After the third attempt all appeared lost! Perhaps poor Gyuss would be forced to break the bank and spend his hard earned pennies on an industrial sized tow-truck. There was perhaps the hint (from one of us) that we give up the game, but a rallying cry was issued and we re-doubled our efforts! Later on Eagle Scout would say that he thought he felt the monster move during that fourth attempt but he feared it was only his mind playing tricks on him... that was until he heard the loudest cry of the F-word he had ever heard utter from my own lips. It was then that he knew we had achieved the impossible (insert sound effect). I remember that moment as if it were just yesterday as the strength of those eight men turned resolute mass into moving force. One could hear the suction of mire let loose from the axle as well as many a foot from their shoes as we pushed (not pulled) that son of a bitch from the creek bottom.
Cries of victory could be heard throughout the land and Gyuss emerged from the cabin with arms out-stretched, celebrating his freedom, and rejoicing in a moment that would live in infamy! If a football had been nearby a game of rugby would have surely broken out!
