Zen got it right. I was forced to drink approximately 3000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 Beer this weekend.
Everybody says hi, Zen. You better be here for next year's blowout. I drank exactly thirteen beer for you, so now they all make fun of you, because thirteen beer isn't a lot for a weekend. Quite frankly, we're all questioning your manhood.
It's pretty funny....everybody's kids look more or less like their parents did when we started doing this. all of the adults are fat and funny-looking now too. Just seeing us gathered all in one spot makes you wonder if the earth is going to wobble off of its axis.
The two big adventures? We spent most of yesterday driving around trying to find Zeke. If you were a blind dog in a strange place, what would you do? Zeke thought she'd take a road trip all her own. We searched for her most of the day, with a short break to help a man put an axle in a tractor. He had a goat named....are you ready for this?....Billy.
Zeke came wandering back about 10:30, tired as hell. She refuses to say where she was, but she smiles a lot.
The other adventure was on the way back. Mrs. Rev was driving and I was sitting in the passenger seat alternating between sipping on a beer and napping.
I'd kind of dozed off a little and suddenly was dreaming of a drum solo. It was a good enough solo to wake me up, but there were no symbols. Mrs. Rev saw my eyes peep open and said, "I think the truck is steering funny."
The truck just might have been steering a little funny...that tends to happen when the front left tire is a shredded bit of roadkill.
I'm not exactly sure how long she'd been driving on a flat tire, but I'm still pulling bits of steel belt out of my hands. There will be no repairing this one. It won't become a tire swing or a planter. Let's just say that I'll be buying a new wheel for my new tire.
The logistics of changing a tire on a busy highway when you have four dogs are not really simple. We got it done though, and the truck never fell off the jack until I had the spare more or less in place.
Just as I was tightening the last lug nut, the RCMP pulled over to see if they could be of some assitance. I just took a sip of my beer and crawled back under the truck to put the shredded tire in the cradle that was designed by monkeys. I could hear Mrs. Rev answering questions, but wasn't really opaying attention.
So I crawled out from under the truck and took another sip of beer. The cop said, "You aren't drinking in the truck, are you? "
"No," I said, "That would be illegal. I'm drinking on the side of the road, which is also illegal but carries a much smaller fine."
The cop kind of smiled and said something about as long as I wasn't driving. I smiled back and offered him my filthy, tire-changing hand. He grimaced a bit, but shook it.
Once we got everything squared away, I was wondering what to do with my beer. The cop was still there, after all, eyeing me up. I finally hopped into the truck. Mrs. Rev looked a little doubtful, but she put it in gear and drove away. The cop just sat there on the shoulder.
I'm thinking of taking a trip to Ontario just to see if I can get arrested.
