Chapter 17: Mud for Dessert

In a remote corner of Badlands National Park, there is a little swimming hole hidden behind a clump of trees across the street from the White River Visitor Center. The bus passed through a small gate, down a dirt road, and parked in a field beneath two massive oaks. Past the trees, through a row of thick bushes to the left, we could see a shallow and slow-moving river about twenty feet wide. Behind the row of thick bushes to the right, a muddy creek joined with the little river, creating a delta full of grey mud. The mud had collected in the creek bed, covering an area about ten feet wide by forty feet long.

It was hot and everyone was excited to swim. When we got to the edge of the mud, no one really knew what to do. As he started to undress, Chicken Jim informed us, “This is the best mud in the whole country, right there. It’s mostly volcanic ash and sediment that erodes out of the Badlands when it rains.” Berndt Toast took a seat on the rock and started removing his prosthetic limb. Little Josh, Mother Michelle, Australian Sheila, and Chicken Jim all wore bathing suits, but everyone else got naked.

We all stood sheepishly by the edge of the mud for several minutes and no one had the guts to go in. Our drivers knew just how to break the ice. They both came running through the bushes naked, yelling and yahooing, and they jumped right into the mud, feet first, landing like bombs, throwing handfuls of mud as our group scattered. After testing the depth of the mud in several places, the two drivers found spots they liked and began wiping mud all over their bodies. Driver Brian made ape sounds and painted lines on his face like war paint. Driver Chris dropped into a seated position making a loud squishy sound with his ass. It looked fun. Soon passengers began jumping in, and I followed suit.

Out of the bushes we heard another thundering roar. “MOOOO!” To my amazement it was Buffalo Dave. He came thundering like a mad bull out of the bushes bent over at the waist with fingers pointing in the air like horns. “I’m a Buffalo!” he shouted. “MOOOO!”

“Look! It’s Buffalo Dave!” I yelled.

Passengers darted out of the way to clear a path as he arrived. As the massive man’s body came to a halt at the edge of the mudhole, his feet slipped in the mud sending him careening down the bank of the creek like a Buffalo on water skis. He stayed upright all the way off the lip of the foot-high embankment. His feet kicked out from beneath him as he launched off the wall. Time seemed to suspend itself as we stood there naked watching his giant form land like a hairy bomb in the wettest part of the mud hole. His ass explosively threw mud in every direction for twenty feet. Mud splattered the bystanders like shrapnel, freckling naked forms with flecks of grey. There was a universal cringe and a groan of communal pain. Considering the force of the explosion, the massive man’s ass must have been jam-packed with mud.

Silence befell both tribes as we held our collective breath like a parent after hearing a disturbing thud at the bottom of the stairs. Hardly anyone knew about his spinal injury, but it was obvious he was feeble and limited in his ability to walk. A moment later, Maid Marian rushed to his side and urgently asked, “Are you alright?”

Driver Chris asked too. “Are you okay, big guy?”

The Old-Growth-Hippie checked himself. He wiggled his toes. He straightened his back. “I seem fine,” he intoned.

There was a big cheer. “Woohoo!”

“Hey Chicken Jim,” Little Josh called out. “We have a new bus name over here. He’s Buffalo Dave!”

“Well, that name’s gonna stick,” Buffalo Dave bellowed with laughter.

“Ya!” Shouted Fräulein Vera. “You will call him Buffalo Dave.”

“Get him!” shouted Yülia.

“Get him!” shouted Jewels.