Season of the Frog (Part I)

There are two kinds of people in Eugene: those that have been along the Amazon bike path on a springtime evening, and those that haven’t. It’s pretty easy to figure out. You just ask, “Hey, have you ever ridden along the Amazon bike path at night?” You’ll either get a strange look and a comment like, “No, why?” Or you’ll get an excited, “Yeah, isn’t it amazing.” And then you’ll both share a moment reflecting on the crazy, frog sounds of spring.

They’re always on my mind this time of year. Just a couple weeks ago I was telling a friend about them. She falls under the “those that haven’t” category. “They’re pretty cool,” I explained, “Sometimes I get a fourty-ouncer, go over to the park, and just listen to them.”
“Don’t they get quiet when you get near?”
“Yeah, but if you stay there long enough, they’ll start-up again. First you’ll hear one, then another, and then another, one-by-one, and then suddenly they’ll all kick-in at the same time – ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.” I motioned my hands up and down like frogs.
“You can actually see them?” she asked.
“No, I’m just imagining that’s what they look like,” I said as I flashed a smirk in her direction, “And then someone will go by on a bike, and they’ll get all quiet again. But after a while, they’ll start right back up, one by one, just like before. After a few times of that you can’t help but wonder if it’s always the same ones that start-up first.”
“Like the leaders?”
“Kind of, but it’s more like, are they the ones willing to take the biggest risk?”
She got a big smile on her face.

So, I’ve been meaning to visit my raucous friends for some time, but it’s always raining or just too damn cold – until last Sunday.

Earlier that day, someone told me we were seeing the last of the unseasonably warm, sunny weather. The clouds would be rolling in some time that night and the rains wouldn't be too far behind. "It will have to be tonight then," I told myself.

But when the moment arrived, inertia was against me. Time wasn’t on my side either. It was already 10PM and I was expecting a work call at nine the next morning. Not necessarily a big deal, but I wasn’t heading out there just to listen to a few notes and then be on my way back home. No, to truly appreciate something like this, you have to spend time with it. And you don’t go empty handed. A spliff and a fourty are mandatory. But I know myself. If I really start having a good time, well, there may be another fourty, and another spliff, and then maybe another fourty, and another spliff, so on, and so on. I reconsidered, thinking of all the options.

I could just wait till the next nice night - when I don't have to get-up early. But when will there ever be a night like this - it’s fairly warm, there's a full moon, it’s not raining, but it’s been raining really hard the last few days - perfect frog climate. No, this is the night. There will be no other.

I could skip the spliff and/or the fourty. Yeah, right.

So I said, “fuck it,” and threw caution to the wind.

To be continued....