windar
Teller of Tales
Wait, I was under strict orders not to mention the name. Oh, wait that's TrAmp. OK....
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The Re-education Of Barbara Moore
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
Wait, I was under strict orders not to mention the name. Oh, wait that's TrAmp. OK....
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Kafka, 1984, Brave New World, Clockwork Orange....Disney...I cannot help that your story appeals to so much cultural references.
windar
Teller of Tales
Kafka, 1984, Brave New World, Clockwork Orange....Disney...I cannot help that your story appeals to so much cultural references.
It's a strange world we live in now, isn't it? Reality is putting we fiction writers out of business I'm afraid.
windar
Teller of Tales
July 13, 2019. Boundary Waters Canoe Area on the Minnesota/Ontario Border (windar)
It was hot, even this far north, but cooler on the water as I paddled through the lakes of Ontario. I hadn’t canoed in years, but the knowledge came back quickly. At some point, though it was hard to say exactly where in this empty land of lakes and boreal forests and the ancient lichen-encrusted rocks of the Canadian Shield, I crossed the border into Minnesota. The idea that someone was going to build a wall here was frankly ridiculous, but I’d come to expect even the strangest things to happen these days.
A couple of weeks ago I had been back in Montreal once again buying bagels at my favorite bagel bakery and once again finding a memory stick in the bag amongst the golden treats. It was again a message in blue italics that read “Barb is back in Minnesota, in the Boundary Waters with a team surveying the border. She wants out. Can you help?” How could I refuse?
I made arrangements with a canoe outfitter in Quetico Provincial Park, just on the Canadian side of the border and drove for three days across Ontario, around the top of Lake Superior. They provided me with a canoe, paddles, a tent and various supplies including enough dried food for a week. They also gave me a map with some indications of where the US survey team might be located. I had followed the route the outfitter had traced for me through several of the 10,000 lakes Minnesota is famous for, each leading into the next through a river or a small portage.
As the sun passed its zenith, I was pretty confident from the shape of the shoreline and the little island off a point of land that I was very near where the survey team’s camp was likely to be. I paddled along the shore; as I rounded a bend, I saw two women dressed in bikini tops and shorts kneeling by the side of the water, washing dishes and clothes. I paddled over to get a closer look. We had never met in person, but Barb had posted many pics of herself on CF and I was pretty sure one of the women was her.
I pulled the canoe alongside the shore. They both stood up. “Barb? Barb from CF?” I inquired. Her face was unmistakable. Her body was divine, even better than it looked in photos, her skin tanned, her muscles nicely toned and her breasts looking very intriguing in her bikini top. It seemed the outdoor life agreed with her. Then she bent over to pick up the plates she had been washing and I caught a good look at her tight little. That seemed to agree with me.
“windar?” Barb asked. Of course, I had also posted some pics of myself on CF, so she was pretty sure it was me.
“Yes, it’s me,” I replied getting out of the canoe and hugging her. “Imagine meeting you in person finally after all this time just messaging on CF. And who is this?” I asked glancing at her friend, who was not so bad herself.
“This is Delia,” Barb said. “She’s my best friend around here.” I hugged Delia too. Hey, I’m a friendly guy. “I guess you got the message? I wasn’t sure it would get through,” Barb told me.
“It was right there in my bag of bagels,” I said, laughing. “Listen, where are your guards?”
“There really aren’t any,” Barb said. “Most of the guys are off surveying. A couple are back at camp, supposedly to watch us, but they’ve been drinking and probably fell asleep in the heat. They know we can’t escape because the woods are thick and you quickly run into a lake or a river that you can’t cross without a boat and we don’t have one.”
“Well, I do and if you want out of here, get in. There’s room for both of you and extra paddles and I know the way across the border. But we better move quickly before those guys realize you’re gone.”
Barb hopped onto the bow seat while Delia got into the middle section of the canoe, her waist wriggling provocatively as she maneuvered her body into the tight space. I handed them both paddles, got into the stern and we pushed off, paddling hard back the way I had come. Between gasps for breath, Barb told me the outline of her story-the arrest and interrogation, the re-education, the stint in Arizona and meeting with the President. Delia filled in the story from her own experiences when Barb was too breathless to talk.
At some undetermined point we crossed the border, still mercifully free of the Second Great American Wall. Finally, as the sun was glowing red low in the sky, we reached the outfitters where I had put in. I turned in the canoe and the rented equipment and opened the trunk of my car, rummaging in my suitcase to find two sweatshirts for Barb and Delia. I was a bit regretful when they pulled them on over their bikini tops, but it was getting a bit chilly. I didn’t have shoes that would fit them, so I went back into the store and bought them each a pair of sandals.
