Double Decker PDX Does Boise: Part 2

by Annie Vieira

As the tour of Mark’s vehicular home continued, the inventory of issues soon swelled from a list of minor repairs into a novel sized catalog of major issues. First it was a split in one of the tires and some considerable body restoration––all do-able repairs. Then, when Mark started the engine, Brooks and Kent took note of the not-so-understated cracking noise emerging from the motor––slightly troubling, yet still a rectifiable issue. But eventually, when he lifted the cover concealing the gas tank, the boys finally began to worry. Not only did it hold a paltry 8 gallons worth of gas (practically nothing for a 16,000 pound vehicle), but a continuous leak was hazardously dripping diesel right onto the grass below. Furthermore, Mark informed them that the only way to fill the tank was through the utilization of a makeshift channel––essentially a green garden hose acting as a duct. 

Amazingly enough, despite the significant drawbacks and advice from their parents swimming around the back of their minds to “sleep on it” regarding any major decisions, Brooks and Kent were still ingenuously optimistic. With the substantial pressure from Mark they were thinking, “We can still figure this out, we can do this,” Kent later told me. So they followed Mark inside, pulled two $100 bills from their pockets, and signed their names on the title. Afterward, Mark walked them back to his abandoned car which restarted after the addition of some gas and a couple of hard smacks to hood, then dropped Brooks and Kent off at a Red Lion. 

Over dinner that evening, Brooks and Kent ordered a couple of cocktails and toasted each other feeling pleased with their new purchase. Their good spirits continued even as they left the restaurant and began the walk back to their hotel. Needless to say, Brooks and Kent stood out like sore thumbs as they sauntered happily through the streets of downtown Boise. Their Oregonian uniforms of jeans and Gore-Tex seemed to impress the antithesis of the camo-wearing, dip-chomping locals ogling them as they passed. In my experience, I’ve found that all it takes in life is the smallest criticism from one person to make you suddenly begin to question everything about yourself––in Kent’s case this particular trigger came from a girl leaning out the window of a giant, menacing, raised pick-up truck. “Hey you,” she called down to him, her voiced laden with unconcealed mockery, “nice red jacket!” And with one well-placed blow right to the kidneys of Kent’s Patagonia-swaddled fashion ego, their optimism finally began to wane. 

Back at their hotel, the second-guessing set in. Brooks poured over their insurance looking for any potential issues, while Kent decided to double check with AAA about their policies. When AAA ultimately backed out, the boys then toyed with the notion of renting a U-Haul to tow the bus back themselves. Brooks and Kent went to bed that evening with an unshakable feeling of uneasiness, each quietly harboring a subliminal hope that they might find a reason not to surrender the rest of their neatly bundled $100 bills. 

At 6:00 a.m. the following morning, Brooks and Kent waited for Mark to pick them up in front of their hotel by which time he was to have closed out his storage unit and emptied his belongings from the bus. After waiting patiently, Brooks called Mark to discover he was not only still sleeping but also had yet to complete any of the necessary tasks. Mark rushed over and brought the boys back to his friend’s yard where they watched him unload two-stories worth of stuff. He then insisted they accompany him to another friend’s welding studio to pick up the customized part which would allow them to attach the U-Haul to the axel of the bus. After some inquiry as to why the part was at the welders, Mark reluctantly admitted that the piece had snapped the last time it was used. “The bus can make it,” Mark told them, sensing their hesitation, “it can totally make it. Trust me, you guys will be fine. It’s not a problem, this thing is in great shape.” Yet, despite Mark’s dubious change of heart from his previous concern, the remaining cast of characters consulted in Brooks and Kent’s Boise predicament had a rather different opinion of the situation. To give you a general understanding of the majority outlook I have assembled a highlight reel from conversations with the various adjudicators: 

“This is the hands down worst idea I have ever heard.” -Kent’s loving father, Charlie Metcalf. 

“I don’t know what you guys are thinking. Don’t do this.” -Metcalf Family friend, and experienced hauler. 

“Um, I’m not sure this is such a great idea...” -Anonymous Boise Welder, and sole ally of Mark. 

