50 Posts Later And It Is My Birfday!

I just had another birthday (read: birfday). It was sort of standard fare. My balls got a little closer to the ground, my hair line moved back a little more and I found that drinking hurts my entire body.

Me and 5 coworkers (4 male, 1 female) went out on the town to celebrate this momentous occasion. They wanted to start at some fancy pants bar in some upscale neighborhood. I went along with this plan for about 3 beers before my need for excitement got the best of me.

Me: Fuck this place, let’s go find a dive bar!

I can only sit at a round, cherry stained natural grain bar table watching the Olympics for so long. I needed parking meter jumping.

We drove to what I guess is called the Gas and Light district. I personally haven’t been to many districts that don’t have light or gas. The place was sort of a concrete courtyard surrounded by hip but skanky/gay bars. My entourage had a hankering to do some mechanical bull riding so we went to a “cowboy” bar. I say “cowboy” with the quotes because it was about as close to ranching as a Korean girl in a bikini and chaps (sadly this imaginary Korean girl was NOT at the bar). I go up to the bar to get one of my many free drinks that I received that night.

Me: I’ll take a beer…

I wasn’t terribly excited about my drink-to-be because the draft options were limited to Bud, Bud Light and Coors Light.

Bartender: Just any beer?

Me: Ya…

Sweet baby jebus did I hit the jackpot! Instead of handing me some shitty beer like a pint of MGD or PBR, he hands me a something far more precious than a gold medal in the summer Olympics. 40ozs of highlife to be exact (plus or minus 0.3%). It was as if my long blond hair acted as some sort of muse for this guy to do the single greatest act of his life.

I wander around the bar that is about 1/3 full while I drink in the sight of a sexy wet little girl (wet t-shirt type, not piss her pants type…but we’ll get to that too) in her skivvies riding the bull in slow motion (I’m not sure if the bull was just moving slow or if my brain was doing me a favor and running the events in slow-mo). About 30 minutes of this sort of thing and then they have a guys’ bull riding contest. The other engineer in the group (real engineer, not a tsaoist engineer), who happens to be a hyper-sensitive male around the age of 28, is wasted and decides that he is going to whoop some ass in the contest. He is an athletic/competitive guy and pretty sure that he is going to win. The judges are 4 super sexy girls in duck skirts (so short you can see their quack), so I give “Engi” some advice.

Me: Take off your shirt for the ride to get some extra points on the scorecard.

Pivotal mistake (the kind that makes you want to rear naked choke somebody…but we’ll get to that).

He walks out to the bull, hops on, rips his shirt off and then tosses it.

Sadly, instead of tossing it at one of the fine ass judges, he looks directly at me and throws the shirt at my chest. I was so effin baffled by this complete lack of awesome sexuality that the shirt just bounced off of me to the ground. When I turn around, my coworker, who happens to be the project lead, is in tears laughing at me. I might as well have had a sign on my chest that read “Ladies, I’ll be your best friend and braid your hair and speak with a lisp.”

We polish off our drinks and head off to the next bar.

My Darby roommate, Engi, the Girl and I are halfway there when we realize that we need to wait for the other guys to close out their tabs. I notice a kid in an Affliction shirt and proceed to inform the group around me that whenever you see someone in an Affliction shirt, you instantly know that they are a total D-Bag/Tool (Try it! It really works).

Darby Roomy: Go use your jiu jitsu on him!

Me: I’d kill him!

Engi: I’ll wrestle with you!

Let me take a second to point out that drunken jiu jitsu is NEVER a good idea. It WILL end badly. It always does.

Me: Word. Let’s go!

We circle around a couple times until I get his wrist. I give him a quick arm pull and have his back in a split second. He’s looking around like a lost child, so I slip in a well placed rear naked choke. He squirms around for a few seconds and then I feel him get that getting all too familiar body movement that says “I’m no longer conscious.”

Darby Roomy: He’s out! Huh huh huh!

As if to prove my point, right at that moment the Affliction D-Bag comes walking by:

D-Bag: That isn’t how you do a rear naked choke. (God I hate those guys)

I quickly set Engi down on the pavement on his back and we watch him do the crazy face/spit breath breathing for about 3 to 5 seconds. The far away look leaves his eyes and he is legit again.

