might even grow me a fu man chu...

alas alas it is time for my last entry as a journeyman. the brave two that remain pulled away from my house yesterday around 3:15pm, then pulled back around 3:17 to ask for directions, and were finally gone southbound for good at 3:20.

in santa cruz i had a delightful time hosting the gentlemen and carry. we went crawdiddling up at the river, watched a 'gorges' crimson sunset, bbqed, drank a beer at the pond, and saw an epic concert by a little band i like to call the romantics. no. big. deal. after the show we perused the boardwalk, unfortunately missing last call for the giant dipper roller coaster. however our lemons turned into lemonade as we walked to our car, and who should we stumble upon in a white van, none other than the romantics themselves. we desperately tried to convince them to come to the bars with us, but had to settle with a picture.

the encounter was life changing for all of us, as eli couldnt stop singing the tune "thats what i like about you", pete actually got in the van and is currently following the band on tour as a roadie (he prefers band-aid). not to be outdone, ressie woke up with a tattoo on his nether-regions of "the romantics" in large cursive flanked by two long stem roses. at least it will never go out of style.

so the trip for me has come to an end and its time to shave this glorious man-stache (maybe another week wouldnt hurt anyone). it has been an unforgettable time, and i thank everybody. looking back, there are a few things that i will not be able to forget, no matter how hard i try. they are, in no particular order:
- waking up and finding eli in the car with the hot air blasting and still looking like he would trade me his prized collection of plourde's underwear for my sweatshirt.
- drewski almost passing out from playing the didgeridoo at colon's house while making those crazy eyes he does so well.
- pete earning his trail name with a well placed doobler in the merced river.
- streaks talking in his sleep, and then we discovered that the romantics have a hit song titled "talking in your sleep". coincidence? fate? whatever it is, i dont think there could be a more fitting tattoo to ever have graced a behind.

well, i will leave you all with these wise words: The knack of flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss. i still havent learned the knack of driving cross country, but if i do, i'll let you know.

i hope the road treats you kindly boys. may the wind be in your face, and the sun on your arse.

over and out,
-squatting marmot