Adventure from the Past: Lake of the Ozarks

It was Memorial Day, 2003. I was still on my tour of duty in St. Louis. Co-worker Dan and his posse from the “Ill-side” (this is one of the many St. Louis terms for great state of Illinois) were getting restless. It was time for an adventure.

Solution: Lake of Ozarks. Dan had told me some stories of this place, especially about special part of the lake, called Party Cove. His stories involved drinking, motor boats, jet-skis, nudity, white trash redneckery, and human excess in every possible form. I was frightened, but intrigued. I was all in.

Dan and crowd began the planning. Dan’s friend Ben had a boat, named “The Pony”. They washed her up, performed a tune up, and stocked the cooler with beer. On a parallel to this, Your Buddy (see my post on Bourbon Missouri for more on this colorful character) was shining up his boat to make the trip with us also. All in all, there were about 14 of us willing to put our lives at risk that weekend.

Dan and I left straight from work on a Friday (in my rental car, as was typical for our mutual adventures). Before hitting I-70 and heading west to meet our friends at the lake, we stopped at a Dirt Cheap Cigarettes Beer & Liquor store. We picked up some supplies, including a palette of Dirt Cheap Beer. The name tells the story, so I won’t even try to explain.

We had secured lodging at a hotel right on the lake, with slips to dock the boats no more than 70 feet from our hotel room door. It was a neat little setup. There was even a pool. It wasn’t quite as warm as we would have liked, so Trutman, renowned heating and cooling specialist, rigged the heat pump to kick on, unbeknownst to the owner of the establishment. Well done Trut. He also “fixed” the AC unit in our hotel room. I’m not sure what sort of benefit his constant tinkering provided. All I know is the damn thing was tore to hell the entire weekend as he tweaked it, but it was certainly in no worse shape when we left. Maybe.
That was always one of my favorite things about this group of dudes. If ANYTHING mechanical or sturctural broke down or had problems, chances were one of these guys could fix it or new somebody who could:

-Car broke down? Please, that’s an easy one. These guys could build you a new car with the crap they find in your trunk.

-Need to drive something with more than 13 gears? One of these guys probably does it for a living.

-Trying to do a project with concrete? Don't touch anything without talking to one of these guys first.

-Hotel room AC not quite powerful enough? Nothing a slight adjustment won’t fix.

-Need to pull Your Buddy’s truck out of a creek? Start the timer on your watch, and see which one of these guys shows up first with a tractor, grader, or backhoe to pull the truck out with.

In the famous words of Vanilla Ice, “Got a problem? Yo, I’ll solve it.” That was these guys. It's like hanging out with mutated versions of Luke Duke mixed with McGyever.

Back to the story.

Party Cove: Gateway to Hell. I think I was pretty accurate when I termed it, “Mardi Gras on the water”. Just like Mardi Gras, the beads-for-boobs policy is in full effect. Except here it apparently goes on year round. Don't expect any pictures here though. I've got standards. If you really want to see what this place is like, I'm sure a quick internet search will point you towards what you want to find.
The whole methodology around Party Cove is this: Boats come from all over and line up side by side in two, seemingly endless lines parallel to each other. In between these two rows of boats, other boats and jet-skis “cruise”. Water spraying, drinking, showing off one’s privates,… these seem to be the popular activities. You ask if this is a family establishment? Sure. The couple parked next to our boat brought their three young children and cooked hotdogs. It’s just good clean family fun.

“Daddy, Mommy lost her shirt!”
“Just eat your hotdog Bobby”
“But you spilled cigarette ashes on it Daddy,…it tastes like Mommy’s breath”
“Here, have some of Daddy’s beer to wash that out with,..”

Random Note: To the right you will see a photo of a man we called "Stuke". I think his last name was Stukenberg or something like that. I have no idea what his real name is. There is so much to say about this picture,... I will just let you think of something for yourself.

The water itself in and around Party Cove could probably have eaten through stainless steel. It’s not so much water as it is a mixture of oil, gasoline, vomit, booze, cigarette butts, and urine, with a thin layer of pride floating on the top.
Pride you ask? That’s right, because most people that come to Party Cove leave what little pride they had behind when they leave.
Below the water? It’s not pretty. If you could actually see through the oil slick, you’d find smashed jet-skis, sunken boats, beer bottles and cans, and bodies. Oh, and probably some catfish. Catfish can live in anything I think. Just getting to the Cove can be a challenge for some. On our cruise to the Cove, The Pony had some trouble navigating some wake of another boat at one point. We took on some water. Dan was at ground zero of the water coming into the boat (see above). He was a bit chilly for a few minutes, but he rallied like a trooper.

Aside from the insanity of Party Cove, we did have some other good times. We grilled brats and corn on the cob one afternoon, drove some go-karts at three different places in town, and enjoyed a night out at some bars that you could drive your boat to. At one of the bars (above) you can see Chris, Dan, and Trutman looking sharp and sipping some drinks. Trutman can be seen flashing some sort of Ill-Side gang symbol.

It was a weekend packed with excitement (danger) every single second. I was just happy to live to tell the tale.