“Whoa means Woe”

On our next trip to Shelbyville, we added our fourth. Robert and I had fished together, but had not taken a trip before. Robert was working multiple roles in his administrative position. He needed some time away.

Of course we already had some traditions to follow. A stop at Pizza Hut in Mt. Zion, and reservations at “Almost Holiday”. With Robert along, we had two rooms. It all started after we checked in and got some ice from the owner’s ice cube trays. We also had some running jokes about the motel. The absence of neighborhood animals was noted again.

By this time, Paul had acquired a new boat. This was a wide Lowe with four seats and a large motor. The first night he kept the car hooked to the boat and parked it along the road.

Paul’s boat was a terrific addition. We were comfortable even with four fishing in his boat. Unfortunately we were not very successful. We returned to the motel and decided to return to Jibby’s for dinner.

Jibby’s was downtown so we needed to drive there. Rather than pull the boat into town, Paul decided to leave it at the motel. The motel catered to fisherman, and has a wide parking area next to the rooms. It was slightly elevated above the roadbed and wide enough for a boat and trailer and a vehicle connected to the boat. Unfortunately the boat had to be backed in.

While Paul was moving the boat, Don recalls “I had Robert pour out some of the George Dickel while I went to the lobby to “ask” for ice. When I returned, Robert had divided the entire container into four cups, leaving little room for ice.”  They wondered what was taking Paul so long to unhook his boat.

This is what caused the delay. As Paul was backing up the boat, I was supposed to watch to make sure he didn’t hit anything. As he backed up over the slight curb from the road, he had to gun his engine. I hollered “Whoa”, but he didn’t hear me and kept coming and backed right into the brick motel wall.

Alternative version

Paul’s version is that I hollered “Whoa”, after he hit the motel.

The propeller on the boat was bent. I apologized. Paul got a pliers to try and bend it back.  It looked pretty bad. We went to the room for some George Dickel and then had dinner at Jibby’s.

The next day we took the boat back out to the lake. The marina had a boat shop. They couldn’t fix the propeller so Paul had to shell out $100.00 for a new one.  I offered to help pay, but he said “No”. I decided that, to Paul, boat repairs were part of the responsibility of the owner, even if he doubts he was the cause.

We fished for a short while and headed back home. Not many fish and a bent propeller, but some good memories.

 Trained Mouse

Our next trip Glen replaced Robert. As a fellow principal, Glen appreciated the opportunity to get away in late April.

After a few beers on a nice night we decided to sit in the parking lot next to the rooms. Glen brought Cheetos, one of his favorites. After a while we noticed Glen would occasionally throw one on the ground. When we asked why, he said he was feeding the mouse that came out from the wall of the motel.

We didn’t catch many fish again. When Paul and I retired, Glen made a point of describing his fishing experience with us. As a southern Illinois small town guy, his fishing experience was like mine. Cane poles, nightcrawlers, and not a lot of success. He said he expected with a boat, fish finder, maps, lures and rods and reels, we would certainly catch a lot of fish. We, of course, never caught much of anything. We couldn't even catch the mouse.