A bug’s eye view of a fishy trip

So I’m minding my own business, buzzing along Gas Point Road, looking for wild flowers to pollinate.  It was just a little after 9:00 on a clear, cool Sunday morning.  I had just finished servicing a Golden Shasta Star Thistle, when I found myself smack in the middle of the roadway.  Smack was the operative word.  Ouch!  The next thing I know I was caught by my left hind leg on the windshield wiper arm of a pretty red Porsche 914.  It’s a good thing the windshield was clean because I never did like looking at those transparent moving graveyards on big trucks.  I could see inside pretty well, and observed the two occupants responsible for my unexpected ride.  The driver was a guy with a goofy hat and lots of patches—probably to commemorate other bee-killing excursions—and the passenger was a really cute babe with white-framed sunglasses and a pretty smile.  Why is it that the pretty girls always go for the goofy looking guys?  Anyway, we negotiated a couple of quick turns and wound up at a place called Oasis.”  Can it be that this is where my journey will end? 

We came to rest in a nice shady spot in front of the building and both people got out of the car.  I managed to work my leg free and buzzed over to see the nice folks in a cool looking yellow Boxter with a black top.  The name tags they were wearing said “Harvey” and “Sue.”  Of course, yellow and black are my favorite colors, so I thought I’d hang around and get to know these people a little better.  Just as I was about to land on the top, another car drove up.  This was a bright red Cayman—bzzzzzzzzz!  Harvey and Sue came over and said “Hi Bob.”  Bob said “10-4, Hey, you look like a 647F I met the other night.  Are you sure your car isn’t a 10851 out of Modoc County?”  I don’t know what he was talking about, but I was sure enjoying life perched atop my shiny Boxter.  Just as Harvey was starting to turn the conversation from numbers to wheels, another red Porsche drove up.  This was an old-timer—a 356 with a happy couple inside.  I could tell by a glance at their name tags that this was the renowned Tourmeister, Jerry, and his lovely and talented navigator, Elly.  Everybody gathered together, shook hands and exchanged stories of their busy lives. 

Speaking of busy, I realized I missed out on all the work to be done on Gas Point Road.  I was supposed to be at a Marigold grove by the high school.  I was feeling pretty bad about missing all the work (not) when another Porsche (red, of course) pulled up.  Will and Kathy sprang (so to speak) from their 964, and joined the group.  Then the guy with the goofy hat came up with a clip board and got everyone’s autograph.  It was just after that when Jerry said “Dutches, Yaks, the King got a fax and au pair with natural 7’s beats everything.  Elly passed out cards.  Bob said “I don’t want to see any 23109B’s!”  Harvey said “If you stop with the wheel crest pointing down, you loose 5 points.”  Kathy said “Anybody want to be Secretary next year?”  The guy with the goofy hat said “I get to be tail-end Charlie.”  There’s something strange about that guy. 

I got a tight grip on the Boxter’s black canvas top and we headed down the road.  We stopped at the Whiskeytown Vista Point and I posed for a photo or two.  Elly passed out more cards and then Jerry gave the signal to move out.  I thought I’d see how the other cars felt, so I buzzed over to the Cayman and landed on the back of the passenger seat.  Now, this is a ride!  He didn’t smile much until he got behind the wheel, but when he started down the road, it was grabbing gears and grinnin’.  Bob looked like he was really getting a workout, but he was happy!  His feet were pushing the pedals and he was working the gearshift lever