The Brrr Report

Volume 2, Number 1
July 4th - 8th, 2001
by Kevin Frost

King Meet 2001: Green Circle Imbedded Thunderstorms

The unexamined life may not be worth living, but the unlived life is not worth examining. -Guy Kawasaki

King mountain is the last high mountain on the south end of the Lost River Range, which runs somewhat north-south for over 100 miles in southeast Idaho. When checking out the range from out front, as with any other line of mountains the eye tends to focus only on the standout peaks. Down below these snowcapped peaks, are any number of anonymous gullies and canyons and dry rocky creek beds surrounded by acres of sagebrush, nothing a traveler is likely to give any notice to while roaring down the highway at 60 mph. Even if you were leisurely traveling the highway at bicycle speed you would give little notice to that part of the landscape, there is plenty else more interesting to catch the eye. But to those soaring above the peaks these gullies and canyons below do stand out. From fifteen thousand feet we see the sleight of hand that hides their secrets like looking at a hedge maze from above. We gaze down on miniature Shangri La's obviously invisible from out front, hidden by canyons that snake around or double back into little tucked away green meadows, lakes and ponds, creeks that begin as high waterfalls and dry up without leaving the mountain itself. I always tell myself it would be cool to come back on foot one weekend and explore one of these interesting canyons, so I did.


The Lost River Range near MacKay. Mt. McCaleb is the flat-topped mountain to the left and Invisible Mt. is the monolith on the right
Photo by Ernie Camacho

About three miles north of King mountain, one of these gullies is particularly average, even from the air totally unremarkable. You can take a dirt road and drive most of the way to it, through a mile of sagebrush. You then hike up a steep little trail below some 30-60' cliffs where you come to a small clear spring. Hike a little further along the base of the cliffs and you come to one of those half-assed caves that is really kind of a big overhang in the rocks. There is room for 20 people to stay out of the wind and rain. Belying the fact that there is no sign that it was ever used as a camp you notice that the surrounding cliffs are decorated by dozens of rusty red petroglyphs some faded to near obscurity, some suspiciously new looking.

Sorry, I couldn't resist - Webmaster. (Click here)
Petroglyph

There were wild buffalo in this country until the 1840's. They ranged at least as far north as Challis at the upper quarter of the Lost River range. The various tributaries of the rivers here were rich with Salmon until the late 1960's. The last Indians to occupy this region, the Flathead, Sheepeater and Bannock, acquired horses early from the Shoshone, who migrated north from the Death Valley area. These people had this land to themselves until relatively late in the game. They enjoyed a short golden age when life got alot easier with their horses and the trade with the Europeans. Of course we all know the rest of that story, and the awful side of that double edged sword.

Flying north on the Lost River range and looking west to the far backside of the White Cloud mountains is wild horse country. I've seen them from a distance, a big herd running and kicking up a cloud of dust, perhaps the descendents of horses used by the Indians who hunted the buffalo, speared the salmon and painted petroglyphs on rocky walls. And the descendents of the Flathead, Sheepeater, Sho-Ban?.....The Indian part of my blood may not run thick enough to receive a government check...but it is thick enough to love the land as I soar thousands of feet above it and wonder where my back country travels have intersected the footsteps of my ancestors.


The Author and his Security Chief

July 4th, 2001

Weather forecasts predicted very hot and high pressure from early in the week, continuing on through the meet. I envisioned big turbulence in flight and rare thermals down low, dead air F16 landings in dry switchy winds at 5,000'. Me and a few other Boise pilots hit the road two days early so we could get in some warm up flights and our share of the fun and arrived to find King unexpectedly socked in with clouds the valley overcast.

Not too inspired to go rock kick up in the clouds, we hit Moore park to check out the scene. Since way before my time about half the pilots who come to King meet are traditionally cheap enough or just enjoy the scene at Moore park, about 2 miles west of King Mountain, enough to make camp there....they always look like they are having more fun than those of us who opt for hot showers and cushy motel beds at $30 per siesta. Moore park sports free tent space and trailer parking, an electrical outlet and big brick BBQ, a toilet and cold running water. It is also crawling distance from the Antler Club, a sleepy old west bar more or less unchanged from before I was born. Good news, I hear the city is putting in hot showers in the park....nice to have a HG pilot, Alan Paylor, on the city council.


