I have been snowboarding for the last three days straight, and though my flesh and bones ache like crazy I’m still sportin’ a perma-grin. If one was able to elope with a seasonal activity, I would drive to Vegas right now and marry snowboarding. By an ordained Elvis impersonator. With a shotgun in one hand and a microphone in the other. I would settle for no less.
We jammed to Duluth this weekend to ride at Spirit Mountain and caught up with a couple of friends from Ihduhapi. The whole Chuck Norris thing has absolutely consumed us, to the point where we all eat, sleep and dream in Chuck Norris. Right before we got to the mountain, Montana invented best and most delicious thing ever to help us shrug off the harsh cold of the north country. We went to a gas station and filled our jacket pockets with pound after pound of beef jerky, and totally mowed whenever we were riding the chair lift. We called it the Chuck Norris Pocket. Nothing shouts man quite like a jacket full of meat.
Duluth seems to be doing well for itself, even though there’s so much snow that the city has given up on plowing the streets. Most roads have been reduced to one lane, which makes oncoming traffic a rather awkward experience. You can’t get out of the way as there are snowbanks piled high on both sides of the road. You can’t drive into the snowbanks because they are filled with cars. This is where you park in Duluth, in snowbanks. You rev up the engine something fierce and shove your car into it, and pray that you can get it out in the morning. If not, you can always catch the Greyhound and come back to Duluth in the spring to reclaim your vehicle.
Then again, Chuck Norris could pick up your car in one hand and tear your heart out with the other, all while secretly shagging your girlfriend.