Simon Lindsay shattered a little side window of his Honda Pilot with a rock.
It was either that or wait 3 hours for AAA on his last day of camping. The decision was made quickly. Other people might have made this decision less quickly, but my friends and I are not other people. Simon stood in the hot sun overlooking Salmon Lake in the Sierra Buttes region, accepting his fate like the champion he was. Eric, Ben, and I; his comrades and blood-brothers of old, just stood there to witness it, and provide a little advice from time to time. Intermittent laughter erupted from us freely. Simon soon held a giant-goddamn rock, that had been handpicked by the group for its size and sharpness, like a battering ram. The Pilot's backseat windows had a little extra pane of glass that we targeted to inflict minimal damage. Shit, if I hadn't been there he would have tried to use his hand wrapped in a towel. What a bloody mess that would have been!
He heaved the rock into the window. The first blow only produced a small white scratch. The second made a few cracks. Oh, but the third time, the third time was the charm. The sound of shattered glass was met with rebel yells of victory from members of the group. The alarm that followed shattered the serenity of this peaceful alpine lake. Passersby just looked at us with bloody stares of sympathy and wonder.
We quickly cleared away the glass from the edges of the window, so Simon could reach in and unlock the car. He grabbed his keys that he had locked inside, and started the engine. The alarm did not stop, even after many attempts of turning the vehicle on-and-off. Eventually, after many attempts, we realized that the alarm would turn off on its own after about 5 minutes, provided no one opened any doors. We were going to have to drive back to our camp at Sardine Lakes, so that situation seemed untenable. I knew from prior experience that some cars have specific theft protection wires and fuses that might be able to be disconnected. We popped the hood of his car. Looking under the hood, the alarm literally shook my eardrums. Thank God his Honda Pilot had a little guide on its fuse box showing a map of the relays and the purpose of each fuse. I theorized we should take the horn relay, as it wasn't connected to anything critical besides his horn.
"I mean, fuck it, it's not like you need your horn!" I told him.
"Run it," he told me.
I pulled out the fuse. Silence.
Ah, silence! Sweet silence! You could feel the weight come off our shoulders. It gave us a moment to think. We had managed to quiet the alarm, but it was still technically going off. The lights were still flashing, and a clicking sound emanated from the fuse box. But the shrill shriek of the siren was no more. That seemed a fair trade, and soon we were driving back to the camp blasting rap out of our "stolen" vehicle. I'm not a big rap guy, but boy did it fit the scene! There was still a little worry that the flashing lights might kill his car battery, but they only went off if someone opened a door. I told Simon he should just leave his windows down and climb in-and-out through them.
The rest of our group was waiting for us back at camp. We returned like champions coming home. Fucking legends. This feeling was only cemented when Simon climbed out through his sun roof in a Honda Pilot whose lights were still flashing quietly in the most janky of ways. Of course, he took a moment to raise both arms in victory atop his Pilot. Of course, he did!
I expect nothing less.
"What happened?" A girl, Grace, asked.
"Did he really break his window?" Nadia, Eric's girlfriend, spoke with surprise.
"Fuck yea, he broke his window!" I assured them.
"Jesus Christ," Taylor, Grace's husband, shook his head.
"Honestly, it was pretty metal," Eric admitted.
We would actually end up piling in Simon's Pilot, alarm-and-all, many times throughout the rest of the trip. I always took the bitch seat, by which I mean the seat covered in bits of shattered glass next to the gaping hole in the window. I got cut on a piece of glass, but jumping in the icy waters of the Yuba River proved most curative. That's just a perk of being the toughest member of a group of wild sons-of-bitches!
I mean, I did come up there once and hike around the Buttes with a broken leg.
But that's a story for another time...
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