The Dangerous Adventures of Jeep Muldoon!

by Matt Musson

  As Santa's last ‘Merry Christmas' rang out to the crowd the elves released him and stood aside. And, as soon as they let go, Jolly Old Saint Nick began to rise from the ground. The red and green and white balloons provided lift and Kris Kringle quickly rose toward the beautiful December stratosphere. Santa began to pick up speed as the wind pushed him across the square. And, as he cleared the old willow tree on the Southwest corner you could hear him shouting.

  “To the top of porch. To the top of the wall.

  Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!”

  Parents, town officials and Deputy Sheriff Boonfogle watched open mouthed as Santa drifted upward into the wild blue yonder. But, the kids took it all in stride shouting:

  “Bye Santa! Bye! See you Christmas Eve! I’ll be good!”

  This was not just the most exciting and fun filled Christmas Parade since Horace Killjoy was elected Mayor. This was clearly the biggest finish in the parade’s sixty-four year history!

  But, Mayor Killjoy was not the kind of person who enjoyed being upstaged; even if it was by Father Christmas. And, as soon as the Mayor got over the initial shock of watching Santa float away, he was on Deputy Boonfogle's radio ordering the entire Sheriff's department to mount a high speed pursuit of the airborne Elf. When the dispatcher pointed out that Sheriff's cars were not going to catch a suspect fleeing through the air, the Mayor demanded she contact the State Police and order a helicopter to join the chase. And Mayor Killjoy did not even stop there. He began reeling off other groups that he believed the dispatcher should contact immediately. The FAA, the Air Force and the FBI were all organizations that the Mayor demanded to be notified of the dangerous flying Santa.

  When the dispatcher inquired why all these groups would be interested in apprehending St. Nick, the indignant Mayor replied.

  “He's a rogue Elf. He's a danger to Public Safety and clearly… a threat to Homeland Security!”

  With the Mayor distracted by his attempts to contact the Department of Defense, it gave us elves time to disappear into the crowd. Running through deserted alleyways and rarely used back entrances of down town buildings, we managed to find private areas to slip out of our elf costumes and stash them into a half dozen gym bags purchased just for this occasion. Then, re-dressed in unremarkable street clothes, we converged on the parking lot in back of Dryers Appliance Store. There we unobtrusively boarded a 1952 M37 Weapons Carrier, waiting with its motor running.

  Boo Yoder hit the gas, and we headed out Burke Street in the direction the wind was blowing. Freddie and Shad rode in the cab and Toby, Bogdon, Thor, and I huddled together in the pickup bed. Boo had on his sunglasses. Cowboy was wearing an elf hat.

  Toby called Charlie Sinclair on his cell phone. When Charlie answered, Toby put it on the speaker, so we could all hear.

  “Hello, Santa's workshop. This is Father Christmas. How may I assist you?”

  “These are the elves calling,” said Toby. “We've made it out of town safe and sound. What is your location?”

  “Well, the altimeter has me at 4000 feet. I am just passing over the River. According to the compass I am heading directly South West. Using the GPS, I calculate I am traveling at 8 miles per hour.”

  “Good,” Toby replied. “You are leaving Caldwell County and crossing into Burke. That should encourage the county Deputies to call off their hot pursuit.”

  Thor, who was monitoring the police band radio on a pair of head phones, held up his hand for quiet. Then he announced, “That’s it! The dispatcher has called back the Deputies.”

  The rest of us gave a small cheer.

  “Wait a minute,” said Thor, holding up his hand. “Oh no!” Thor snatched off the headphones. “I just overhead a broadcast from the State Police. They have a helicopter in Asheville they are sending this way. Their ETA is approximately 30 minutes.”

  “What a coincidence,” observed Bogdon. “That's exactly how long I calculate it will take for Charlie to reach the closest landing area.”

  I swear I could hear Charlie gulp over the phone line. In our planning we had never expected the State Police to respond.

  “Hey guys,” Charlie said. “I may not really be Santa Claus. But, I don't want to spend Christmas in jail either!”

  “Don't worry,” Thor assured him. “I've got an idea how to buy you some time. Let’s make some phone calls of our own.”