Safe now and feeling good, I opened the door so my two companions could get in, Barb in the passenger seat and Delia stretched out in the back. I started up the engine, driving slowly up the dirt road to the main highway and turned east. I knew we were safe here, but still I wanted to get as far as we could until we got tired. Finally, we stopped at a run-down motel beside the highway and took a room. We had dinner at the attached restaurant, just the three of us in the large dining room as the light faded, sipping our Molsons and talking about nothing at all.
As darkness fell, we walked back to our room. I opened the door, following them in, my eyes fixed on Barb’s tight little as I closed the door behind me. My gentlemanly discretion prevents me from going into details as to what happened between me and the two lovelies, but it was the best, absolutely the best, believe me.
THE END
It was hot, even this far north, but cooler on the water as I paddled through the lakes of Ontario. I hadn’t canoed in years, but the knowledge came back quickly. At some point, though it was hard to say exactly where in this empty land of lakes and boreal forests and the ancient lichen-encrusted rocks of the Canadian Shield, I crossed the border into Minnesota. The idea that someone was going to build a wall here was frankly ridiculous, but I’d come to expect even the strangest things to happen these days.
A couple of weeks ago I had been back in Montreal once again buying bagels at my favorite bagel bakery and once again finding a memory stick in the bag amongst the golden treats. It was again a message in blue italics that read “Barb is back in Minnesota, in the Boundary Waters with a team surveying the border. She wants out. Can you help?” How could I refuse?
I made arrangements with a canoe outfitter in Quetico Provincial Park, just on the Canadian side of the border and drove for three days across Ontario, around the top of Lake Superior. They provided me with a canoe, paddles, a tent and various supplies including enough dried food for a week. They also gave me a map with some indications of where the US survey team might be located. I had followed the route the outfitter had traced for me through several of the 10,000 lakes Minnesota is famous for, each leading into the next through a river or a small portage.
As the sun passed its zenith, I was pretty confident from the shape of the shoreline and the little island off a point of land that I was very near where the survey team’s camp was likely to be. I paddled along the shore; as I rounded a bend, I saw two women dressed in bikini tops and shorts kneeling by the side of the water, washing dishes and clothes. I paddled over to get a closer look. We had never met in person, but Barb had posted many pics of herself on CF and I was pretty sure one of the women was her.
I pulled the canoe alongside the shore. They both stood up. “Barb? Barb from CF?” I inquired. Her face was unmistakable. Her body was divine, even better than it looked in photos, her skin tanned, her muscles nicely toned and her breasts looking very intriguing in her bikini top. It seemed the outdoor life agreed with her. Then she bent over to pick up the plates she had been washing and I caught a good look at her tight little. That seemed to agree with me.
“windar?” Barb asked. Of course, I had also posted some pics of myself on CF, so she was pretty sure it was me.
“Yes, it’s me,” I replied getting out of the canoe and hugging her. “Imagine meeting you in person finally after all this time just messaging on CF. And who is this?” I asked glancing at her friend, who was not so bad herself.
“This is Delia,” Barb said. “She’s my best friend around here.” I hugged Delia too. Hey, I’m a friendly guy. “I guess you got the message? I wasn’t sure it would get through,” Barb told me.
“It was right there in my bag of bagels,” I said, laughing. “Listen, where are your guards?”
“There really aren’t any,” Barb said. “Most of the guys are off surveying. A couple are back at camp, supposedly to watch us, but they’ve been drinking and probably fell asleep in the heat. They know we can’t escape because the woods are thick and you quickly run into a lake or a river that you can’t cross without a boat and we don’t have one.”
“Well, I do and if you want out of here, get in. There’s room for both of you and extra paddles and I know the way across the border. But we better move quickly before those guys realize you’re gone.”
Barb hopped onto the bow seat while Delia got into the middle section of the canoe, her waist wriggling provocatively as she maneuvered her body into the tight space. I handed them both paddles, got into the stern and we pushed off, paddling hard back the way I had come. Between gasps for breath, Barb told me the outline of her story-the arrest and interrogation, the re-education, the stint in Arizona and meeting with the President. Delia filled in the story from her own experiences when Barb was too breathless to talk.
