GOODSKI
I and the boys decided to strap 'em on and hit the fresh POW at Hinckley.
A mandatory stop for refreshments yielded a new sport: Nordic Floundering. At least as interesting as Competitive Littering, but with more potential for fractured limbs, broken ski bindings and general carnage, but without that satisfying flavor of having thrown an empty can to a lofty and precarious perch on the top of a bridge abutment.
The Rik was the first competitor. This was on his way back up. We were cheering and trying our best not to whiz on him or inadvertently create an avalanche, which would have been spectacular.
This was on his way down. BTW, The Rik invented Nordic Floundering many eons ago.
For all of you sports trivia fans out there, this was also the deep gorge of doom where we guided a merry band of drunken idiots during Heath's bachelor party. Sacred ground indeed.
The extraction team was on the speed dial. We weren't sure what to make of the situation.
But we had many miles to go before we slept, many miles to go. We think The Rik may have actually made it out alive.We didn't want to interrupt his Floundering, though.
Post-game peanut butter snack with my other boys.
Apparently, these guys think they know how to do it. I'm up for the challenge.
The end.
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