Engi: What happened?

Me: Sorry dude! I choked you OUT.

Engi: How long was I out?

Me: About 5 seconds.

Engi: It felt like 30 minutes. I don’t remember anything.

Me: Do you remember wrestling?

Engi: Ya.

Me: That was 5 seconds ago.

Engi: I WANT TO DO THAT AGAIN! COME ON!

I wasn’t dumb enough to go double or nothing with my drunken luck, and I put the stop to all of the wrestling. Time for the next bar. We had drinking to do.

Side note: I would put a 5 to 1 line on Engi’s cause of death to involve autoerotic asphyxiation and a curtain cord.

The next place was a gay bar, and by gay bar I mean their DJ has never purchased a track (track is what we in the music industry call a song) that was laid down outside of the years 1980-1989. I think I heard every single terrible ‘80s song except YMCA last night. I made the best of it by shakin my groove thang to every track (read: song) like they were playing the 25 Most Played playlist from my iPod.

After failing miserably to get two girls to come hump my legs on the dance floor, I went for a shot of cool air outside. A gay guy decided that I too must be gay because of my incredible dance moves (or he saw my polka dotted toes), and he started to put the moves on me. I figured that this would be a great way to get a free puff of my favorite herbal stimulant.

Me: Do you have any weed?

Guy: No, but do you want to do a line in the bathroom?

Me: Hahaha…I’m probably good without that!

He slapped my ass then ran off into the night. Keev : 1...Sucking Dick In The Bathroom : 0.

We shut that bar down and started to make the drive back home. We were all tanked and really had no idea where the eff we were, but that didn’t stop us from getting there fast. It also didn’t stop us from laughing out farking asses off in the process. Engi, the hyper-sensitive married engineer, took this time to start believing that we were all mad at him and/or thought he was gay. He stared at the door, Girl tried to comfort him and the rest of us laughed and devised a plan to get late night hotdogs.

We finally get to a gas station (Quick Trip…I now love you) and we all run into the place like we were kids running into a candy store for an all night candy shopping spree (read: like drunks running into a gas station for hotdogs at 2:30am).

So I was a little off. All of us except Engi went running into that place. He decided that he was William Clark, and he was going to navigate back to his apartment by foot. Never mind the fact that only the driver had any clue as to where we were.

We get our dogs and stand out front of the place and gorge ourselves. Those meat-tubes in bread were so enjoyable that we didn’t even make much of a fuss when I pointed out that Girl had in fact pissed her pants on the drive to that Wiener Mecca. Mmmm mmm tasty.

Done with those, we all agree: Fuck Engi…we are going home!

Not really sure why, but we stand around in the parking lot of my hotel for quite some time. We shot the shit and conversed in disbelief regarding Engi’s decision making processes. Around 3am one of the guy’s phone starts to ring. Engi is lost (gassspp) and wants a ride.

Me: Well…internet porn isn’t going to masturbate to itself!

I then ran across the parking lot, through the lobby, up the stairs, down the hall, through my suite and onto my bed. I then passed the fuck OUT. In stark contrast to Engi I was out for about 4 hours, but it felt like I was out for 5 seconds. Stupid karma that I don't believe in.

E-Harmonize

As some of you know, prior to this blog posting (yes, I do share intimate life details outside of this digital communication system), I have recently met my soul-mate. For those of you that don't know, a soul-mate is a your mate not only on this planet but also the magic planet that you go to after death. Many people even think they are currently with their soul-mates, but if you haven't taken E-Harmony's compatibility test and scored 28 out of 29 or better, you don't know shit.

You are probably thinking to yourself "...but Keev, you don't believe in magic planets". You are correct. And while I don't believe in this planet(s), you have to admit it is pretty nice knowing that I've got somebody waiting for me there when I die.

Unless I die first...

