The Great Bagel Explosion

I stop at the Central Market in Poulsbo to pick up 5 dozen assorted bagels, sliced and prettily arranged on those plastic domed catering trays. I was already one hour into my morning commute; and it was another 1-1/2 hour drive north to my customers in Port Townsend. They loved it when I showed up with goodies, and I'll admit the truth: I needed a potty stop along the way. I make this run every 3 weeks, and I'm such a regular when I call Central Market to place my order, they proudly inform me that they are "making fresh ones JUST FOR ME." Ain't that sweet? And should serve as a warning?

I very carefully stack my catering trays in the back seat of my feisty green Taurus (FORD: Found on Road Dead) and, bladder emptied, head north.

It's a quiet, rural drive -- lots of big trees, 2 lane roads, water, mountains, bridges, yada yada yada. I'm tooling along Highway 3, headed for the Hood Canal bridge: the last major bottleneck point on the way. I've already caught a ferry, driven up an island, crossed a bridge, stopped to pee and picked up the bagels. The Hood Canal bridge is the only connection between Kitsap County and the Olympic peninsula, and with a submarine base close by, well, I could count on getting stuck for a while when the bridge opened to let subs in or out.

So I'm racing for the bridge, since I really don't want to get stuck for 30 minutes to an hour (potentially) waiting for ship traffic. I'm coming aroundb the corner, at the road that leads to the llama and camel farm. But I digress. Sort of.

Pondering camel-y and llama-y thoughts, I spot a deer, daintily waiting at the side of the road. Hoof planted on asphalt. looking both ways before she crosses the road (safety first) (really. You know how time slows when you panic and everything is crystal clear? It was one of those moments). I shriek and slam on the brakes and lay on the horn, and swerve out of the way of th deer. It's 9:30 in the morning, for god's sake!

The deer jumps back, I aim for the shoulder of the road, and that carefully piled stack of slippery plastic catering trays? They take flight.

The top tray sails over the passenger seat, and hits the windshield with a resounding BOOM. The lid flies off, and as the deer bounds off, all I see is a shower of bagels raining 'round my head. The lower trays slid forward with enough force to smack the back of the seat, pop open and eject their bagel-ly goodness all across the back seat. Like Mexican jumping beans, they are.

And of course, I bought a lot of what I call "stinky" bagels. Crusted in chunks of garlic, globs of onions and a shower of poppy seeds. Or slabs of Asiago cheese. Or globs of kosher salt. Then the "sweeties," covered in tasty cinnamon sugar lumps, or studded with dried fruit. Warm, smelly, delicious, fragrant, and sliced. And not a bottom is anywhere near its top, when I come to a stop and catch my breath.

The top of a garlic bagel is spinning on the dashboard like a top, spewing garlic everywhere. I see the bottom of another bagel in the passenger door side pocket. I'm afraid to look in the backseat (yet) so I run my hand over my head. Er, or try to. There's a big glob of something sticky on the top of my head. Poppy seeds are everywhere, like the mad escapees from a flea circus. I whimper, mostly because the smell is overwhelming and I'm covered in smelly, lumpy, sticky bagel detritus. I rest my head on the wheel, honking the horn and scaring myself silly again. Deep breath? Nope, shallow with my mouth open, I crack the windows to let out the combined sweet-and-stinky smell permeating the car. I cautiously glance in the back seat.

One tray has magically escaped destruction, but the other four? It's a bagel bomb back there. Four dozen sliced assorted bagels, stuck to windows, upholstery, my PURSE, drug samples and whatever else I casually tossed back there in my mad dash to the ferry terminal.

Well, this breakfast run is a bust. I furtively check my mirrors and open my door. And start heaving bagels into the trees, ditch and weeds. At least they are biodegradable, I think. And I'm sure the resident possums, raccoons and crows will have a field day. I wait for a car to go by, and chuck a garlic bagel towards a stump. Thump! Direct hit! Ok, this is a great way to work out my adrenalin rush, panic and frustration.

This is getting fun. I get out of the car, and try to shake myself clean. I start heaving bagels by the handful, cackling like a crazy woman. A couple of pickups go by, slow down and stare in amazement. I give a cheery wave, windup my arm and pitch! Another bagel half goes over the fence. What the heck else can I possibly do at this point? Match up the seperated bottoms and tops? Not a chance. I know I'd pair a blueberry bottom with an asiago top, or something equally ridiculous. It's better to abandon the evidence and get out of dodge.

It takes me about a half hour to purge the car, shake out the mats, and wipe down the dashboard and steering wheel. Peronal Motto: Always Carry Wet-Ones Cause I'm a Danger to Myself and Others.

The car (and me) is as clean as I can get it in this remote part of Kitsap County. I straighten my clothing, muster some (any) dignity and get back in the car, and head for the bridge, leaving the evidence behind me. All except for stray bits stuck in places I can't reach, or that have dug hold in the carpeting. I'm sure my customers will understand, and hopefully laugh with me.

I cross the bridge, and gird my loins for the 45 minute drive and day ahead.

Oh damn. I've got to pee again.