Was the passport-less travel an adventure, as I predicted, or a royal pain in the ass? And what’s the report on the Southern Palace — a possible expat home in the event the Republicans win again and we have to run for our lives?
Como estas, Tio Juancho?
Tia Nanny
All good adventures are a royal pain in the ass, this one was no exception. the southern paradise is beautiful and currently accepting political refugees, although that ain’t going to happen this time.
All Know is, I saw something that looked like a squatch when I was leaving lunch. He was much thinner than the squatch’s I imagined. He was very happy and moving fast. As he passed he yelled.. “Wrecking Ball!”. I knew then that all the stories were true. w.b.
Gee…where to begin Juancho? wow.
How about the San Felasco’s Eve strike-outs / night ride one-two punch from the pole barn and the magical shooting stars.
Or maybe I should start from the ‘Squatch oyster shuckin: It was a cold and salty night, the bon fire was licking up around 30 feet high.mmm. but don’t let the dog pack get into the shells!!
Or how about jumping straight into the action: Suddenly, with a clap of thunder, There were bummblebee sized rainswarms, mercilessly stinging Jon and I, as we raced up the steep, class 3 rapids hillside.
Or maybe: Veggi-chili never tasted so good, sitting there in the grassy field, watching riders leap from bikes, and praise the gods of food, whose evidence was spread before them, and being handed to them by uniformed forest rangers and old ladies, with equal gusto.
yes Juancho, you shoulda been there. fool. um, what were you doing instead again?
BTW registration for 2009 San Felasco is now open!!!
I was busy livin’ man, but I’m glad you got fully immersed in pbt.
It was a fine Fiasco this year, with welcomed arrival of the strike-out boys and the pole-barn bliss of doing whatever you want as long as it doesn’t injure a dog or break anything of sentimental value.
As for human riders, which rules out the strike-out duo, Bushy rode like a man possessed, and T. Torso jumped on the same magic carpet he found last year around mile 42. This year he waited around for me at key moments in the last 15 miles, which kept me optimistic and allowed me to ride hard without ever feeling like I was probably going to die.
I missed Juancho, but have to say it was a near-perfect weekend.
Was the passport-less travel an adventure, as I predicted, or a royal pain in the ass? And what’s the report on the Southern Palace — a possible expat home in the event the Republicans win again and we have to run for our lives?
Como estas, Tio Juancho?
Tia Nanny
All good adventures are a royal pain in the ass, this one was no exception. the southern paradise is beautiful and currently accepting political refugees, although that ain’t going to happen this time.
All Know is, I saw something that looked like a squatch when I was leaving lunch. He was much thinner than the squatch’s I imagined. He was very happy and moving fast. As he passed he yelled.. “Wrecking Ball!”. I knew then that all the stories were true.
w.b.
Gee…where to begin Juancho? wow.
How about the San Felasco’s Eve
strike-outs / night ride one-two punch from the pole barn and the magical shooting stars.
Or maybe I should start from the ‘Squatch oyster shuckin: It was a cold and salty night, the bon fire was licking up around 30 feet high.mmm. but don’t let the dog pack get into the shells!!
Or how about jumping straight into the action: Suddenly, with a clap of thunder, There were bummblebee sized rainswarms, mercilessly stinging Jon and I, as we raced up the steep, class 3 rapids hillside.
Or maybe:
Veggi-chili never tasted so good, sitting there in the grassy field, watching riders leap from bikes, and praise the gods of food, whose evidence was spread before them, and being handed to them by uniformed forest rangers and old ladies, with equal gusto.
yes Juancho,
you shoulda been there. fool.
um, what were you doing instead again?
BTW registration for 2009 San Felasco is now open!!!
I was busy livin’ man, but I’m glad you got fully immersed in pbt.
It was a fine Fiasco this year, with welcomed arrival of the strike-out boys and the pole-barn bliss of doing whatever you want as long as it doesn’t injure a dog or break anything of sentimental value.
As for human riders, which rules out the strike-out duo, Bushy rode like a man possessed, and T. Torso jumped on the same magic carpet he found last year around mile 42. This year he waited around for me at key moments in the last 15 miles, which kept me optimistic and allowed me to ride hard without ever feeling like I was probably going to die.
I missed Juancho, but have to say it was a near-perfect weekend.