Fuck! I didn't even think of that. Say I pass off this mortal coil a few decades prior to said soul-mate. That isn't even much of a stretch of the imagination considering my current driving/rafting/feltching/longboarding hobbies. Am I just going to be sitting there at the entrance of a P.F. Changs's (magic planet location) for years and years, while she logs back onto E-Harmony to search for another soul-mate. Maybe not even a soul-mate. Maybe she'll meet some sap that barely pulls a 27 out of 29 matches who is into cryogenics. I could be waiting for hundreds or years in hopes that a massive power failure allows the freezers enough time to thaw everyone, release them from the clasp of cryopreservation and kill my soul-mate off in order for us to live (not-live?) happily ever after!

(deep breath)

Sorry. This is my first soul-mate, and it has me a touch freaked out. It goes against my typical Tsaoist beliefs that everything in the universe is constantly changing. All of my reasoning for being an adaptive human being has sort of been thrown out the window. It's just that we lined up on 28 out of 29 traits! We were meant for each other! It's just science...boring, but my life. The point is, E-Harmony has showed me what it has shown thousands of others: Your soul-mate is out there. It just takes the internets to find him/her/other.

Now you would think that after getting the results of our compatability test it would be all fun and games. That we would no longer have to work for a living and we could sit around and drink alcoholic beverages that were born of natural ingredients with natural carbonation. That is NOT the case! I was required to converse, laugh, swim and sexually perform for at least 4 straight days (luckily some of our matching traits were conversing, laughter, enjoying water and sex).

In the days to come I will hit my most crucial test of all:

[From E-Harmony.com]Studies tell us that about 10 million Americans are regular marijuana smokers, ³ which makes it more than a little likely that your active dating life will present you with these questions:

• Are you willing to date someone who is a regular marijuana user?

• If so, how much is too much? Are you fine with the weekend toker? The “I only smoke if offered” casual user?

• What is it about marijuana use that makes it a deal breaker for you? Is it the stereotype that pot smokers are lazy? Is it the illegality? Do you believe that it is a gateway drug?

• What if the marijuana is for medicinal purposes? Is that okay?

• If you are a marijuana smoker, when do you share these details in a new relationship?

This caused a chilling revelation. If my soul-mate doesn't smoke pot, is she really my soul-mate? Or perhaps I'm just a shell of the soul-mate that I'll become for her once I stop smoking. I fretted about this for hours the other night until I came to another revelation. This time a saving revelation. On the same site that shows how to deal with these weed questions they showed a guy rolling a joint.



I just need to sit back, smoke a joint of what I can only assume is bird seed and relax.

I mean, 28 out of 29 traits CAN'T be wrong...can it?

RAGNAR! *kisses metal*

For the first time in my life, I've dedicated part of my waking hours to running as a form of enjoyment. Sure I've run many times in the past: Evading the cops at the shutdown Safeway warehouse in Butte, at the losing end of threats made by various high school sport coaches and of course from the needle whose intent was to sentence me to 17.5 years of child support. This was different though. I just ran to run. It was both the means and the end. Sort of a quick paced meditation if you will.

I was contacted by my Cousin that is susceptible to arm-triangles back in March about a relay race that he and 10 others had signed up for. They needed a twelfth person to complete the team. Having never been terribly excited about running, I needed more persuasion than "come all the way out here and run for us".

Arm-Triangle: You will be in the van full of sexy girls

Me: Sold!

At this time I was in Hamilton and working out on a regular basis, so I figured the transition to runner-me from elliptical-machine-me would be cake. Turns out the muscles are a touch different. And a mile is faaaaarrrrrr!

These initial running pains were not much of a hurtle until they sent me out to Madison WI for work. This is when I finally realized that I had been running in the desert. I know Hamilton looks nice and green, but it is the desert. Madison on the other hand is a touch moist. Even thinking about putting on my running shoes made me sweat. The actual running part was enough to leave me wondering if my balls would ever quit smelling of cheese rotting in a Louisiana swamp (I can't reach them myself with my nose, but I keep trying to get them as close as possible to a girl's nose. I'll report the findings when I get them).

Couple month's pass of normal life, and I'm finally on a plane to Seattle (Horizon Air w/ free booze. w00t b33r). Two girl I've know from previous visits come to get me at the airport and bring me to the pre-game pasta feed. Stopped by a cool vista on the way there.