At some undetermined point we crossed the border, still mercifully free of the Second Great American Wall. Finally, as the sun was glowing red low in the sky, we reached the outfitters where I had put in. I turned in the canoe and the rented equipment and opened the trunk of my car, rummaging in my suitcase to find two sweatshirts for Barb and Delia. I was a bit regretful when they pulled them on over their bikini tops, but it was getting a bit chilly. I didn’t have shoes that would fit them, so I went back into the store and bought them each a pair of sandals.
Safe now and feeling good, I opened the door so my two companions could get in, Barb in the passenger seat and Delia stretched out in the back. I started up the engine, driving slowly up the dirt road to the main highway and turned east. I knew we were safe here, but still I wanted to get as far as we could until we got tired. Finally, we stopped at a run-down motel beside the highway and took a room. We had dinner at the attached restaurant, just the three of us in the large dining room as the light faded, sipping our Molsons and talking about nothing at all.
As darkness fell, we walked back to our room. I opened the door, following them in, my eyes fixed on Barb’s tight little as I closed the door behind me. My gentlemanly discretion prevents me from going into details as to what happened between me and the two lovelies, but it was the best, absolutely the best, believe me.
THE END
windar
Teller of Tales
Thank you all for reading this saga of the trials and tribulations of Barbara Moore. For that, in the end, is who this story is really about. She has made yet another successful escape, something that has been happening quite a bit recently. What kind of life will she make for herself in Canada? Or, being a Rebel Leader, will she feel compelled to return to Great America and lead the Resistance? Whatever she chooses to do, Barb will always be the best. Absolutely the best. Believe me.
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
You picked the most uncivilised part of North America to pull off that coup. No Google Streetview for miles. How can people live like that? I bet 4G is rubbish as well.
Seriously, Barb and Delia will have to use all their professional experience to make their way in this strange new land of two languages, a Queen and polite people. Maybe our Canadian members would like to re-educate them yet again?
Seriously, Barb and Delia will have to use all their professional experience to make their way in this strange new land of two languages, a Queen and polite people. Maybe our Canadian members would like to re-educate them yet again?
windar
Teller of Tales
I have canoed up there and it is total wilderness, populated by moose, bear and other critters, the most fearsome of which is the dreaded blackfly. We managed to approach a moose in our canoe almost close enough to touch and saw perhaps two other parties in a week of voyaging. It was a truly unforgettable experience.
You do actually canoe across the border and it is hard to tell when you cross (though this was pre-9/11). Going into Canada there is a little hut in the middle of nowhere with a customs guy (I'm pretty sure he has to canoe to work). The sign at the portage tells you to report there. They charge you a daily fee (really sort of a park entrance fee) and you're on your way. Coming into the US, the post is in the nearest town, Ely, MN.
windar
Teller of Tales
Apparently the border post that I described no longer exists. Now, you apply in advance by mail for a Remote Border Crossing Permit and you are good to go. Outfitters normally take care of that so we will assume windar arranged for one for Barb. He didn't know about Delia, so she may be in trouble
Note to self: Next time do the research BEFORE you write the story
Note to self: Next time do the research BEFORE you write the story
Boccaccio
Governor
Hopefully your two delightful - and experienced, thanks to their service to Great America - companions helped make it hyuuge, eh?
windar
Teller of Tales
Yes, me too. Barb doesn't, but she has so far borne with it.
Leaving the character alive and well also allows the possibility of a sequel. I don't plan one but you never know. I am cognizant of the controversy, but I also think it may have brought into the open some things that were festering on private threads so maybe that isn't all bad. My next story will deal with the highly controversial topic: Puppies-How Cute Are They Really?
Boccaccio
Governor
A hotly contested topic, to be sure. The fur will really be flying on that one.
windar
Teller of Tales
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Now you know myself and at least one other are cat lovers. Can't stop picking fights, can you? Do your RESEARCH first this time, suggested starting point is Help With Cats!!!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
A happy ending!
And by 'breaking the fourth wall'. Thanks for the story, Windar!.
Barb will have to face a culture shock anyway!
And by 'breaking the fourth wall'. Thanks for the story, Windar!.Barb will have to face a culture shock anyway!
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
So you're happy to be the lumberjack?
windar
Teller of Tales
Why wouldn't I be? As long as I chop down planted trees that will be replaced in a sustainable fashion and not old-growth forests, why not?
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
I agree, the perils of assuming things from a name and an avatar. I just hadn't put you into the heels and bra sort of guy. No matter, welcome to the club.
