Man, I’ll tell you what. Since my return to the grind, I’ve not slowed down for jack.
I have gotten a proper bike ride, trail run, and skateboard session in, but aside from that, and otherwise living the hermit’s life, I haven’t been not moving for days.
A good bit of this activity has related to the shipments and follow up of the long sleeved jersey I just got out. As I understand, (aside from the international ones) all shipments have landed where they were supposed to. If you live in the fifty states, and you haven’t yet seen it, give me a dollar and I’ll pass on tracking info.
Get cracking, or if you so desire, don’t.
Since I’ve been making like a headless chicken these days, kids in other places have been having doses of pure, and unadulterated (with an emphasis on ‘un-adult‘) fun.
Just such an example was this year’s Homie Fall Fest out there in Minneapolis. I cried tears of sadness knowing that I would not be able to attend, which were followed by tears of joy upon receiving a report from Cars-r-Coffins’ own Hurl;
I dunno if you’ve got other boots on the ground, but, we survived another one. HFF #20? #21? it’s all a bit blurry, innit?
Anyway, once again Pintz Guzzled pulled together a firecracker of a day. The rally met and departed from everybody’s favorite happy hour hangout, Liquor Lyles. But the whole weekend really kicked off with Friday’s arrival of the O.G.est of the OGs, Wakeman Foster Massie;
Chartreuse straight out of the bottle set the tone. Saturday morning I rolled to Pineda Plus for the best breakfast burrito in town (+1 to go, natch) then made my way over to the Jewish Burt Reynolds house for some pre-game warm ups with the Bandit and a penguin. There is definitely no slowing down with the Silver Bullet, especially when it’s a portable bar Reynoldstein found in his alley, and by the time we rolled the two whole blocks over to Lyle’s, some of our crüe were already fully-torqued;
Some dynamite costumes on display, including the AC Cross Wizard x Robert Ives bastard son of Donald Trump;
I couldn’t find my disgruntled former bike industry veteran Kevin Murphy costume so went as a poor man’s Steve McQueen;
Soon enough we shot out of the Uptown streets with a slithering parade of cobbled alleyways, urban dirt descents, hill-climb feats of strength, beer stashes, and altered states;
Games of foot-down got underway and plywood jump ramps appeared out of nowhere.
Ultimately, we ended up at Bare Ass Beach for more hot knobby action and a bonfire with blazing magnesium fork lowers for extra color. In a rare moment of candor, I actually absconded before sun down in an effort at self-preservation. But I know of at least one unfortunate pilgrim who has been bemoaning his cracked and bruised ribs all day, after passing out close to the nearby Utepils Brewing tap room, waking up, walking home and throwing up in his kitchen.
So in conclusion, we’ll be expecting your triumphant return in 2018.
I can hear the laughter and exploding cans of beer from here.
There is not much I plan on for 2018, aside from that aforementioned triumphant return.
My soul requires it.
While we’re on the topic of my friends doing the heavy lifting, I might as well roll out an array of photos by Zack Cunningham of this past weekend’s Pauloween at the Paul Component Engineering compound.
I have no words on the matter, but as they say, a picture is worth a thousand of them;
Pure damned beauty, I tell you what.
So there we have it. Hard evidence of the two must-attend fall time events, neither of which I actually attended.
Not that I’m at all happy about it, but for now, I can continue to live the life of a workaholic hermit, just as as long as I have that previously mentioned help from my friends.