Kurt Ziegler at Moore park LZ

So we get to the park and after the big drive Pup, my faithful four legged chief of security, was happy to jump out and wash down those dirty hubcaps and ID any suspicious stray dogs. We met with Lisa Tate, our hard working meet director, nose to the grindstone already doing registration and paperwork as pilots arrived from afar. There were alot of pilots already in town but Lisa was still worried about attendance. I was double worried cause everyone knew if we had a bad showing, it was most probably 'ALL MY FAULT' for writing last year's notorious Black Diamond article, packed with good 'there I was' stories from other pilots. We heard about some Hood River OR pilots who backed out of King plans after reading Black Diamond Flying. But right away I ran into some young California pilots who said that they came only 'because' of last year's article. California pilots RULE!!

The sky cleared early enough for a bunch of us to have a pretty cool glass-off flight that evening. We were treated to the classic King mountain baby's butt smooth lift. I flew my ATOS 7 or 8 miles south over the town of Arco and watched some Fourth of July activities and part of the rodeo as I flew over. My driver DJ said over the radio that his truck was almost part of the parade and 'ole Pup turned on his trademark bark siren to let people know some very important retrieve business was in progress. I landed in a huge wheat field at the edge of the Craters of the Moon lava plain.

July 5, practice day

A pretty day but lots of weather coming and going. Scattered wet squalls made for a lot of dodging around in flight. High above the peaks the air smelled of pine and wet sagebrush, to me the clean smell of spring. If you were to add up all the zigging and zagging, me and my cohorts really tallied up the miles. Unfortunately, we never count zigging and zagging. First I called a south route to dodge the storms up north, by the time we got to Arco, the sky looked fine up north and we were skying out, so we made a new flight plan and headed north along the range. I finally got drilled just north of Mt Borah, Idaho's tallest mountain at about 12,500. I was unable to dodge a big area of virga and my glider got heavy from raindrops and sank out and tore down in the rain. A few of the California guys had especially good flights and had timed their squall flying a little better, one doing a site record 100 mile plus out and return with help from a wind that is apt to switch from the north in the afternoon. Me and my driver DJ raced back to Arco to meet the Boise gang with Arizona, SLC and Hood River elements bellied up at the big long picnic table in front of Grandpa's BBQ. Grandpa's is a little family operation on main street Arco that serves some world class southern BBQ, but their friendliness is half the reason to go there. Outside on picnic tables laid out under tall cottonwood trees. We jumped into telling the stories of our flights and pulled out the digital cameras and had a little tiny slide show of the tops of each others gliders all taken with the wide angle fully employed, our way of counting coup.


South to Arco

Grandpa and family greeted anyone who had ever previously set foot in their establishment by name and asked about the flying as they brought us heaping bowlfuls of BBQed chicken, beef and baby back ribs, three different salads, swamp water (lemonade and iced tea mixed) and lots of runny BBQ sauce. They said there were too many of us to order separate so they just emptied out the kitchen and brought out food family style. I don't like beef ribs, but I gotta tell ya, I ate more than my share. We gorged and feasted like we all really needed the ballast. Also we were eating fast cause HG pilots being the keen observers of nature and the sky, we knew a gust front was brewing.

You know us keen nature observers, at one with the elements.... we are finely sensitized to the smallest telltales... like a NOAA weather advisory, an ever blackening sky, a stiffening breeze, and a huge fast moving dust cloud relentlessly headed in our direction.

We finished the last of our cinnamony sweet potato pie just as the gust front hit. It absolutely nuked!! We ran for shelter indoors and stared with fear and worry at the gliders on the trucks. Grandpa's teenaged son grabbed a pair of swim goggles and bravely chased plastic chairs down the street. All of us fearing for his life as tree limbs flew from the cottonwoods. Meanwhile miles north at Moore city park, a glider would have been crushed by a thick cottonwood limb but was luckily straddled by the bow. The rain and lightning came. I made a dash for my motel room and found it's roof blanketed by the limbs of a fallen tree. I crammed my soaking wet ATOS, too obviously a 20' graphite lightning rod, into the motel room corner to corner above the sink at one end and behind the door in another as the rain came down in buckets.

That evening a very tired Pup gave me a put upon look every time he had to jump over the glider to get to his water dish. After a hard and dusty day of truck guarding, Frisbee chasing and glider barking, he was in no mood to be jumping obstacles for a drink.

