went “home” this past weekend. “home” is indiana, where pops lives. it was wedding time, and snakehawk’s daddy‘s, as it were. it’s never too late to call it love.
this is what the cycling turf of my youth looks like. on days when the wind from michigan was keeping the state from going anywhere, i’d pretend it was hilly. angry dogs gave me any semblance of sprinting legs i may have had. you can ride in the middle of the road.
saw this sweet flathead at a really random museum of tanks and other weapons of mass dysfunction. it was my favorite shit in the whole shit.
then, when not watching my girls swim in the pool and dismantle my extreme badassness with cuteness, i was busy doing this:
to make even less out of not much, i’d like to present this next gem in no particular context. if you’ve never que’d up Trapped in the Closet on your pod of choice and gone out for a marathon freestyle session*, you’ve not earned a cent of the change from under my seat. i have no idea what that means. i just really don’t.
shut up and watch now.
(do more research. chad degroot’s a ripper O.G. with no patience for seriousness.)