Iron Man Fishing Trip Ruined by Brilliant South Georgia Po-Po (Cuz Gets Locked Up)
Written by Coach R. Alan Richardson
Advisors-Bart Minter and Alvin Richardson
I’ve always thought of myself, in the immortal words of fellow Coach, Phil Brock, as a little feisty for my size. Sometimes I was bulletproof and sometimes I wasn’t. But I always thought I could best the other guy no matter the size. Pretty irrational for a guy that was 5-8 and 160 on his best day. But that was way back in my prime so at 58 I’m 5-7 and 140 and couldn’t whup my way out of a paper bag as the saying goes. I thought I was an Iron Man-Indestructible. As I’ve aged my thought pattern has changed tremendously so I would probably break out in a cold sweat, find a mess in my pants, and cry like a 3 year old if anyone wanted to challenge me into some fisticuffs. Old Father Time creeps up on everybody.
The Iron Man Trip derived its name when four daring and idiotic young men (yours truly included) wanted to go to the coast of Georgia (Tybee Island) on a saltwater fishing trip. OK, how could we pull this off? We have a 20 foot saltwater boat, but we don’t have a truck dependable enough to pull it to the coast. We don’t have enough money between the 4 of us to fill up a thimble. We can only go on Saturday because everybody is working during the week. No problem! These 4 geniuses could definitely find a way to get ‘er done.
We had to have a game plan. We’d just borrow a truck, use a credit card we could never pay off, and make it an Iron Man Trip. Occasionally over the past few years we have attempted these and I finally came to my senses realizing that I’m not 25 anymore and refuse to kill myself on purpose. An Iron Man Trip consists of sleeping about 3 hours Friday night before getting back up about 12:00-1:00 AM, driving all night to the fishing destination, fishing till dark the next day, and making the return trip the following night. Now, who in their right mind would attempt such a trip? Four young and crazy guys in a borrowed truck with one person riding on the back that have no money. Ingenious!
The details of this story go way beyond the complex planning and downright stupidity of attempting an Iron Man Trip. We had finished our fishing (killed ‘em) and given the boat a good redneck carwash for the arduous trip home. All the idiots were arguing about who was going to take the first driving leg. Cousin Bart was either in a comatose state or just wanted to get his leg out of the way so he agreed to take it. It was a fatal mistake. I took the first leg on the back of said truck. The problem was that this borrowed vehicle had a small gas tank and we wanted to make it up I-16 without having to stop again. We stopped at a convenience store and topped the tank off with $3.00 worth of gas. We then bought up every twinkie, moon pie, and unhealthy drink we could carry and headed off into the wild blue yonder.
Remember, this is a borrowed old F-150 single cab 8 cylinder gas guzzling truck pulling a big boat so seeing behind you is very difficult without some extended mirrors which we didn’t have. I’m riding on the back about 10 miles from Savannah and kept thinking I was seeing blue lights. Maybe my senses are somewhat off kilter from being up since midnight, I’m having a flashback, or drinking about 15 cold ones during the day has my mind somewhat altered. It suddenly dawned on all of us that deputy dawg had been on our tail for a few miles and he was not happy that we had not pulled over sooner.
“Boy, are you blind or just plain stupid?” he asked. (He had no idea how correct he actually was). Cousin Bart got straight to the point as he stuttered, “We, we, we did didn’t sesee you, Mr. officer sisir”. “You boys usually into stealing gas?” Hawaii 5-0 hollered. We all looked at each other and suddenly realized that upon paying for all the snacks that no one had bothered to pay for all that gas ($3.00 worth). We quickly admitted that we all thought the other guy had paid for it, and offered to give him the huge amount to take back to the store for us. He didn’t take too kindly to the idea and immediately told us to go to the next exit and turn around as we would be going back to pay for the gas. As we entered onto I-16 the very next exit just happened to be another interstate exit for I-95 so we didn’t think we could turn around there and proceeded to the next exit.
So Barney Fife, calling himself a deputy, immediately pulled us over, dragged cousin Bart out of the truck, handcuffed him, and threw him into the back of the patrol car. We tried to convince him of our intentions, but he definitely wasn’t listening. He yelled, “Don’t move an inch until I bring this criminal back”. We watched as Hells Angels Fife wheeled across the median, spinning his Hot Wheels tires, and generally drove like a man possessed. Bart told us later that Smokey and the Bandit got a call on his radio/CB and was speeding up to 90 mph back toward the convenience store with him strapped in the back seat. All for $3.00!! This was an ignoramus well beyond the fools who made this trip! If I still knew this officer’s name, I would definitely print it here and hope he saw it somehow. Maybe we should just label him as the PO-PO from hell.
Johnny Law finally dropped cuz off at the store and left him there. About an hour later another deputy picked him up and brought him back to the rendezvous point where we had been sitting for 2 hours or more. We were finally back on our way and didn’t get home until after midnight. All because of one crazy deputy who had let the power of the badge go to his brain. Cousin Bart told me later that he figured we had already lit out for Rutledge and just left him on the side of I-16 thumbing it home. He said he thanks God when he thinks about that trip that the “Gang” didn’t abandon him. Well, we definitely thought about it to tell you the truth. Every man for himself when the boat goes down, but the boys all stuck together.
This was a true Iron Man Trip that took about 24 hours to complete and 2 days to get over. Like I said earlier, this trip is one reason today that I don’t even attempt them anymore. Mission completed, but there were plenty of scars and nightmares for the four of us. Especially for Cousin Bart!!! He’ll never take the first leg home-EVER! I don’t think he’s been fishing since that epic trip.
Just goes to show that you don’t want to mess with a redneck South Georgia PO-PO. He’ll ruin your night, day, night and entire fishing trip.