Shed a tear for the Juggler

Several years ago, Britt and I went camping up in New Hampshire. Now "camping" is a word open to a wide range of interpretation. Some people think camping is hauling a giant RV out to a log-cabin resort in the middle of the woods, complete with a pool, all-you-can-eat buffets and exercise equipment. And some people don't consider it camping unless you come with blood on your face, bear teeth around your neck and a story to tell. I'd like to say we're somewhere in the middle, but we're not. We're idiots.

For some reason, it rained every time I went to NH that summer and this trip was no exception, although it might have had something to do with Britt's repeated yelling of "Is that the best you can do?!" and fist-shaking at the heavens all throughout the ride up. 

We arrived at a campground on the Kancamagus Highway just after it had started to drizzle. Again. So we set our tent up in the rain and were fortunate enough to find a pile of wood and birch bark at our site. My father always says that birch bark is your best friend for starting a fire in the rain.

It's not. Gasoline is. 

I already told you we're idiots, didn't I? And I doubt that this has changed at all, which certainly doesn't bode well for the trip to come...

In any case, we got a fire going without any harm to ourselves or the woods around us. Except we didn't bring any food. Instead, we had two boxes full of booze, a large tub of peach gummy rings, and some sweet potato french fries from Britt's dinner the night before. So we dined on soggy reheated french fries marinated in American Honey, peach gummy rings soaked in grapefruit vodka, and HOLY COW Riesling. And you know what? It really was pretty awesome.

In the morning we drove through to North Conway, and ate a nice breakfast at a hometown diner with the shittiest service we'd ever had. Pretty sure that waitress got a two cent tip, or something equally pointed. After kicking around town for a bit, (and Britt pretending to be a car in an ATM line) we started back towards MA. On the way out of town, Britt pointed out a Burger King on the other side of the road and asked if we could stop for some Cheesy Tots. There was a lot of traffic and since I wasn't sure where we could turn around, I told her we'd stop at the next one.

"80 miles and still no Cheesy Tots"

We didn't come across another Burger King until we hit Manchester, where Britt screamed "CHEESY TOTS!! I WANT CHEESY TOTS!!" into the drive-thru speaker, scaring the poor girl working the window. She still hasn't forgiven me for that one. Never mind the fact that BK doesn't even carry them anymore. In fact, she still gets bitter about it whenever anyone brings it up, and thinks Cheesy Tots were discontinued just to spite her. 

It was still grey and dreary when we got to Nashua, but it didn't matter. We were having the time of our life singing, joking, and laughing for no particular reason other than we were young, carefree and enjoying the last summer I'd ever have before starting my first real job. Now, I forget if we were hunting for Headlines or Pier One, but it doesn't really matter. We drove up and down the road several times trying to find it, looping back around near the on- and off-ramps for the highway. 

And there, with bag on the ground and balls in the air, was the Juggler.

Yet, although we wondered where he was going and why he was juggling of all things, we kept on driving. But every time we passed him, we felt a little worse about ourselves until finally, as the rain really started to come down, we asked each other if we were willing to pick up this total stranger. Then we looked at the back of my Jeep, completely filled with camping gear, backpacks and bottles of alcohol, and realized we couldn't possibly fit him if we tried. 

We found our Pier One. We also found that the gas can we'd used the night before wasn't closing properly and our euphoria was likely due in part to being high on fumes all day. On our final loop around to turn south, we passed the Juggler one last time. He wasn't juggling any more. He was sitting on the ground in the pouring rain, with his head in his hands, and his bag between his legs. Thoroughly soaked.

The further away we drove, the more we talked about going back. But we didn't, and - it doesn't matter that we had no seats and a cab full of gas fumes - we still regret it to this day.

So now Britt and I have decided that if we pass a person juggling on the side of the road during this road trip, we have to give him (or her) a ride. We owe it to the Juggler we left on the side of the road so long ago. 

We're so sorry :(