|Sunday dirt surfer|
I lived in that cage for two incredible weekends this fall. First in Vermont, then again two weeks later in central Pennsylvania. Each time we took a group of 10 to 17 individuals (people, not fruit flies) with diverse backgrounds, temperaments, abilities, genders, tastes, walking abilities, and sleeping habits and forced them into close proximity for 72-96 hours. The result was pure magic, food for the soul, memories for a lifetime, a respectable amount of dirty laundry, and enough empty microbrew bottles to fill a couple construction dumpsters.
I saw it all weekend long, but it really clarified for me Saturday night with seventeen souls relaxing around the campfire enjoying a bottle of root. The easy conversation, a couple of guys truing a taco'd front rim by firelight. Those will be enduring memories for me.
|Next-to-last slice of |
blueberry pie at Boxxer's
- Arrive early at Boxer's so you can get their blueberry pie before it's gone.
- Stegmaier Pumpkin Ale is the most bestest pumpkin ale ever. Word.
- Don't skip meals and stand around the chalet for hours in bike clothes insisting you haven't had much to drink, or you'll end up like Jason.
- "Flatch" is aptly named and remains the King of all things flatulent... despite honorable attempts by others to dethrone him. Uh, not me of course.
- Who says spare tires are dead weight?
- Coffee with a funky name in a 20 oz. French press is like effing race fuel.
- If you think a monster truck is chasing you down the Dark Hollow trail, do not panic. It's only Bryan on his Moonlander.
- Martin's fires are not conducive to jumping.
- Mrs. Smith of pie fame doesn't hold a candle to Todd's Mrs. Smith.
- Stanimals are real.
- Never trust a burp.
"It's only a stinger. Walk it off."
-- Todd (if he says this, then you might want to consider calling 911)