Part 42 (1/2)
Whoop! Two handfuls of cake pelted Candice Keller.
For the next thirty seconds, all I saw were arms flailing and cake flying. I looked around, waiting for someone to pop out and yell, ”You've been pranked!”
So. Didn't. Happen.
When all the available ammo had been exhausted (The vendor had quickly covered his other wares.) and my king cake reduced to crumbs, the battle was over.
Candice fished a hunk of pastry from the gaping crease of her cleavage and my mom pulled frosting from her hair.
Me? I was still trying to wrap my head around what had just transpired. And mourn the loss of my king cake.
”There is a bit of good news!” I said, as Taylor and I helped brush the cake from my mother's s.h.i.+rt and hair. ”Jessica got the plastic baby. The next cake's on her.”
”Oh, my lord,” my mom said. ”What is wrong with me? What have I become?” my mother said. ”This is awful!”
I patted her on the shoulder.
”Don't worry, Mom. She threw the first piece,” I said, trying to console her. ”You're not becoming anything. You were provoked.”
”Oh, my G.o.d!” she shook her head and looked like she'd just eaten an entire king cake. ”I'm becoming your grandmother!”
I looked over at Taylor. I had nothing.
”Come on, Mom. Let's get you cleaned up,” Taylor the wise said, taking charge, when a sudden commotion upstaged the soulful sounds of a strolling saxophone.
”Oh, my G.o.d! Help! Help me please! Someone help!”
We turned. And stared.
Tiara, sobbing uncontrollably and looking like she'd been pulled through a thicket the wrong way, clothes dirty and ripped, hair every which way and loose, ran to Keelie and grabbed her in a bear hug.
”Oh, thank G.o.d! Thank G.o.d!”
”Tiara?” Keelie said. ”What's wrong?”
”Oh, G.o.d! Someone attacked me, Keelie! Someone tried to abduct me! Oh, my G.o.d. My G.o.d!”
Keelie stroked Tiara's hair and looked up, catching my eye.
Beware the masks of Mardi Gras,” her tarot cards had said. Danger lurks where you least expect it.
I wondered if Keelie was thinking the same thing I was.
Oh, the voodoo that you do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.
Thank G.o.d for my mother and Epsom salts. The improvised sitz baths had done wonders for my...er, disposition. And the blessed, cooling relief came at the perfect time-the longest leg of the bike ride-eighty, tortuous miles-and then it was all downhill from there.
Literally.
Iowa City (home to the University of Iowa Hawkeyes) was the final host city. We'd leave tomorrow morning and head south to the Mississippi River and the end of the line.
Hallelujah and pa.s.s the inflatable doughnut seat cus.h.i.+on.
The host city has experience with the party scene due to the college town located there. I felt certain the community would pull out all the stops to provide a celebration worthy of their learning inst.i.tution's past rankings as ”most partying school.”
In short: the beer would flow.
There would, however, be partying of a very different type in the small town of Riverside. (Yup. Captain James Tiberius Kirk's Riverside.) The tiny town located just south of Iowa City planned its own Star Trek fest that would include a carnival featuring out-of-this-world rides (flying saucer, rock-o-plane, s.p.a.ce planes, moon-bounce inflatables, etc.) games where you could show off your phaser accuracy, and the big finale, the costumed street dance-the uber-stellar event touted as ”your chance to party in the birthplace of the most famous Star Fleet captain.” Van Vleet had hailed it as the party event of TribRide.
I shook my head.
I could see it now. Everyone dressed as the Trekkie of their choice, jiving to ”s.p.a.ce Jam” and attempting to do the moonwalk.
Initially I hadn't been all that gung-ho about the stopover. But since I still hadn't had my turn at the helm, the back seat had little choice but to go where the front one went.
And surely there had to be something blog-worthy at such a spectacle.
We made decent time getting to Riverside. The weather and humidity had inched down from the previous sweltering conditions. Mid-eighties and a slight breeze? Sold!
We dismounted near the town square.
I stared. If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't believe it. Iowa's rural countryside had turned into Star Trek's version of Comic-Con.
”Welcome to Riverside, earthlings. Future home of Captain James Tiberius Kirk.”
I turned. A rather short, chunky Vulcan and his tall, skinny female counterpart, greeted us.
”Thank you, uh, er, Mr. Vulcan,” I said, doing my own Vulcan hand sign right back at him. (I'm lucky. I can do it without having to use my other hand to separate the fingers.) ”I am Sarek. Spock's father. This is Amanda, my wife. Spock's mother.”
Oo-kay.
”Hey...there,” I said and nodded at them both.
”It is a lovely day here in Riverside. I wish you and your companion enjoyment during your respite here,” Spock's mother said.
”And I, too,” Sarek concurred. ”Live long and prosper, earthlings,” he said, giving us the 'V' sign again.
I turned to Van Vleet.
”What was that?”
”Role-playing, of course. This is gonna be hilarious. Talk about YouTube fodder.”
I looked over at him. ”Wait a minute. Is this just another story to you? I thought you said you were a Star Trek fan.”