Special K.

BOISE, ID

"Do you want to rave with us, man?"

I'm a little mystified. "What, here in the car?"

"Uh huh, hyeah!" The kid is Beavis and Butt-Head rolled into one, with a top knot and fuzzy pink terrycloth socks... or are they shoes? Whatever they are, they're disgusting. I figure 'rave' in this instance is colorful slang for hijacking the aux cable to listen to shitty EDM.

"Sure. Let's rave." I surrender my stereo to his favorite DJ, praying it will be marginally less insufferable than having a conversation with him.

I've been riding with and giving rides to people for at least six or seven years. The worst thing that's happened to me in that time is personalities not clicking and spending the ride in silence. I'm selective (it's Craigslist) and can usually weed out the obvious basket cases. If it came down to it, I would have no problem kicking a troublemaker out of my car. So I feel pretty safe about it.

These kids were 19 (him) and 22 (her), going to party in Portland for the weekend. After a rest stop near the border, the guy claims shotgun and starts getting weird.

"Where are we?"

We've just passed a sign: Portland 258 miles.

"Did you see the sign?"

"Yeah but where are we?" He's bobble-heading, eyes glazed. His girlfriend is quiet in the back. "Where are we, man? Where are we?" He asks me some variation on this only 827 more times throughout the trip.

He asks me if I like ketamine. I think he's talking about some dumb band and continue ignoring him. He asks me if I'm actually driving. He points to the Wallowas and wonders aloud if they are, in fact, mountains. He points to a wheat field as we crest a hill and asks if it's the ocean. He tries to ruffle my hair playfully. I slap his hand away.

I'm long onto them by now and beyond annoyed. I consider dumping them by the side of the road and keeping their $50 gas contribution for the hassle. But I don't. Why, I'm not sure. I don't even bother lecturing them about their dumbassery. But the miles to Portland are the loooooongest I've driven on this trip so far.

Ketamine, it turns out, is used as a horse tranquilizer, among other things. Weed is an understandable vice. Tripping balls on "Special K" in a stranger's car is unacceptably bad etiquette and just stupid as fuck. If I were a sick bastard so inclined, I could have driven them off to a barn somewhere and easily had my way. Stupid.

Didn't spend much more than an hour in Boise before I had to pick these jokers up, but I ate at the Parilla Grill in Hyde Park and tried the Outlaw IPA from Payette Brewing. Pretty hoppy, but refreshing in the 103 degree heat.