We all get drunk (or maybe just ArmTri, Aye, Yae and me...) and call it a pretty early night. The next morning I get up around 10am. Aye, Yae and I get in the car and start to collect the other 3 runners that make up van 2 (the other van left at 5am...suckers). We head towards the Canadian border for about 2.5 hours to the first exchange and chill out at a park by the sound somewhere near Bellingham. We eventually took the slap-bracelet baton around 1 or 2 pm, and I finally started my first leg (I was runner 11 of 12) around 6 pm.

The first leg for me started out downhill through some ranch type homes with lillacs growing everywhere. The smell was awesome and my legs were more than fresh. It wound around for a while, and before mile 2 was complete (4.7 mile leg), I had already passed 3 people. This was an essential task, because in order to receive a Busch tall-boy at the baton pass, you needed to pass a runner. The next 2.7 miles did not share the same aromatic/visual pleasantries of the first 2 miles. I rounded a corner only to stare down a perfectly flat 2 mile straight away. Cones on the side of the road as far as the eye could see. The lack of digestibles in my stomach quickly turned into a side ache that was only exemplified by the growing smell of cow shit. And what is this other fine smell I’m catching slight whiffs of? The glorious olfactory sensations of road kill skunks. Ahhh…Drink. It. In.

I finished the first leg with 5 passes and I wasn’t passed at all. Got my Busch, passed the baton and prepared for more van riding nonsensicals. After Aye finished her leg we went and got some food then headed to the 3^rd exchange to wait for van 1. It was dark by this time, so we bedded down on some grass for a mini nap before the next runners showed up. The combination of street lights, people talking and my lack of sleeping bag didn’t allow me to catch any Zs, but I was able to get a badass Aye/Yae sandwich cuddle for about a half hour.

The night runs were fairly uneventful (because of the lack of light out in the woods at that hour of night) except for one small pit stop we made. Somewhere near an Indian casino we pulled off the road in order for me to get my naked Friday picture (even though it was already Saturday morning around 1am Pacific). I had two of the girls shine flashlights on me while another took a picture of me butt-ass nekid with my race number (105) in front of my junk. It was classy to say the least. After that pic we took another tribute picture for a friend that couldn’t make it of Aye, Yae, another girl and me. We all lined up in front of the car (for headlight lighting) for a group ass shot. I haven’t seen the pics yet, but I can assure you they are good.

My 2^nd leg started around 2:30 to 3:00 Saturday morning. It was a 6.2 mile “Hard” leg. Lots of hills and further than I think I have ever run at one time in my life. Since it was so dark out, the van would leapfrog the runner by a mile or two at a time just to insure the runner’s success.

I was kicking some ass on my run around mile 3:

Yae: Keev, how are you doing? Do you need anything?

Me (panting): NUDITY!

Aye: Fuck him…he’s fine.

Not only was I fine (minus the lack of breath and burning legs), I passed 9 people on that leg and still I hadn’t been passed. It was a kick ass leg for other reasons too. The entire run was along the sound and out in the woods. It was quiet enough to hear the waves the entire time, and the moon was full enough to run without a flashlight.

One more night run (Aye's) and then we take off to exchange 5. Yae is driving and I’m the navigator, so no sleep for us. We roll into a small town where there is a high school that has the gym floor set up with mats for the runners to sleep on. Sadly, someone opened a door that was still actively alarmed and the entire place was strobing and screaming at the top of its lungs. Mind you, I have an incredible ability to sleep through alarm clocks, but falling asleep to that sound is a completely different ball game. It just wasn’t going to happen.

We took the opportunity to go find a park and bed down in the grass. Yae was kind enough to share a cuddle and her sleeping bag, but once again sleep was not on our side. We would close our eyes just long enough to start drifting off…KAAAWWWWW!!! A fucking crow would just lose its mind. Not for any extended amount of time. Just long enough to startle us out of slumber. Then it was back to situation normal…tweet tweet tweet…zzzz….KAAAAAWWWW!!!! Damn you, you stupid ass bird! Harland Williams was right. Why do we need crow?

