I'm Getting Good at Finding Metaphors for Life...

I don't know if it's growing up in Boise... but we (the Boise Boys, and, also, any others thereby implied) occasionally do crazy shit. Like stuff that normal people, concerned with their general safety and well-being would never even consider. Point in case; Wagonning. I can't remember exactly what influenced the ill-conceived birth of Wagonning, but I'm pretty sure it was born out of the long, listless days of summer of 2006 and an obsession with Calvin & Hobbes comics. Whatever it was, it has developed into a monster. I think only a handful of us have, actually, successfully made it down the entirety of Simplot Hill. (Mark O. this goes out to you. You've had some beautiful rides). Of course, that doesn't stop us, unsurprisingly. Simplot Hill, for those who don't know Boise (probably about 99.999999% of the world population) is a treacherous, large, grass-covered (Deceptive, though, because it would seem grass=soft, but when falling out of a wagon traveling upwards of 25 mph it actually just burns... a lot) hill on the outskirts of Boise. In conclusion, most of the time we just eat shit... and, usually, a lot of it. The wagon usually doesn't fare much better. You might ask why anyone would do this and... I dunno. It's just the feeling, I guess. It's like a convenient metaphor for life. It's the experience of it. It's reveling in the excitement and freedom of the ride, while knowing at any moment you might crash... and probably will, and that it will, also, invariably hurt (But, whatever, the moments before were so, totally worth it!) and you just gotta pick yourself up and do it again. And that's what makes living worthwhile... those experiences, walking a line between assured self-destruction on a Radio-Flyer wagon and, also, salvation when, finally, you manage to avoid that freakin' enormous hole in the middle of Simplot Hill (coupled with an inhuman/impossible amount of luck); Calvin could probably explain it much more succinctly, in fact I think he does. But whatever.

This is not a random rambling, contrary to what it may seem. I actually went Wagonning last weekend and, surprise surprise, I ate it hard. And it was cold, so it hurt like 56 times more. Seriously, all was going fantastic until the front axle bent in on itself and the wagon stopped... sorta. I just kept going, though. I still haven't managed to get the grass stains off my pants. See, but now I can say "It's life, eh?" and it totally is (as aforementioned).