  **********

  It did not take us long to catch up with Charlie. We were traveling at thirty or forty miles per hour, and he was blowing along at about eight. We did not even need binoculars to find him as we passed below. He was less than a mile up, and we had no trouble spotting the bright red, green and white balloons against the deep blue sky. We could even make out his cheery red Santa suit.

  Before long, we passed through Rhodhiss and drove southwest out of that community. About half way to Connelly Springs, we pulled into the parking lot of a small white brick Church beside the highway. There was plenty of open cleared farm pasture around us. If Charlie continued on his current course and at his current speed, he should be able to touch down near our location in roughly fifteen minutes. After our hurried escape and the rush to get out of Granite Falls, that little Church parking lot was a welcome dose of peace and quiet. Occasionally, a car or pickup truck would come swishing buy, but traffic was light. Charlie's progress may have been frustratingly slow, but it was also kind of relaxing to watch him float along with the wind. In the distance some milk cows were mooing. A large vee of Canadian geese overflew our airborne Santa and honked off into the distance. Resting in this small Church parking lot would be a pleasant way to spend a beautiful December afternoon, if we were not facing jail time.

  Slowly. Slowly. Slowly.

  Charlie floated directly towards us. He was on a straight line half a mile out from our position when we heard a thump, thump, thump sound coming out of the West.

  “Here comes the State Police helicopter,” Charlie announced over the cell phone. “I believe my Christmas goose is cooked.”

  But, he had barely let go of his radio button before we heard more thumping noises coming up from the South. This second clamor was not just a thump, thump, thump. This one echoed thumpity, thumpity, thumpity and it was much, much louder.

  “Alright! Here comes the cavalry!” Thor exclaimed. “I just hope they get here in time.”

  **********

  As the background noise level increased, Charlie glided slowly along toward our position. I saw him cut loose one balloon. Then he waited thirty seconds and cut loose another. Slowly, he began to descend.

  Toby called up front to Boo, “He's headed for that farm pasture across the street and up a block.”

  Boo ground the truck into gear and, as soon as the coast was clear, he drove onto the highway. We headed north for a block and pulled down a graded county road and drove about a hundred yards. Thor hopped off the truck and opened a gate in the roadside fence and Boo continued into a pasture. Then, Boo sped up and headed into the center of the field. A minute later the Green Mamba stopped beneath a great big pin oak that stood majestically in the middle of the meadow. Underneath that big tree, we would be pretty hard to spot from the air.

  We dismounted. And remaining under the cover of the branches we had a great view of the scene unfolding before us. Coming up on Charlie from the West, the State Police helicopter fluttered in, determined to get their man. But, from the South, three more helicopters were flying in hot. They were the Charlotte news choppers from television channels 6, 13 and 42. Dashing flat out, the news teams were racing each other to get the first and best pictures of ‘Flying Santa'. Each set of pilots and news reporters realized that a couple of seconds of Santa waving from a cluster of brightly colored balloons would end up being broad cast worldwide. This was a big chance to make the network news!

  The Channel 13 Eyewitness chopper was the fastest in the crowd, or maybe just had the craziest pilot. He whipped inside and made a wide right turn around
Charlie so the camera man sitting on the right side of the helicopter could get an unobstructed view. The State Police chopper that was barreling in from the West was forced to break off and let the dare devil news crew get its story. The Police made a wide left hand turn and circled around for another pass.

  Next, Channel 42 Action News came in behind the Eyewitness chopper. The Action News crew cut off the State Police once again. Once again, it meant another wide sweeping turn for the authorities.

  Coming in a third time, the Police chopper had a small window of opportunity to get to Charlie. However, the Police pilot held back. He was certain the NewsChannel 6 helicopter was about to fly right up his tail rotor! And, he was correct to be cautious.

  As the State Police watched, the NewsChannel 6 chopper came tearing in so close we could see Charlie bouncing around in the rotor wash. Two more of Charlie's balloons floated free and not because he cut them. By now, Charlie was descending awfully fast. Through the binoculars I could see he was tearing open the front of his Santa suit trying to get to the water bottles he carried as ballast.

