Ohh hello. I didn't see you there. It's kind of creepy really. You looking at me like that, judging me with your hungry dead eyes. You're just jealous because I not only have a gnarly couch, I also had a sick weekend.
Thursday night after work I enjoyed an excellent exhibition of musical prowess, harmony, and showmanship. The heavy metal band from outer space Gwar played a concert in Bend. It was like angels came down from heaven and sounded their celestial trumpets. Their melodic warbling was undoubtably responsible for both physical and spiritual epiphanies among all in the audience. The newest testament of the bible will tell of this occasion, when hundreds of unspoiled virgin maidens immaculately conceived, and in their belly grew the unholy spawn of rock. You probably don't know who Gwar is, unless you're a terrible person but if you are, and you do you understand. If you don't allow me to explain. Gwar is the worst/best/worst band ever, they dress in hilarious monster costumes and play horrible music and put on an outrageous show. Thursday night they also premiered a new snowboarding video called Down with Humans or something like that. I don't remember the details, my face was literally rocked off.
Friday dawned bright and warm, so around 11:30 I met my buddy Trevor and his friend Chris and we went mountain biking. I got a good taste of what it means to live in Bend. After a ten minute drive out of town into the national forests, we hit a huge area that has been excavated and cultivated by biking enthusiasts into a mountain biking paradise. There are trails marked in the ski park style with blue squares and black diamonds, and these contain various hazards and terrain. There are ladders, and rock drops, and berms, and table tops, and moguls, and road gaps, and steps, and jumps of every variety possible, all designed to be as terrifying and dangerous as possible. I'm more than comfortable on a bike, but this place was intimidating, not the least because of the monstrous little kids in attendance. You know the type, you see them most often at ski resorts whipping past you as you eat pow, or shredding the skate park as you hold onto the side rail hoping to keep your borrowed roller skates underneath you. They have been enjoying the sport since they were barely old enough to walk, and are completely comfortable hitting 40 foot jumps while you show off the 2 inch wheelie you just figured out you can do to your friends.
They feel so at home that its make them terrible to share the park with. Whenever they would congregate on the trails, instead of off to the side, or at the end like a normal considerate human being, I would barrel through them at high speed, most often completely out of control with a large part of my inner self hoping to run a few down and mangle in my knobby tires. They did nothing to build the park, us big people did, and yet they act like theyre entitled to its entire expanse at all times. Maybe I'm intolerant. I prefer to think they deserved the periodic moments of terror I injected into their degenerate lives.
Either way the kiddie hunting got me all fired up for two wheel action, so when we were forced to call it a day after Trevor popped a tire and Chris' bike disintegrated completely, I shot back to the ranch in minitruck II and stole Steve-o's chopper. I thrashed that until the sun went down and my ungloved hands went numb on the handlebars. After warming up with some watery store brand beef soup Jami and I went and saw the new Bond film, Quantom of Solace.
It was alright.
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