This continued long enough to keep us from any of that annoying REM sleep before runner 6 came trotting into the exchange. While our spirits were a touch hindered by the total lack of sleep, we still managed to enjoy our final leg of the relay. I even did the final leg in a sarong. Makes for some top notch nad ventilation. Got passed once (elite runner) and passed another. Final pass count: 15 passes, 1 pass.

The race ended for us in 26 hours (not bad for 189 miles). That put us 46^th out of 150 teams with an average pace of just over 8 minute miles. Pretty good for some booze-hounds with a running problem.

We jumped on a ferry and booked back to Seattle for a nap prior to our planned outing and boozing shenanigans. I was even one of the main pushers for this R&R prior to firing back up for evening drinking. What I didn’t realize is that I was about to get into all sorts of glorious sexual touching enjoyment. And while I didn’t receive that shuteye I was searching for, I did manage to release a firetruck’s worth of hormones into my body and that seems to produce a methamphetamine like alertness. Took a quick shower and I was ready to step up my drinking again. Well, not that dymatap tasting "energy drink" shit ArmTri tried to get me to drink.

The troops were rallied, the bars were patronized and we shut it all down at 2am. ArmTri and Aves had a mini battle of blackout bull run in the apartment that night and Yae and I were finally able to rest our weiry heads around 6am.

(speed finish)

Got up at 10am.

Breakfast at noon.

Hustle and Flow at 2pm.

To the airport at 6pm.

Flight delayed until 10:30pm.

Arrive in Bozeman 1am Monday morning.

To the office for work at 8am.

So from Friday morning to when I arrived in Bozeman late Sunday, I had managed to acquire roughly 6 hours of sleep. It’s amazing how little that matters to me when I’m having a great time. Good times, booze and drugs…that’s my anti-drug!

Airline Tsaoism

Recently I've been flying a lot.  This means that I've been stuck in airports without free wireless and relying on m.youtube.com to stream mindless garbage into my brain via the cell phone internets.  It also means that I've had a lot of time to work on patients and anger emotional evasion techniques.  Most people don't practice these techniques and it quickly becomes apparent how readily people will loss their minds over situations that are completely out of their control.

It doesn't matter how loudly somebody curses the airlines or the airports, that lightning storm is still going to be hanging over MSP airport, and the crew is not going to be able to load your baggage into the plane.  Furthermore it doesn't matter how many times you turn to me in your seat and sigh heavily, we aren't going to land in Billings anytime before 1am.

It doesn't have to be that way.  You simply need to be a touch creative.  I do that while basing my creativity in the roots of Tsaoism.  

For instance:  The Billings Logan International airport has one of the slowest baggage claims in the continental [The] United States.  Most people take that time to brew up a tasty batch of pissed-the-fuck-off with a side salad of grumbling-at-the-floor.  I'm much more clever.  Here's the scoop.

Using deductive reasoning I estimated that the baggage would again be slow on my final return from Madison WI, so I called ahead to MBSE with a game plan, and followed that sales call with a text the moment we had touchdown.

Text from Me:  Touchdown

Now that I'm in the elite status with NWA (airline...not the rap group,  although I really wish I were), I get to sit first class.  This means that I'm first off that plane and first coming down the escalator.  I don't stop there.  I keep on trucking past the baggage claim and right out door 4.  There, waiting like a rally car with a sexy driver...actually not like that, that exactly...is MBSE in my STi.  We let the motor spin, the turbo boost and the clutch drop on our way to a dark parking lot not even a 1/2 mile away.

She is in a sarong without those time consuming panties that seem to take a lifetime to remove, and I've expedited my race towards full nudity by not owning a pair of underroos.  Now with the windows down far enough for legs to jet out into the night and let the moans of 10 days in Madison without touch escape, we work up and incredible sex sweat.

There...all better.

I fire the STi back up and roll to door 4, walk inside as the bell goes off for the luggage to start moving out and 3 bags later I have my checked bag in hand.

Only thing left to do on a night like that is to poke a little smot, drink some beers downtown and return for the scheduled double-header.

Tsao be with you...(and also with you)

I'm Fucking Famous

I went to see where another fire was burning outside of Billings by checking billingsgazette.com.