Meet begins, July 6th

The next morning, the storm was gone leaving a freshly bathed and perfumed day. With the sky blue but the air still plenty wet the weather really had me worried. Would it OD by launch time as it is apt to do? Still concerned about turnout, when we got to Moore Park I was happy to see lots of pilots and gliders. 68 pilots registered for the meet plus free flyers and paragliders. So attendance wasn't down much and the stock market may have been more to blame than I (that's my story and I'm sticking to it). Sadly only about 10 local pilots (not many of us left). But a ton of pilots from California made the big drive, a big group from Massachusetts, our Utah cousins, Canadians, the Wyoming boys and some from all over.


Pilots Meeting. Lisa Tate is addressing the pilots.
Photo by Ernie Camacho

Lisa Tate unveiled this years trophies, works of art, and filled out the pilot meeting with the usual run through of the rules for handicapped open distance XC, a review of the bonus LZs, talk of the new team category, a weather report from Alan Paylor, and tons of door prizes were handed out. Then it was 'Gentlemen, start your engines' and we all zoomed up to lower launch.


Trucks moving up to launch.

Here is the deal. This was a light wind day. On light wind days many pilots prefer upper launch for more altitude to find a thermal. Upper set-up area is a little small and steep and a bit of a zoo, it requires lots of traffic control beginning with the trip up. The rule is, everyone drives to lower launch and parks. Lisa and Terri pack up their stuff at the pilot's meeting and a half hour later drive up past all the parked trucks and go to upper launch where they allow 3 trucks at a time to come up and unload and drive down the hill a hundred yards to park. After everyone is unloaded only then do we set up gliders. Whew!! Actually impressive that it works so smoothly. Meanwhile the slackers on lower launch are leisurely setting up gliders and chilling.


Terri directing traffic.

I'm on the task committee, but with Frank Gillette and Ken Schreck as brains and experience I'm just rubber stamp and lightning rod. Here are the routes...Route one is North along the front of the range with a nice highway out front....Route two goes NE and jumps a range about every 15 miles, tough on inexperienced King drivers.....Route 3 jumps over the back of King and is mostly east and after two range jumps is in foothills and flatland til the 100 mile mark where you cross a low range, or high foothills. The upper level winds say route two or three. The overdevelopment in the mountains north sez route three. Fairly low cloud base (projected 13,000') sez no to route two and route three may prove too difficult. We called route three with dire warnings about possible killer rotor for those who leave too low. There is a chance few or no pilots would get high enough to make the jump over the back.


Flying over the Lost River Range.
Photo by Kurt Bainum

Mark Mason my old XC nemesis, who passed me up in the arms race by buying a motorglider after I so smugly upped the ante buying an Exxtacy, today launches early to play wind dummy with his Falcon and stays up. I hurry and launch among the first handful and very quickly hit cloud base and then drive around at only 12,000' worrying about the jump over the back. I soar a couple hundred feet up the face of a cloud and watch as Shannon Raby who is lower than me goes over the back, drives around and comes back low!!!!!! WOW!! I guess this means there isn't a rotor, but going over the back so low still gives me the heebie jeebies. Shannon gets high again and leaves. I decide to go, but decide to still be a wimp about it and drive south of King a bit into the wind then swing a miles wide arc avoiding what I think would be the rotor zone. Baby's butt smooth air for the next 5 miles!!

Howe valley proves unproductive with green irrigated fields and clouds at the end of their life cycle, I end up low at the base of Saddle Mt on the next range east with a few other gliders. This is the last tall mountain on the tail end of the Lemhi Range. The sky is dotted with clouds and cloud streets, but mostly stuff with that end of cycle look. I start flying the foothills headed south where they peter off into flatland.

Just when it was looking like a long retrieve in the sagebrush I hit a very nice bump. And all of a sudden there is my teammate, Kurt Ziegler at my altitude with his damn pigsticker (he has been doing that all year). I leave early with my RW and here is Kurt who left 15 minutes later passing me with a ragged out old Moyes Extralite. Me and Kurt get up in a very sweet 1000+ smooth thermal that takes us up over the top for an easy range jump. Although we vowed to team fly our other teammates are scattered as we yak back and forth on the radio and try to give advice and encouragement. I choose to fly south into the flatlands and the clouds, Kurt gets low flying more east, straight for the next foothills. I get miles ahead as he works his way back up. I hear another teammate behind us on the radio as he gets ready to land near the highway in the flats and then skies out in a lucky thermal and catches up with Kurt. They fly together another 30 miles.


