It’s also the most direct way in and out of Coloma, Pop. 485, a fact unbeknownst to us until two right-wing, neo-Nazi racists showed us the way some nine years after we first set foot in this old gold-mining town.
To reach the end of this three-day adventure we must first discuss the beginning.
Davis
On Wednesday night, Zach, Adam and Jamie headed to Davis to stay the night with D.O. Not wanting to arrive empty-handed, the trio stopped off at the neighborhood KFC for a long-awaited and heavily hyped Double-Down. Turns out advertising’s a fickle bitch. The sandwich was an expensive, bun-less mess of sodium and saturated fat, void of the traditional KFC flavor that has endeared us to the brand for years. It’s also not made from real chicken, but the mutant drumsticks taste way better.
After civilized conversation with Ellen (thanks for the hospitality) and Emily (wonderful seeing you) that included Jamie getting baked out of his mind (he took a small hit), we hitched a ride to Aggie Liquors for a little somethin’-somethin’ before frequenting a local watering hole (Froggy’s. Where else?). We settled for vodka sodas (which we only sorta discreetly drank on the Davis streets), but the “Gorilla” shots the store’s proprietor pressured us to try were tempting. Ultimately, we decided that 151 and Wild Turkey would be a drink saved for another day.
On our way out of Davis we stopped at Safeway to get “supplies” – 42 beers, six sandwiches, one bag of ice, one pack of ping-pong balls and a free watermelon – for the day.
An hour later, and after an uninspired game of “What’s in that Truck?” (Best response: “3rd and 9 from the 27”), we reached Camp Lotus (via Placerville and Highway 49, mind you, not N. Shingle Springs Rd.).
The woman manning the check-in booth at Lotus is a raging whore who can sink to the bottom of the American River, for all we care.
Our “welcome” to Camp Lotus consisted of wrongly placing us at Campsite 5 (campsite 5!?!) only to give us flack when we asked to change to traditional Campsite N (she begrudgingly complied). We were also charged a day-use fee for arriving a little more than an hour ahead of check-in time. Campsite N was unoccupied when we arrived, but no matter.
Once settled, we headed to the river with beer, chairs, music and slightly calmed nerves for a day on the American. Our usually private beach was infested with fisherman and kids, but we found an even more secluded spot just a little further down the way.
Beers were consumed, Van Morrison was played too often and we were later greeted by Sam Marthinsen, who had to come late due to a work conflict (he was “chauffeuring” little kids), who invigorated the rest of us. More beers were consumed, showers were taken and we then “made it” to New Yosum’s (Starvin’ Dog Pizza) for some take-out.
The woman at the order window of Starvin’ Dog Pizza is a raging whore who can sink to the bottom of the American River, for all we care.
After pizza and some ill-advised one-dollar poker tournaments, Jamie and Sam challenged a group of Hmong to games of beer pong while the remaining three built a raging inferno and sang campfire songs until the last flame flickered out (we might have passed out).
Friday morning announced its arrival with the sound of a crying baby.
The crying baby is a raging whore who can sink to the bottom of the American River, for all we care.
We got a jump on the day and headed into Placerville for a stroll through Old Hangtown that consisted of an annual photo, a stop in a darlin’ candy store and one in a terrifying store of anti-Semites that Jamie claims are “really nice guys”. Fuckin’ Goy.
For the first time possibly ever, we had a meal at the Buttercup Pantry where no one puked or did something ridiculously embarrassing. It was sorta boring, actually. And D.O. didn’t even get the Huevos Rancheros or Zach the Monte Christo. Traitors.
After brunch we browsed the “library” at 49'er Liquors and purchased gold in 40oz. increments. The gold was actually just shitty malt liquor that we still continue to drink on this trip despite no longer being 17 or liking malt liquor.
But tradition is tradition, so we took our 40s, chairs and music back out to the river for another day on the American that also included our annual draft. The only casualty of the day was Zach’s sunglasses (and Jamie), but he’s a fool for swimming a raging river with sunglasses on top of his head. Besides, it was more of a sacrifice than a casualty, anyway.
After a shower and cocktail hour, we headed into town for some shitty Mexican food at appropriately named Gringos. The place was a buzzin’, but that didn’t stop acting-manager Kimber from remembering us the moment we walked in. She was just as uptight (but soooo closet freak!) as we remembered, but New Keith 1 (Steve? Chris?) and New Keith 2 (Greg) were bitchin’ dudes who hooked up the burritos to our liking. Original Keith was apparently on a roadtrip with his new lady friend, getting high at every stop along the way.
Sam and D.O. engaged Heidi in a friendly game of quarters and talked-up some locals, but Kimber was tight-fisted and wouldn’t give us any free beer or food.
Kimber is a raging whore who can sink to the bottom of the American River, for all we care. (That’s not true. We like Kimber. We do. She just needs to let down her hair once in a while, figuratively and literally.)
After we outwore our welcome (not really, but sorta), we headed back for campfire. No more than 15 minutes later, two guys showed up at our campsite (now Campsite Q after Sam sweet-talked a different guy in the check-in booth who is not a raging whore who can sink to the bottom of the American River.). They were the two Coloma locals Sam befriended at Gringos. Nice fellas, they were. Then this happened:
Us: So where do you guys party around here.
Them: Folsom
Us: Oh. Not Sac.? How come?
Them: That’s where the Blacks and the Asians go.
The Blacks?!? The Asians?!? And that was the end of the fun. We also then noticed a few of us had on Kee Tov gear with the Jewish star, but luckily that went unnoticed.
Before things went south with Racist 1 and Racist 2, they told us how Highway 49 was a roundabout way to enter Coloma.
The next morning we got up and left. We didn’t drive back on Highway 49 through Placerville.
We took N. Shingle Springs Rd.
Yours in savagery,
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