Aaah, glorious Philmont. DC 10s, midnight bus rides, long trains to nowhere.
On the way home from Santa Fe to Chicago, hang out in the bar car. Watch as your friends (Phid, Bagman and every other horny dork at the table) hit on a little blond girl nicknamed “Ducky”
Karma: What’s really scary? That you remember her real name and address in Thousand Oaks California all these years later.
Anyway, take the seat next to her and do not give it up for anything. Outwit, Outplay, Outlast. Those wussie 16 year olds will tire or grow bored. Weaklings. Finally, it’s just you and her. Amazingly, she is still interested in you, and it’s not even because she’s intoxicated. Or it is. Who cares? She’s holding your hand under the table. You’re halfway to sex.
Batter up. Stuff happens. Base hit. You’re past 1st and rounding 2nd base (with no clue what 3rd base entails or how to get there). Who cares? Suckface and a handful of boobs under her bra? Time to start picking out baby names, right?
Suddenly, Phid appears from the bar level. He just stands there until you notice him. He wants to “talk.” Phid is a little oblivious. and more than a little fucked up.
The opportunity to “ride the rails” is suddenly over. Surprisingly, you do not kill him right then and there.
See her off, at her stop in Iowa. No, you don’t get a goodbye grope. Grandma is watching. Or else the booze wore off.
To complete the disastrous end to this brief romance, write stupid, clumsy letters to this girl. As a bonus, you can brag to people (who surprisingly don’t give a fuck) that you have a girlfriend in Cali, since she has never specifically told you to get lost. People with actual experience in these sorts of things know you don’t have a girlfriend in Cali. Her mom, who read your moronic ramblings, has sent the poor girl to a convent.