King Mt. as seen from the Lost River on Saturday.
Photo by Ernie Camacho

I work my way to a cloud street then hauled ass for 10 or 15 miles ending with an easy glide to Dubois bonus LZ. I decide to go for it and try to hit the foothills to the north. Ran out of altitude and luck and landed in a lava field. 64.8 miles. Ouch, should have gone for the bonus points at Dubois. For a while I think I could have the flight of the day but no such luck, I am far from it. Veteran King champ Heiner Beisel worked his way through and kicked butt that day 94.3 miles with his ATOS!! Eiji Yokoda, a Pocatello local skygod got 77.5 with a pigsticker. Lisa Verzella flying a pigsticker got 70.4 and Brian Horgan got 70.6.

On the way back just east of Dubois it looked like the sky had rained hanggliders. We wave and honk for the next 20 miles.


Kurt Bainum and Jon James break down after landing next to Bar Road, at the foot of Invisible Mt.
Photo by Ernie Camacho

Day Two, July 7th

Saturday bright an early in Moore Park, the day was looking beautiful and we were treading the wet grass, with plates and forks in hand. The townsfolk of Moore got up early to serve us breakfast cooked up on portable stoves. The spicy link sausage smelled heavenly in the cool morning air and was especially good and in plentiful supply. Also the usual plate-sized sourdough hot cakes, perfectly browned dished out next to fresh cooked eggs and bacon. Driver DJ said they should call it "The King Meat" cause all week our meat consumption tripled. There was also fresh fruit for the Californians.


The town of Moore put on a breakfast for the pilots on Saturday morning.
Photo by Ernie Camacho

By the time the pilot's meeting rolled around, a big dark towering cumulus was forming over King and getting big enough to anvil off. The whole rest of the valley was getting pretty overcast. Lisa did the pilot's meeting with visibly crossed fingers then with some worry showing in her eyes it was "Gentlemen, start your engines!" Gliders were quickly juggled from truck to truck all around the perimeter of Moore park and the big race up to lower launch began. By the time we get to upper launch the sky is pretty much overcast. And I was downcast.


King Launches

Task committee meeting....With the smell of rain breezing through the pines my first impression was that the day could end up being a best glide contest, even though Mark Mason is already off flying and having no problem soaring his Falcon over the western knob. Alan sez there were already towering cells on radar all around us at 11:00, we couldn't see any of them with the blanket of cloud cover. Those of us on the task committee ever reluctant to call a day, discussed alot of things. I'm one to let pilots make their own choices to fly or not, but we came to the inevitable conclusion that invisible thunder cells somewhere up there above the overcast is a deal killer.

So the day was called. Poor Lisa had to make the announcement. I was preparing to catch a lot of flack. Lots of very experienced pilots come to this meet and they are prepared to make their own decisions. But all I heard was agreement and 15 minutes later, sprinkles of rain. Now I had to decide if it was better to tear down my glider or finish setting up and take a sledder. Even more rain decided it for me and I tore down in the shower for the second time in three days and stowed my wet glider under a tree. But alot of guys said 'screw that', and opted to fly down.

In the sprinkling rain one pilot had the absolute worst successful launch ever seen by most who witnessed it. With an Exxtacy wing tip on the ground he started running (sounded like dragging a 55 gal drum on asphalt) and of course the other wing quickly yawed around. I thought it would just keep coming around for a quick smack-in, but it didn't. He got popped up thirty feet and was airborne. The steep slope gave him too much altitude for any ground contact to end happily at that point and he was close to trees just looking horrible. Somehow he pulled it off and flew into the rain.

There were alot of pilots soaring around King when we reached the lower LZ in the truck. No one was hurt in the friendly little gust front that came through, but Frank Gillette's glider did roll away on it's WHEELS and had a little damage.

That night was the big BBQ and keg in Moore park night. The big show and tell item was Mark Mason's motor glider that he pulled out of the trailer, a sleek thing of beauty. Pup hosed down its wheel.

There was an amazing hackie sac display starring Lisa V, looking alot like that fast kicking gal in 'Crouching Tiger', encircled by a dozen sac kicking thugs and taking no prisoners. Shannon Raby and friends played some campfire songs. The keg sat higher and higher in the ice water as the evening darkened into a starry night.


Looking North at Invisible Mountain from King

Sunday July 8

We called Route 1, north up the range. Hey, there were thunder cells again, but at least pilots could see them.

Cloudbase was pretty low. My buddies, Team-Soggy Bottom, put alot of time into watching the weather up range. Clouds were moving west to east and about every hour a new thunder cell crossed the valley and moved over Invisible Mountain 15 miles down the route. The initial heavy cloudiness seemed to be thinning over time and the big black cells seemed to progressively get smaller. We decided to give it a good long wait and then time our launches to get past the next cell. Others decided to go for it and leave early. If they got drilled, I guess they planned to do a second flight later.

Pilots were diving off so fast that what we thought was way late was only 2:30. The king posted Soggy Bottom Boys, Kurt and Ken, went first. I delayed another half hour. I left King a little low and made the jump to Ram's Horn. All the while listening to Kurt and Ken's good progress ahead. By the time I got to Ram's Horn there were already a couple flexies working down lower. I slowly out climbed the tube jobs, and then WHAM!!!!!, a Mr Nasty thermal. I put the ATOS on a wing tip and then rode it out happy to be going up fast, but white knuckling the shear nastiness. I left before I got whispied, cloud base still a bit low at around 12,000'. I drove up range in buoyant air and near cloud base. The geography is so interesting at this altitude, mostly at range height, but ya know I would rather be 5,000' higher.

Remember those traveling thunderstorms that we were trying to avoid. The Soggy Bottom Boys' timing was pretty good. The Soggy Kingpost boys were now only a couple miles ahead of me, crossing the path of the storms and doing fine. I continued on ahead past Invisible Mountain just northeast of the town of MacKay. Then onto the spectacular flat topped sheer rock face of McCaleb, named for a popular army officer who died in this beautiful place, shot right through his famously bald head during a skirmish with some pissed-off Bannock raiders. I ran into overcast skies but the blackness of the approaching storm was across the valley. Cloudbase lowered as my progress slowed and lift died, there were sprinkles of rain. Me and some flex wing pilots saved ourselves in the no man's land between McCaleb and Corner Mountain with a little thermal. I sped on to Corner Mountain where the range gets closer to the highway and found myself down to about 1000', circling Kurt's accident site.

Here is what happened. My kingposted teammates, Kurt and Ken, were a bit ahead of me and decided to deal with the large overcast no lift zone by leaving the range and going out towards a sunny area in the flats. Ken made it across the highway and the Lost River and saw two cars on a dirt road, the dust indicated a south wind. A minute later as he was making a landing approach it felt wrong so he dropped a smoke bomb and saw the wind had turned north, he had a good landing. Kurt in the meantime had only made it to the highway, got the strong southern wind reading, set up to land and when it suddenly turned north he was too low......Sidehill, strong downwind, sagebrush and lots of rocks. Need I say more? Ok I will anyway, sprained ankle, cut-up, shredded clothes, knocked himself silly for a second, and totaled his Moyes Extralight.


Scot Huber, near MacKay on Route 1. MacKay reservoir and an approaching rain storm are in the background.
Photo by Scot Huber

Anyhow I was circling above him in very light lift listening to the radio traffic kind of in a holding pattern. It became apparent that he was not horribly injured and that there was nothing I could do, so I got serious about getting some altitude. I gained perhaps another thousand feet but could do no better. I turned into the head wind and ran north without one turn til I tiptoed between the sagebrush about a mile and a half further.


Thursday after Kurt Bainum packed up his glider in the shade of King. Kurt flew 50 miles to the end of Victory Ridge, then all the way back to the takeoff at King, then out to the river where he was camping.

Heiner who launched way earlier won the day with a flight to the Willow Creek bonus LZ a few miles beyond where I landed. I think my flight was second place for miles, about twentieth after the handicap.

Back at the park, with a bruised ankle the size of a grapefruit and blood seeping through his torn sweatshirt, Kurt Ziegler half limped and was half carried to the scoring laptops where he did some heroic emergency hacking for Lisa on the scoring software before being carted off to the hospital. After a bit of score making, Lisa handed out the most beautiful etched glass and hardwood trophies and it was all over. Most of us headed for the Mexican restaurant on the highway west of Ram's Horn and had a celebration dinner, some dangerous margaritas and said our goodbyes til next year.

Honors

Honors this year for Open class go to Heiner Biesel, a Utah pilot who took first place, Dan Gravage, a Montana pilot took second place, and Brian Horgan a Califorina pilot, third place. For Rec class first place goes to Greg Sugg a California pilot, Peter Bovingdon a Montana pilot took second place, and Craig Hines a Montana pilot, third place.


Gregg Sugg took 1st place in the Recreational Class.
Photo by Ernie Camacho

The team challenge was won by the Salty Dogs (Heiner Biesel and Tom Vayda), second place In Sinc (Kurt L. Bainum, Jon James, Matt Jagelka, M. Leo Jones, Greg Sugg), 3rd place The Soggy Bottom Boys (Kevin Frost, Ken Schreck, Kurt Ziegler, Cory Rose)

2002 King Mountain Meet

June 26-30, 2002 King Mountain - Moore, Idaho

This years meet will offer a different format from previous years. This year we will be scoring the best 3 out of 5 days, so if you can only make the weekend you still have time to get your flights in. We will still have the BEST world class trophies, Open, Recreation, & Team classes, Driver Award, Staff Choice Award, BBQ Saturday Night, Handicap scoring with bonus LZ's, Open Distance XC, on site massage therapist, great scenery, flying, and FUN!

Entry fee is $50 and includes a beautiful full color shirt designed by renowned Montana artist, Dan Gravage. Contact Meet Director / Organizer Lisa Tate for more info. or a pre-registration packet - 11716 Fairview Ave., Boise, Idaho 83713 (208) 376-7914 or email to Lisa@SoaringDreamsArt.com.

Information also available at www.soaringdreamsart.com/kingmeet

The Fuzz is Back

Hola amigos, Fuzz here. Long time, no see. Life hasn't been kind to the old Fuzzmeister these last several months.

The summer weather was mediocre. Then Earl got out of jail but he was a changed man. I guess it's true what they say about jail turning young punks into hardened criminals. I don't think -- and Ziggy agrees with me -- that it was no accident that my entire inventory of fine Bill Bennett gliders was stolen the day after Earl was let loose. That and the inconvertible evidence that Earl absconded with Earl Sr's blue Chevy 1/2 ton pickup. It had a painters rack and the ladders were left behind. Very suspicious.

Also interesting was the fact that Earl's mother had several dresses missing. Did my old buddy Earl leave town with 3 low mileage Streaks, 2 Lazers, and a Phoenix 8? Was he also masquerading as a woman? Did he use the green paint in the back of the truck to change the color of his escape vehicle?

These were some of the many questions I posed to Deputy Mahoney as I filled out a police report. Value of truck: $1800 Canadian. Dresses: $340. Gliders: priceless. Deputy Assholey is a lazy son-of-a-bitch. After I asked him if he was going to track the perpetrator he just laughed and stuffed another donut into his fat-fuck face.

Well, I saw that had to be a job for the Fuzzmeister. If you want anything done right, you gotta do it yourself. Ziggy agreed to go with me for one of the Streaks as reward. I didn't want to take on Earl alone, he'd been pressing barbells for 9 months and, like I said, had quite a mean attitude. Anyway, I suspected him to be just in the next town south at his ex-girlfriend's house. We hopped into the Fuzzmobile and started on his fast-cooling trail.

Turned out he had left his ex-girlfriend's house hours before. Crying, she told us that he had gotten mixed up with drug dealers in prison and had agreed to smuggle a big load of Mexican sinsemilla back up to Saskatchewan.

"What the hell is he doing with my gliders?", I asked.

"He's meeting the drug dealers across the border from Zapata, Texas and he said he needed /the gliders to blend in", she sobbed.

"Why the hell would anybody fly hang gliders in Southern Texas?" I asked Ziggy. It's flatter than Cher before plastic surgery down there, fer chrissakes.

Well, to make a long story short, we drove back home to reconnoiter and make some more plans. Ziggy doesn't want to drive all the way to Mexico but he's not as sentimentally attached to the Bill Bennett superships as I am. Did you know that the Streak has a unattached lower surface? It's baaaaaad! (and I mean that in a good way)

So what would you do? Waste a couple weeks chasing a muscled-out freak to a godforsaken town with absolutely no hope of any kind of good flying, or stay here in Western Saskatchewan hoping Earl comes back with my gliders? Hmmm… Maybe he'd have to give me a cut of the stash since he used my gliders to smuggle the stuff. He probably won't be gone more than a couple weeks anyway -- time that would pass quickly here at the Wagon Wheel Hof Brau. Ziggy is getting zero of the weed, what a puss -- he won't back me up and go to Mexico. I don't care how many beers he buys me, he's not getting any of the weed. Earl will probably be a lot mellower in a couple of weeks anyway. And he probably won't be exercising so his muscles will be smaller.

Yeah, this is gonna all work out.

Fuzz

Proud Supporter of:

Webpage ripoff artist: Russ Brown, inside_grip@yahoo.com