  Our original plan was for Charlie to open the stoppers and pour out the water if necessary, in order to gain altitude. But now, Charlie was grabbing the bottles and throwing them unopened as quickly as he could. He was close enough now that we could see some of these ‘water bombs' exploding as they hit the ground below.

  Several minutes had passed with the helicopter chicken dance and now Charlie was almost on top of us. Apparently, the rotor wash gave him a push, or he hit a slightly faster air current as he descended. Either way, he was only seconds from the pasture where we were hiding.

  “Decoy Santa Maneuver!” Toby ordered.

  Scampering back on the truck, I pulled at a tarp lying at the bottom corner of the bed, which revealed a mannequin we retrieved from a dumpster behind Jenny's Dress Barn. It was already decked out in Christmas red and white. I simply handed it down to Thor. Then I jumped off the back. Thor carried ‘Mannequin Santa' and we all sprinted to the end of the pasture, just as Charlie returned to Earth with a thud.

  “Oomph!” Charlie groaned, as he smacked down on top of Bogdon. They both went down, but the balloons quickly pulled Charlie up again.

  That is when Toby caught Charlie from behind. I got his left side. Bogdon jumped up and took a position on his right. We all grabbed onto the parachute harness and held on tight.

  Charlie yanked the quick release buckle on the harness. But he struggled trying to break free of the extra safety strap that was tied in the middle. As Charlie fought to untangle himself, Bogdon Peabody uncharacteristically yanked out a Buck knife and sliced through the strap with one quick thrust. Charlie was free!

  As Charlie slid from the harness and fell to his knees, we held the attachment in place while Thor inserted the mannequin. When Thor clicked the harness buckle, we were ready. (The mannequin did not need a safety strap.)

  Thor ordered, “Release the decoy!”

  Six hands released the faux Santa and we jumped back. Like a rocket the hollow mannequin, much lighter than Charlie Sinclair, shot upward. Within seconds Decoy Kris Kringle left the pasture behind.

  The State Police helicopter had been making a landing approach on our position. But, seeing Santa was airborne again, the pilot gunned the engine and resumed the chase. In fact, all four helicopters took off after the decoy, while we ran and half dragged Charlie beneath the oak tree and out of sight.

  For ten minutes we held our position. But, the helicopters did not return. The thwack, thwack, thwack just faded in the distance. Finally, peeking out through the tree branches we spotted the decoy Santa at eight or nine thousand feet and floating briskly towards Morganton. He was sailing happily along – doing his job: taking heat off of us.

  **********

  It was not that long a drive back to Granite Falls. In fact, we had time to stop at a convenience store in Rhodhiss, where Charlie and Bogdon bought Slurpees for everyone. (Cowboy had cherry). While Bog and Charlie were inside, Thor and I were out back stashing a Santa suit in the dumpster.

  Later, we made it home just in time to catch some great shots of Santa Clause Charlie Sinclair on the news at five. There was wonderful footage of Charlie hanging from his Christmas balloons and waiving to the reporters. What a camera hog!

  **********

  Two days after the parade we gathered in our main club house in the big white oak tree in Freddie’s grandparent’s back yard. Freddie had a copy of the Granite Falls Gazette and the paper featured a full color photo of Santa and his elves on the front page. When Freddie read the article out loud, we learned our Decoy Santa floated all the way to Tennessee where he made landfall in the middle of a rural church prayer meeting. I can only imagine what kind of prayer that those folks believed was being answered.

  Freddie also read the official announcement from Mayor Horace Killjoy’s office. From this day forward the holiday parade would have to do without Granite Fall's chief executive. He was no longer choosing to participate. Next year the parade committee would have to select an at large Father Christmas. (Hopefully one with at least a morsel of the holiday spirit.)

  Well, Project K for Kringle achieved all our objectives, our role in the escapade remained a secret, and we managed to elude the Sheriff’s deputies and the State Police. So, Freddie Dunkleberger folded up the newspaper and placed it inside the old army footlocker in the center of the tree house. Then, as Freddie snapped the drab green hasp shut and closed the page on another Ranger adventure, he Tiny Tim’ed those immortal words.

