Over the centuries, men have experienced adventures and I have recorded those that fit the archetype of them that persevere against impossible odds because they were driven by a pure vision. Even though they might have been manipulated by a sorceress or other villains, the true hero will always fulfill his destiny and set right that which has been corrupted. Once an Egyptian farmer was trying to explain the definition of pure to his son. He struggled with words that meant unblemished or without flaw. An old, hook-nosed crone, a hedge witch, who happened to be drawing water nearby corrected the ignorant instructor. She said, “When a child strays too close to the Nile and is devoured by a crocodile, though the child’s actions were flawed, weren’t the crocodile’s actions pure? The crocodile was doing exactly what the gods had designed him to do. So, pure means ‘as the gods intend.’”
Perhaps when flawed heroes leave their provincial lives to seek adventure, they are setting right the impure. No matter what the world of men throws at the the hero, like the crocodile who can only do what he was designed to do, the hero remains just as the gods intended.
That’s how our King George and his three aide-de-camp, the ice cream argonauts, set out on their adventure. They were the farthest from the city of New Orleans any of them had ever been. In their kingdom of Camp Street Park, there were only 40 trees at most. The knights were mesmerized by the flowing green landscape without a man-made structure in sight. Wide green kudzu vines coated the ground and climbed centuries old oak trees in an attempt to carpet the world. Vines coiled and bloomed from the ageless limbs but the magnificent oaks resisted the siege. The boys never imagined any place could be so lush and serene. Just as they were becoming lulled and seduced by the forest’s beauty, they crossed the siege line of flora into the endless wasteland of dust.
An irrigation ditch separated the forest from the brown silt desert. As far as their eyes could see there was not a living, breathing thing. The ground was bare except for a few scattered stripped stalks nakedly jutting upwards.
“What is this?” George asked.
“Cotton fields,” Tex answered.
“It looks so dead.”
“Because the cotton pulls every bit of nutrients out of the soil.”
“It looks like the end of the world. It makes me feel… sad.”
“Never fear. They’ll come back and plant peanuts and it’ll give everything back to the soil. It’ll be green again.”
“Is that the cotton?” Spider pointed to an enormous ten ton block wrapped in plastic. The block was the size of a two bedroom apartment. It wasn’t alone. Blocks like this sporadically littered the post-apocalyptic wasteland.
“Yep.”
Just then a wind started to blow against the boys, lifting the fine topsoil and invading their lungs. They covered their mouths and noses with bandanas like old time train robbers. For the next three hours they tried to cross the brown silt desert of picked cotton. In the baking sun, they soon began to feel the exhaustion this endless landscape devoid of hope left them with. Squinting against the airborn silt, they didn’t notice the police cruiser until it was beside them.
The cruiser’s passenger window lowered next to George. “You boys lost or looking for a train to rob?” A portly old sheriff leaned his head out.
“No, Sir, we are on a bike trip. Just trying to make it to the Horseshoe motel before dark.”
“You boys look mighty young to be traveling alone.”
“We’re not, Sir. We have adult supervision. He just left a few minutes to go on ahead to the motel. He’s gonna meet us there.”
Tex sent a quick text to Country Mike.
“Ya’ll wouldn’t mind if I called to confirm that, now would ya?”
Tex’s phone vibrated with the return text. He nodded at George, who gave the number to Justice P. Donnahour the Third. After a quick conversation that seemed to pacify the officer, he looked back at George. “I’m just going to escort ya’ll past this little area up ahead. It’s a high crime area.”
The boys had been slowly climbing a hill and had not seen any areas up ahead that looked like they would host criminals, but they were too tired to argue. They crested the hill and beheld an antebellum plantation building that had been converted into a decrepit bar room hotel that should have been condemned in the last century. Music pumped out in an almost tribal thump, swaying the people who littered the parking lot and entrance that was lit by a neon sign blinking Juke Joint. They gazed down at it, the cruiser stopped beside them.
“Sir, I think we’ll be alright,” George offered.
“If I say you need an escort, you need an escort. This place will go twenty-four seven til every one of these idiots are broke and then it’ll close down til planting season.”
“Whoever owns it must be making a killing,” Tex observed.
The sheriff laughed. “It’s the same family who pays the nig…I mean, the pickers, for picking. They pay ‘em, then get it all back! Then them idiots live on welfare or go to jail til planting season.”
“Do you know where the Horseshoe motel is?” Tex asked.
The sheriff looked at the dred-locked boy, but spoke only to George. “It’s on the whi… the other side of town.”

At first, Spider didn’t register the demeanor of the officer. He figured maybe he spoke to George because he was the tallest. But it didn’t take long for Spider’s feathers to get ruffled when he realized the man’s motives for speaking only to George had something to do with George being the whitest. Spider, who had no end of sarcastic remarks, began loading his weapons as they pedaled past the Juke Joint.
“Son, do you know you’re missing a front tooth?”
Before George could answer, Spider shot, “No way, Holmes, the other is just swole up real big.”
The officer shook his head and was contemplating the legitimacy of this claim when an oncoming car honked its horn and swerved onto the shoulder to avoid the cruiser in the wrong lane.
“Hey man, they got this new thing called traffic laws that people obey so they don’t get into an accident.” Spider shot at the sheriff.
“Boy, I’ve had enough of your smart mouth,” Sheriff Donnahour growled.
“Well, that’s unfortunate because I still have plenty to go.”
George interrupted, “Sheriff, here’s our hotel. Thanks for the escort. Sorry about the trouble.”
The officer grunted at George and he gave each of the rest of them dirty looks as he drove away.