We tortured our teenagers once by making them take a three-thousand mile roadtrip through several national parks. The main thing they mention now is that Bud wore those stretch nylon coach shorts and a couple of gay guys hit on him.
In Yellowstone, he stopped for about the fourteenth time to try to get pictures of buffalo one afternoon. The thrill of watching him try to get the perfect buffalo picture had worn thin, so the three of us watched from the car. He fussed, tinkered, and messed with his camera, tripod and lenses till we were hoping a buffalo would gore him just enough to distract him. He worked frantically till a car pulled up just in front of him. A flambuoyant fellow trotted up to Bud, obviously interested in getting acquainted.
“Oh my, that’s some nice equipment you’ve got there,”
Ever polite, Bud thanked him, snapped a couple…
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