This also begs the question “and where are my pants?”
Last Wednesday I made the declaration that upon my return from four days buried under Portland East’s teet, that I would have a post written that might amaze and delight.
Of course what I ultimately offered was this, which was little more than a hollow excuse. It is now that I say ‘NO MORE’, and rip the chord on this, what might either be the best or the worst post ever written by a human being in the course of history, forever.
There were two specific reasons I went back to Minneapolis, after having just been there six weeks ago. Firstly, it was the tenth, or fifteenth, or twentieth running of the event formerly known as ‘The Homie Fall Fest’. The second being a specially scheduled Bandit Cross Race, which I was dispatched to cover for Paved Magazine, but I’ll get to that later.
I once described The Homie as being in the funnest slam pit ever, but while being on a bike and traveling all over the city, hitting little known tracts of single track and drinking gallons of booze. I remember my initial description being a little more poetic, but that’s the general idea.
On Friday evening after arriving to town and loading up on a couple of slices, I swung by One On One Studio for a pre-Homie meet and greet;
Hands got slapped, beers got abused and eventually GeneO and I kicked ourselves into the cold to make our way to my host’s crib to check out some of this ‘whiskey’ we’ve heard so much about.
Tired from traveling, I checked out earlyish, and slept the sleep of someone who was about to be beat up for seventy-two straight hours.
Arriving at the shop the following morning, we made some last minute adjustments to our day’s steeds, while Gene also undid a handful of techs that were done to his;
Arriving to the meeting spot late (natch), we joined forces with our bretheren and sistereten, and began the day’s adventure which included the standard array of spontaneous derbies, feats of strength, and carnage within the two;
Eventually, we all emerged from the woods, and made our way to the banks of the Mighty Mississippi where we commenced engaging in all other forms of nonsensery;
And I found this poor little guy;
Since we still had an abundance of day light left, we returned to the woods and had an impromptu dirt cit complete with a wheelie alley for photo ops and a little bit of air time;
After having fallen into the creek earlier in the day, I thought it best to turn on my mental powers of group persuasion and motivate folks back to the river bank in order to get some things on fire;
-Which naturally resulted in some of this;
And some of this, which was shot by Hoss, and concisely defines The Homie more than any photo shot before it;
And then there was some more of this;
Which then saw to it that my pocket phone took a dive, never to be seen again.
“Hold my beer, and watch this” was declared more than once over the course of the evening.
Eventually, my shoes were dry, and the crowd was dwindling. SK and Bobby led me out of the deep darkness of the forest so that I could make a timely appearance at my host’s Halloween party, which was nothing short of the sexiest shit show since Sodom and Gomorrah;
The drinks were drank and the drunks were being poured into the backs of cabs as the evening came to a close. We engaged in a bit of light cleaning and I assisted the DJ in loading his rig into the back of his car.
One full day in Minneapolis has been scratched off, and I already felt like I had gotten shot out of a cannon through a bon fire and into a pile of scantily clad humans. It’s not bad work if you can get it. Check in on Friday for part two and I’ll see if this circle can’t come to a close.