Turns out I'm sort of a big deal.

People know me.

I want to be on you...

This Morning

10:00am (still asleep)

MBSE: Do you smell smoke or something burning?

Me: No... (closes eyes and goes back to sleep)

10minutes pass

Father: WAKE UP BEFORE THE HOUSE BURNS DOWN!

I take a second to stare out the window with my -5.25 shitty vision, and even then I can tell that there is a serious fire taking place about 100 to 200 yards away. I snag my glasses from the night stand and head up the the balcony that is a floor above my room. I'm greeted with a hell of a view.



This size of fire continues for about 10 minutes before it runs into some rocks and the firefighters (fooooya-fiiiightaaas heeeeeeeeyyyyyy, fun indian joke for anyone in Leadore with me a couple years back) are able to subdue the flames to a state of smoldering. The air temperature here is 31.5C (89F) and the wind has been gusting up to around 56kph (35mph), so it should be pretty easy for this thing to kick back up into full force. The phone rang a couple minutes later to give us an automated evacuation alert. We promptly ignored the warning and continued to watch the PoPo and Firefighters put out the small blazes still left at the base of trees and sagebrush. A coast guard looking chopper did two flybys with a water bucket and I got a picture of it dumping and returning to the pond for a refill.




I've been working from home for the last week, and I haven't really found the time to put together any blogs. I've just been swamped...

Happy 232nd [The] America

I swear she doesn't look a year over 218.

I went on a fun little trip the week of the 4^th, and I want to chronicle it before booze and weed erase it from my spank bank.

I took off for Hamilton on Monday morning and pretty much felt like a bag of dicks. I got some sort of throat virus (presumably from a bus station skank) and it was rocking my world. After taking a few Ibuprofens, I was pretty much ready to hit the road. My car on the other hand was not ready. It was downtown at the tire shop where they had just put my summer tires back on and aligned it all (drives like a badass again). My first attempt to get a ride was from the rents. They both were at work so my search continued. Not being afraid to lay a little groundwork for the future (read: present), I went next door to try and get a ride from the hot 16 year old that likes to wash her car in her swimsuit. Sadly she didn’t answer the door (I assume she was touching herself to the mix tape that I gave her and didn’t hear me ring the doorbell). I finally got a ride from the grandma that watches the kids across the street. So I guess it is true what they say, “although slow and dangerous behind the wheel, senior citizens CAN still serve a purpose”.

I finally get the car, load up the boat, longboard and some clothes and hit the road. The drive was nice now that I’m rockin the satellite radio. Comedy and re-mix techno are the shizz. But aside from getting a few new pumps for the raft, the trip was pretty uneventful.

Pulled into Hamilton at about 7PM and stopped by the hotel to see my sweet little hotel friend X-tina. Chatted (read: hit on her and talked dirty) with her for a while and then went and saw the rest of the crew. Finally settled into the Coin for some beers and called it a night. Actually I went back to my Mexican’s house and watching bow hunting for turkeys. If you ever get the chance to watch guillotine bow hunting for birds when you are drunk, TAKE IT. It is hilarious, and I don’t even hunt…or care to start.

Woke up around noon (to a nice naked pic of X-t) and went up to Darby to get my one of my favorite burritos. It is a little place called the Little Blue Joint. You must stop in and have one if you are ever passing through. After that tasty treat we (Mex and I) went to a fishing access just outside of town and planned on floating to Main St in Hamtown where my Mexican’s house is located. For those of you that don’t know, the Bitterroot River just killed a guy (or gal, not really sure), and everyone and their fucking mother’s dog felt like they needed to tell me about how I was going to die on this river. Turns out the river is a slow moving lake with only 1 section that actually has anything worth mentioning (read: wave that can put water in the boat). All in all it was a nice float and a good excuse to drink some beers. Afterwards we hit up the brewery and failed miserably to get some girls to come out drinking with us.