  “God bless us, everyone

  **********

  We Capture the Wampus Cat!

  There is something about a campfire flickering under a starry night sky, that just makes you want to spin yarns and tell stories. Maybe the fire takes us back thousands of years to our caveman days? Or, maybe it just takes us back a century or two to a cowboy life spent on the open range? Or, maybe it’s just that there’s no TV around to watch? For whatever the reason, this beautiful summer evening found all seven members of the Granite Falls Rangers seated around the campfire telling tales of wonder and fancy.

  It was our first night of a weeklong camping trip, deep into the ‘out yonder’, where the Blue Ridge Mountains leave Tennessee and wander into North Carolina. We were here on a scientific expedition: performing a population census of the Procyon lotor. That’s a fancy way of saying we were out in the middle of nowhere counting raccoons.

  As far as I know, it was not like the raccoons are endangered or needed saving or anything. There is no shortage of raccoons. Nor is there some raccoon plague or horde of raccoons terrifying the locals. So, I guess some scientific foundation somewhere had a lot of money and couldn’t decide what to do with it. One of the guys says, ‘I wonder how many raccoons are up in the mountains?’ And another guy says, ‘I don’t know. Let’s pay someone to find out.’

  Anyway, Thor’s older sister Hildagrune is working on her doctorate degree at NC State. And, she applied for that research grant and those curious guys gave her money to count Raccoons in this stretch of Mountains. And, since her brother and his friends work free and have their own night vision goggles, she invited us to come along to do all the leg work, while she crunches the numbers.

  Of course, the Rangers jumped at the opportunity. For four hours each day (or night) we hike around the mountains checking raccoon feeding stations, counting raccoon footprints and downloading the photographs from the infrared game cameras. Then, for the other twenty hours of the day, we hike, we fish, we have enormous paintball wars and generally get into whatever mischief we feel like making. And, this very moment, we felt like hanging around the campfire listening to scary stories.

  Lucky for us, we were joined in our coon counting expedition by a real genuine chuck wagon cook: Hondo Yarnell. Hondo was a wiry old coot with scraggly grey whiskers that covered a face as weathered as the old sweat stained Stetson on his head. The antiqued
cook favored the title “dough puncher”. And, you could tell Hondo was an authentic cowboy cause his boots had plenty of genuine cow manure caked up around the edges.

  Hondo cooked out of the back of the multipurpose chuck wagon, where slept during the night. During the day the wagon was his open air kitchen, where he created good hearty camp food and plenty of it.

  We were also joined at the camp fire tonight by Hildagrune’s boyfriend, Ty Renfro, and by Maynard Bart, a local mountain man who fancied himself an expert on this part of the Blue Ridge. Ty met Mr. Bart this afternoon at the Three Corners General Store a couple miles down the valley, where he stopped to ask directions. Mr. Bart offered to guide Ty up to our camp, mostly because he wanted to meet the bunch of city slickers trespassing in ‘his mountains’.

  Ty was tall, blonde and needed a haircut. With khaki pants and a colorful fashion sweater, he looked like he had just stepped out of an Old Navy commercial. He was the kind of fellow who would get upset if he got mud on his topsiders. So, I don’t really think he was up here because he cared that much about raccoons.

  Maynard Bart was a big man, course and dirty from a life lived outdoors. He had a dark brown beard that hid most of his face, but you could still see a large dented nose and a double scar across his left cheek. Mr. Bart seemed friendly enough. But, for some reason I got the feeling he enjoyed intimidating people with his size and roughness.

  Ty and Hildagrune got up from the fire. Hildagrune explained.

  “I’m going to give Ty a tour of our camp and we may walk up to the first feeding station at the bottom of the Ridge. Has anyone seen my flashlight?”

  “Here it is,” said Toby, tossing over the aluminum tube.

  “You two ought to double check them batteries,” Hondo suggested with a chuckle. “It would be a real shame if they were to go dead and you lost your way in the forest. Why, you might just have to find soft spot where you could spend all night huddled together to keep from freezing.”