The plane landed, barely, and I was swept up in laughter and joy as soon as I saw my friends. We headed immediately to a bar called the Million Dollar Cowboy so that I could have the true Midwest nightlife experience. James, who grew up in Nebraska, taught me the cowboy polka. Quite a few “cowboy beers” were drunk before heading back to Conner’s friend’s house for the night.
I experienced my first initiation that evening, as I placed my sleeping bag next to theirs in the living room. Those guys snored. They fell asleep immediately, oblivious to each other’s cacophony, but I was left awake for hours, forced to compare the unique timbre and design of each one’s barreling. James’ snoring was low and seemed to come from some deep place in his belly, while Matthew’s snoring was slow and even, more tenor-like and unobtrusive. Every now and then Conner joined in with a high-pitched wheeze that sounded like a falsetto solo in an opera. I tried not to giggle too loudly and made a mental note to buy ear plugs the next day.
My second initiation happened the next day, after Chris arrived and we were on our way to Yellowstone. I don’t know whose idea it was, only that it must have taken root in the other car, because I would never have allowed it. All I remember is that at some point during our first full day of travel, “The Man Plan” was announced.
Conner broke the news to me at a rest stop. Unashamed and full of his own wildness, he proclaimed, “We have decided not to shave, shower, or put on deodorant, and wear only one shirt each for the remainder of the trip.” I sat, stunned, taking it in. There was a foot funk in the air when we had woken up that morning, and I was pretty sure they had each taken a shower that day. Ten days of no personal hygiene? Would I survive?
Conner stared me right in the eye and offered, “Em, you can be in on this with us.” I had prepared myself that there might be moments on this trip that would separate the men from the boys and the girls from the men, times when I would feel pressured to fit in. This, however, was not one of them. “Absolutely not.” “Suit yourself, sweetheart,” Conner gave me a little tap on the shoulder with what felt like pity, before dancing away, excited about his idea. “Oh yeah,” he called when he was next to the car, “And we’re not stopping for food either. We’re making all our own meals, campfire style.”
