Chapter 2: To Each Their Own
Shaggy drove the Mystery Machine down the winding, coastal highway, Scooby sticking his head out the window and enjoying the salty air. The California coastal ranges sat to one side of the car, while the other side was exposed to the ocean. The scenes alternated between towering redwoods and large, granite boulders. "Aaah," Shaggy announced, breathing in the fresh, coastal air. "The ocean breeze, nature's majesty and tons of Scooby Snacks. Like, this is hippie paradise, ain't it, Scoob?"
"Reah, raradise!" the Dane answered.
Shaggy took another deep breath. He looked at the piece of paper he had received from his friend. "Let's see, now," he muttered, trying to keep his eyes on the road and read a map at the same time. "Like, the place is called the Redwood Shore camp; should be around here somewhere." The skinny man fumbled with the unruly document. "Like, if I could get the whole thing open at once, I might be able to read it." He fiddled with the map, finally opening it to its full size and plastering it against the windshield. "Ah, like, here we are, Redwood Shore Camp…it should be…right…here." For a brief moment, Shaggy's mind drifted back through the years, as he recalled how many times Velma had admonished him for not knowing how to properly read a map.
"Raggy! Rook Out!" A loud, strident honk and a squeal of tires quickly brought the skinny man back to his senses. Startled, and more than a bit scared, he braked abruptly, sending the giant dog vaulting over the back seat and into the front passenger's seat. Regaining his composure, he steered the van off to the side of the road. "Like, maybe I should have pulled over before reading the map, eh Scoob?"
The Great Dane rolled his eyes. "Roh, rother!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the NASA research center, Velma took a moment to stretch before returning to her work designing hydro-powered missile defense systems. The work was challenging, and Velma Dinkley loved a good scientific challenge, but her work had virtually become the center of her life. She often tired quickly, though, as a large part of her days was spent calculating formulas and running them through a computer. Finishing her stretch, here eyes fell upon a photo perched on top of her computer monitor—two men, two women and a large dog—the last group portrait of Mystery Inc. taken just before they had broken up. Velma sighed, nostalgically, recalling the many adventures she had shared with the gang; the laughter, the danger, the adventure, all gone because of her selfishness. The photo reminded her of her friends, and the bespectacled girl drifted into a daydream, wondering what the others were doing at that very moment. She hadn't heard from Daphne since the break up. Once, she had seen Fred in the lobby of a hotel, but the blond man had been so busy signing autographs and posing for pictures that he hadn't even noticed her. Ironically, though, it was not her close friends, Fred and Daphne, whom she missed the most, but rather, Shaggy, the latter day hippie and his Great Dane, Scooby-Doo.
Velma secretly admitted that during her teenage years, she had harbored a crush on the lanky man; she liked his wit, his general demeanor and his kind, caring heart. Plus, Shaggy valued her as a person, not just as a walking encyclopedia. Yes, she thought to herself, contrary to what the public thought, there were two sets of couples within Mystery Inc, not just one. But unlike the relationship between her cohorts Fred and Daphne, Velma never publicly demonstrated her feelings for Shaggy; she didn't feel the need to be demonstrative nor to state her feelings outright.
A faint smile played across her lips as she thought about the skinny man and his dog. She'd had other relationships since then, dating mostly her fellow scientists and engineers, but she didn't harbor the same feelings for them as she did for Shaggy. I wonder what he's doing now, thought Velma, before returning to her work.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Well, here we are, Scoob," Shaggy announced, as he pulled the van into a campsite, "Redwood Shores Campground. Isn't it, like, groovy?"
"Reah, roovy," replied the Dane, "rots of rees." Shaggy grinned at his dog's comment. The campsite was nestled amidst a large redwood grove, less than three-quarters of a mile from the beach. The cool, ocean breeze carried the sounds and shouts of beach goers far beyond the campsite, into the woods and up into the mountains.
"Now, all we gotta do it, like, find this guy," commented Shaggy.
No sooner had he spoken than he heard a voice from behind. "M' man, Shag," the visitor announced, placing a hand on the skinny man's shoulder.
Shaggy whirled around to see who had spoken his name. In front of him stood another lanky hippie sporting a tie-dye tee shirt emblazoned with an iconic planet earth drawing. The man's tangled, matted hair was pulled back in a ponytail, giving him an even more disheveled appearance than Shaggy's. "Benjster," Shaggy announced, "like, it's great to see you again."
Benji's real name, of course, was Benjamin, but Shaggy had given him the nickname based on the man's resemblance to the canine movie star. Indeed, with his unshaven appearance and dirty blond hair, the other man bore a striking resemblance to the dog. "And this must be the famous Scooby-Doo," announced Benji, bending down to scratch the dog behind the ears.
"Rats re," replied the dog, welcoming the scratches behind the ears.
"C'mon, Shag," commented Benji, "bring the van and come meet the gang."
