Growler and the Hand of Rock
Old Death Whisper
Fellow retards and tardette
Bakoda...making the dope shit in 2003
I am da night rider
Winning in 2001
From now on, any time I even hear the words "cat" or "skiing" or "trip" I'm just gonna immediately grab the nearest baseball bat and smash my own collar bone. It'll end up being cheaper in the long run. Last night, in Grand Targhee, after a long day of driving, shredding, boozing, and rocking out to Old Death Whisper, somebody in our group had the brilliant idea to sled to the top of the mountain and shred down. After some towing issues and falling problems we made it up. It was absolutely breathtaking looking over the Targhee Valley (or whatever the fuck you call the giant plains before the Tetons). Down below we could see the base lodge, Tetonia, mormons. Then were off and I wiggle my way into a pitch black snowbank shoulder first. So instead of spending today whooping up and shooshing, then manana cat skiing, I'm now home with a bottle of Vicoden and either a bone chip or a rotator cuff blowout. If at first you don't succeed, winning might not be your thing.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Crazy fucking shits going down in the world right now. While I'm peacefully shooshing around Bald Mountain, there's dudes prepping for our upcoming scheduled wars in Korea, Iran, Laybia, Saudi Arabia, and the entire Middle East. A mellow reminder from Mountain Home Air Force Base flew over James Young and I on a glorious Sun Valley day. In the past they've flown up through the Wood River Valley hauling ass up our bowls, then straight skyward screaming towards the heavens delivering a sonic boom. Pretty cool shit man.