At this point, Brooks and Kent––using their hawk-like sense of perception––began to hone in on the oh-so-subtle intimations that they perhaps should not purchase this particular bus. Sitting in the backseat of Mark’s car as they returned to his vehicular home, Brooks and Kent exchanged discreet but panicked text messages that possibly said something along the lines of: “Dear Brooks, I’m having visions of death, maybe we should not buy this bus. Sincerely, Kent.” And in response, “Dear Kent, I completely concur. How do we get out of this? Sincerely, Brooks.” 

Although they were in agreement that the incredibly low price, the poignancy of Mark’s despair, and their hope to return to Eugene in time for their Monday midterms with bus on hand, were not reason enough to buy the vehicle––Brooks and Kent had never actually driven a double decker bus; They were hesitant to walk away from the opportunity to do so and decided to delay imparting the likely devastating news to Mark until after a test drive. Brooks and Kent watched from the lawn as Mark unloaded a few remaining effects before firing up the engine. First, he secured a few of the animals in the car, then hopped back on the bus, pulled out a rifle and quickly stowed it in the trunk.

While Brooks settled behind the wheel for his maiden double decker voyage, Kent remained in the passenger area of the bus. As they drove through the neighborhood, Kent took notice of an oddly shaped lump bouncing up and down on the only remaining couch. Standing guard over this  curious mound, staring at him with haughty contempt, was the wisest looking dog he had ever seen. Kent was preparing to stand his ground and fix a steady, unyielding gaze right back at the canine, when he realized the curious mound was in fact Mark’s 22 year old daughter passed out on the couch. For the entirety of the ride, while the potholed pavement violently bounced her, Mark’s daughter neither acknowledged Kent’s presence, much rather spoke or even moved. By the time Brooks re-parked in the side yard, the circumstances had become so increasingly bizarre Kent was completely ready to cut and run. 

Brooks and Kent felt terrible when they told Mark they would not be buying the bus after all. They told him they just didn’t think the bus could make the trip home, they told him things might have been different if maybe they had simply had more time or a better alternative if it were to break down. They told him they were sorry but they just didn’t think it was right for them. And still Mark pushed: “Well, you’ve already signed the titled,” he told them, “I don’t think I can just cross out your name... I mean, you’ve already signed the title!” When Mark walked away for a moment to make a last-ditch phone call to another potential buyer, Kent made a cursory assessment of the situation. His mind swept over the look of desperation in Mark’s eyes and images of a rifle-laden trunk flickered in his thoughts. “Brooks, I think we have pissed this guy off,” he whispered, “I don’t want to make him drive us all the way to the airport. Let’s just start walking and call a cab from the road.” 

Despite lingering dissent from Mark, Brooks walked into the house, crossed his name off the title, initialed, and rewrote a bill of sale stating he did not in fact purchase the bus. Mark nonetheless insisted on giving them a ride back to town, and although he seemed more disheartened rather than angry and vengeful, both Brooks and Kent were thinking, “This is going to be one hell of an awkward ride.” So there they were yet again––400 miles away from home with the pleading eyes of a man on the verge of desperation staring back at them... only this time the man knew they had their bags, computers, those pockets full of crisp $100 bills, and happened to have a rifle sitting in the back of his car. Sitting shotgun next to Mark, Kent noiselessly pulled the directions to the airport up on his I-Phone and vigilantly followed the progress of the car while various scenarios involving some combination of wrong turns, empty fields, pockets of money, and guns played out in his mind. 

However, Brooks and Kent’s initial instincts about Mark were right––he was simply a good guy who had fallen on hard times. Safely at the curb, the boys expressed their regret that things did not work out, said there goodbyes, and entered the Boise Airport. No sooner had they stepped through those revolving doors, both Brooks and Kent turned, looked at each other, and wordlessly erupted into a fit of relief-filled, anxiety-releasing laughter. 

In past weeks, I have regularly referred to some of the unique struggles Brooks and Kent will face as they build Double Decker PDX. Stories like their Boise trip are undoubtedly amusing, but beyond their quality as barstool fodder, I think it is important to recognize and credit these situations for what they truly are––the building blocks of a company, the legs on which a future business will stand. When one chooses to carve their path down the road less travelled sometimes it is important to screw things up so, at the very least, the next time they will know how to do it right.

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