Next morning I woke up and started my trek towards Idaho. Everything was going quite well until I was a few hours into the trip. I was racing across some pretty open/barren land and I started to recognize a town I was quickly approaching. Everything seemed so familiar although I know that I hadn’t been down the road before. I soon put together the mental puzzle pieces and realize that I was in Leadore Idaho. The same town I was in when doing firecamp catering. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, but Leadore isn’t even close to the path I wanted to be on. To further the problem, I was running low on gas.

Me: What’s the fastest way to Boise from here?

Gas station attendant: Airplane (laugh). Did you just come from Salmon?

Me: Yep, I’m sort of an idiot.

GSA: You aren’t the first to miss that turn. The quickest way is to go down to Arco.

Me: Do you just have 85 octane fuel (my car manual recommends 93)?

GSA: Yep, but you can put in some octane boost if you fuel up, that will get you to about 89 octane.

Take a look at this map and you will see how far off I went:

Should have gone this way.

Went this way.

Original trip would have been 336 miles. My new trip was 432 miles. Ooooopps!

The nice part about that drive though, is that I got to really open ‘er up. You can see for miles down there, and it is so empty in this mountain valley (think napoleon dynamite landscape) that you can spot any and all cops (there were none). I also had the radar/laser detector on, so I spent about 30 minutes of driving at an average speed of 120mph. Even with the reduced octane fuel I never had any engine knocking. Go Subaru.

Things shake a bit at this speed.

Finally got into Boise around 5, met up with PIC and his girl and went to the downtown “Alive at 5”. When we got on the bikes to go down there, I was expecting the skanky methed out version of downtown drinking events that Billings so eloquently hosts. What I got instead was a sweet party. The booze was better, the music was better and the people…well the people were just dead sexy. Younger, hotter and did I mention sexy. PIC had to go to school, so me and his girl went and got some food downtown. We ate outside and I just sat back and filled up the spank bank (which really paid dividends the next morning in PIC’s shower, HEY OH!). After dinner we went up to the road that leads to Bogus Ski Resort and did some longboarding. I tell you what! It was the shit! It is a 20+ mile road and steep. We bit off a 6.1 mile chunk of that road and made it our bitch. In that 6.1 miles we descended just under 2000 feet. The chip and seal was a little rough and lit our feet on fire from the vibrations, but you can’t have everything.

Next morning we got up and started to prepare for a river day. PIC and I were sort of being beavers and opted out of the Main Fork Payette trip (after almost killing MBSE a couple days earlier on the Stillwater River I didn’t have my daddy pants back on yet) and settled with the Boise River. The Boise is a super mellow float with a ton of people from the city on it at all times. It would be super chill, but the town is a touch mormon and have strict booze laws regarding boozing outside. It was a sweet day to be on the river.

As you can see it was a bit on the warm side in Boise.

We capped the float off with some sweet zza and beer (and beer and cheese paring), and then we drank it up downtown. The next morning I decided I didn’t want to go all the way out to Bend OR only to turn around and have to drive to Billings in a day, so I opted to head back up to Hamtown for the fireworks and 4^th of July tomfoolery. Before that PIC and I did a sick 2 mile smooth stretch of longboarding right at the ski hill. It was another epic run. I said “epic”. I suck.

Drove back up to H-town the “correct” way and it was a MUCH nicer drive. There were a lot of passes and roadside rivers and it was in the woods instead of the desert. The South Fork of the Payette is a sweet looking river and someday I’m going to return to it and float it (who’s with me?).

I bought some fireworks from a mildly foreign guy that night and it was a blast. Haggling for fireworks in a nearly empty stand is funny shit to me.

Foreign Guy: That will be $55.

Me: Damn, I guess I’ll have to go get them somewhere else because I only have $46.

FG: Sold.

The best part is I still got raped. Hahaha.

Woke up on a couch the morning of July 5 (feeling like another bag ‘o dicks) and went to the farmers market for an Amigo’s Burrito, rented two PFDs from a fishing shop and then went floating with 4 other people. Good times. That night the Mexican and I got fucking housed at the Coin and the Rainbow and ended up playing with a kitten in his front yard (trying to get it to kill something) and yelling at cars that went by. Times like this sure make me miss the small towns.

We went inside around 3AM and I don’t think the Mexican even made it to the menu of Semi-Pro before he hit his proverbial wall: