Long story short… Im a drinker with a traveling problem… I might get back to it but write in a non chronological order. Plenty has happened to keep me from the computer, which results in great stories…Tales of the strange… or I might just not write. I have been tho just not on here. Let me know your thoughts. Is it dead?Look at this ramble… I better stop. Phone rings perfect….
Posts tagged travel
Well Yosemite… Yosemite is a gorgeous place, but going during the summer the place is packed, unless you go back country, so that’s exactly what I did. I arrived got my permits made up some bullshit plan of a hike, got my bearproof container and packed my tiny lil skateboarder bag and then tried to sleep in my car all sneaky like. Don’t do that go to the backpackers base camp even if it is miles outta your way because the rangers there are dicks (not the hippy summer interns, but the assholes with the guns). So after getting kicked outta my car I walk 1.5 miles-ish to camp at night… I see eyes… I’m by myself… I make noise… eyes just stare… See that its only deer… I walk by still making noise… they hiss and get pissed… I ran. Then the next morning before my big adventure another ranger wakes me early to see if I have all the proper permits to be there. Argg!!
So I walk 3 mileish to four mile trail to get up to glacier point. Folks the view up there is gorgeous, but don’t hike up 4 mile trail especially with a heavy bag on your back in upper 90 degree weather. A few points I really wanted to die. Way outta of shape plus months of binge drinking doesn’t help. I get to top, wonderful (after 6 hours of hiking uphill cutbacks… probably should just took that $20 shuttle there), asked a ranger for directions, they were wrong…wound up just sleepin in my sleeping bag on a day hiking trail. gosh…
Sore as hell the next morning I trudged on, living of canned beans and granola bars. My pics will explain the rest (I got a picture taken of me by a pro… does that make me a model?). Seriously tho, I highly recommend Yosemite to all, just make sure you stretch first.
Well after all the debauchery of that weekend. We stayed with a lovely couple that lived in Woodside (Neil Young has a ranch close there, but alas I din’t meet him). So I was kinda pampered as they were nice enough to take a stranger in. One of the hosts, Steve, even read us stories, one night I smoked fine cigars and and sipped fin whiskey with him (of course I donned my Mirage bathrobe). Me and the gals went on lovely hikes. Then mid week Megan and I left lil Bethan to meet up with some friends of a friend of mine in Oakland.
These friends of a friend I’ve heard a lot about (I’ve even been in their house before) so it was good to put a face to the stories. One thing I got to say about Oakland is, it’s cool. I know it’s where crack is from and its got shady parts. But Oakland kinda reminded me of East coast cities (mostley cuz the bums mostly left you alone after you make aware to them you really don’t think they ran outta gas). The twins and their cousin (these are my friends of a friend, who are now my friends) showed me this neat lil site which everyone should check out before someone ruins it. Its called the Landfill.
And it’s pretty fuckin sick, basically after an earthquake happened in the 80’s they dumped bunch of it in the bay. So now it’s over grown, has graffiti everywhere, but the homeless took it over. Like its a colony, one dude made a concrete castle the rest live in tents or whatever, some even have solar panels. There’s even junk sculptures and a library.Its sick look at the photos. Then the next day was back in Frisky Frisco at the Green Tortoise.
Well weekend started out with me getting out of jail and with crab races and me getting ridiculously drunk (wow!!! what are the odds). Ok, So the getting out of jail was just a tour of Alcatraz, but it was fun to tell my parents that when my dad did his routine call of making sure I’m not dead. At the hostel Bethan’s team won the crab races and I tried teaching people at the hostel the great game of Matchbox, yeah that didn’t work. So I kept drinking and picked on a Swede that I just kept calling Blondie. Somehow I was even talked into going to a titty bar with him, but left immediately after hearing the word “cover”. I dislike covers.
The next day I took my car to the shop (Midas had to correct things), but fortunately it was right by the tattoo parlor and gave me a free night of parking. Yay. Seriously tho parking in San Fran is expensive so that was nice and my buddy John got a kickass tattoo from Blackheart Tattoo. Later that day was a hostel pub crawl which was neat checkin out some places. The best was the last bar which was a club and obviously a gansta ass club. So it was great to see a bunch of foreigners prove that white guys can dance. Later that night everyone went to bed, and I had a desire for ice cream and a beer. So I go out to grab that then step out of the store. A riot on the street breaks out in front of the hostel… and there I am just licking a ice cream cone (I always stand out like a sore thumb). After all that excitement it was time for bed right after I smoke a joint on the roof and get an Aussie way to high for his comfort zone.
The next day we left the hostel and I had to say goodbye to the girls because they had to go home to the motherland and the only thing sensible to do at this point is go back-country backpacking by myself after months of binge drinking.
Sorry folks I get distracted easily, also I went off the grid for a long time, but fuck you if your still interested I got some more stories, Feel free to comment, ask questions about areas, or just blatanty insult me. Whatever you feel… Well more stories are gonna roll on in… lets hope I remember shit. Now its story time. YEAH!!!
I have a hard time finding time to write these days, which means I’ve been busy, which means better stories when I get around to writing them. Sorry I wish I had an excuse, but I don’t. But I am alive and travelling still. About to travel back east with a bearded Brit. Hmmm… That sounds interesting….. I’ll tell you a bit more about this chap after I catch up on roughly 5 intense and amazing installments of this epic odyssey. As for now, my knee is fucked (Vancouver… Saved for another time) and I’m about to head into the wilderness (so that time might be delayed). but enough about me, I know none of you care about my well being, It’s all about Ol’ Blue. Well shes doing good. Running like a champ and being loud because herexhaust broke off and my horrible cheap fixes aren’t holding. Well till I tumbl again. Cheers.
Pictures cuz I’m lazy/busy. here is… DESTRUCTION IN THE BAY. Well here it is.
Arggg.. Here be some pics fer ye who don’t read
Shit, After Vegas it was nice to get into something that was real. So we took off for the Grand Canyon via the Hoover Dam. At the Hoover Dam we had a dam good time (I’m sorry I had to fit that in somewhere). I bragged about being a member of the ASCE and kept getting in the way of pictures mostly (Brenden was becoming increasingly wearing of my unaware ways). Then we went of to the Grand Canyon. Seriously, if you havent gone go. It’s awesome, literally, it puts you into awe. I could bore you with a bunch of poetic lines about it’s beauty, but that’s not my style.
What is my style is telling you about the drunken mayhem that occurred after we got all naturey. Well it was my “last” night with the boys so we bought some sausages and alcohol. As I sat down to enjoy one of my sausages (not like that. come on guys/gals), I was sipping on some wine, when Dr. Simpson had one of his famous amazingly great ideas. Lets play HubleDouble, but with teams so if one side of the bench f’d up, the whole side drank. Odds Vs Evens. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
Here’s a Fucking Travel Tip, if you ever meet a Brit named Joe from Weymouth… DON’T play a drinking game against him or if you do, don’t sit next to him (well if you wanna increase your drinking skills sit next to him). Joe just sits around and will call you out on anything, he enjoys fucking people over and decapitation. I sat directly in front of him, plus I’m an American idiot. Lets just put it this way, I wound up getting a HumbleDouble record of being HumbleDouble7Double15. Fuck!!! My team despised me, I didn’t care. I am the Wookie and I shall Spromit where I please. Well after the campsite dickhead told us to keep it down (it was to late, we where hitting the hay anyways. What a cockface.) The boys started singing to me, not wanting me to leave. It was moving them going from hating to loving (Booze does this to Brits). Singing in their lovely voices, If you leave me now, you take away the biggest part of me. T’was emotional.
The next day, we had a last supper at Pizza Hut, right after they had to push me into a gas station for running out of gas (Ol’ Blues gas gauge is rather slow). At Pizza Hut we laughed, we cried, we spromitted, and then took off.
But that was not the last I saw of the Britiots, I pull into a gas station and and come out of the shop there they are. I would have thought it was just coincidence, until driving through California I got tried and pulled into a rest area to sleep. Then a get a knock on my car door and a person saying I can’t sleep here. Fuck it’s them those creeps, tailing me. We laugh, cried, and spromitted all over again and went to bed for a quick nap. Needless to say I woke up the next morning to Phil asking for a jump. Then they took off and we parted ways for good… or did we?
Well this post has been delayed for quite some time, but here it is… Vegas. Vegas ,as you probably know, is this neon shit hole in the middle of the desert. My advice to truly seize Vegas and have a good experience, in an overpriced shit hole full of silicone tits is to go there with seven British drunkards… and do so in a penthouse.
The first night though we stayed at the Wild Wild West (the pool was used in the Hangover). On the ride over though my friend Nick got a call and the plan was to got to a “friend” of his house. This friend though, of course, was a stripper with a mansion and I had plans to meet up with another friend and said I didn’t want to go. Yeah, that didn’t fly. Long story short that didn’t work out we went separte ways in the night, and then I get that drunken phone call. Its Nick, shit went down and that was all I knew till I got back to the Wild Wild West. That was the longest walk of my life because Vegas does not believe in pedestrian friendly roads, but I arrive 3 hours late drenched in sweat to find out that Nick had a black eye and a busted lip and Joe had some cracked ribs. Miss a night, you miss a lot. These stooges fought some Aussies (by some I mean a lot. You should see the other guys, kinda thing I’m sure) after good Ol’ Doctor Simpson decided it was a good idea. Of course, Dr. Simpson escaped untouched.
This was just the start of a week of debauchery. Just pure rock star mentality. For some reason or another staying in penthouse room, made us worse, we all felt entitled to everything. But the first night at the penthouse started like any other night, with matchbox and other drinking games (actually a more accurate description would be drinking completions). After doing, so the mayhem began. Since we originally only having two days in the penthouse, we woke up on our “last night” all looking like our dog died, we wound up staying 3 extra nights there. Also since it was all a blur let’s talking about some highlights of the dunken shit fest of Vegas.
First Vegas hates guys if you want to go anywhere have tits (ei. a DeadMou5 show was $50 for girls, $200 for guys). So yeah I got into Club Moon nice view, but clubbing really isn’t for me and it’s hard to get drunk when you have to pay 11 bucks a drink. The best times were the drunken bromance moments at the penthouse or just wandering the streets late night in a drunken stumble.
Whether it was soliciting prostitution (I’ll negotiate with my dick!!) or prostitutes soliciting us (Hi, is Brenden there? On a daily basis). Joe telling the escorts they don’t know who they are messing with. People asking me where I got my accent from. Laughing a midgets being escorted by long-legged blondes. Eating food off other peoples room service trays (we actually found some very nice stuff). Wondering who took the Vodka from the Mini bar. Having slags over (some blowing one and then getting kissed by the other). Walking around in our penthouse robes (you better believe I nicked one). Hot tub drinking. Having an entourage (you heard the man). Drunken Street Drumming. Tribal Dances. Decapitations. Well… basically turning our room… wait I mean penthouse, into a war zone (instead of grenades and clips, it was beer cans and condoms. Well hopefully someone used them for something other than water balloons.)
This list could go on and on, but due to copious amounts of drinking, me taking forever to write this, and copious amounts of drinking, I’m going to let some pictures do some talking. Long story short, the stay in Vegas of fucking intense, but in the words of a simple man named Nick, on our last night in the penthouse, he looks at me quite sadly and says, “I don’t wanna go to sleep, then its over.”