Chapter 1: Minneapolis to Montana.

I just changed my Facebook information. It's official. I arrived in Seattle three days ago. My harrowing journey took me from the melting summer heat of Minneapolis, to some hilarious memories in Bozeman, to Eastern Washington's Sasquatch sightings, to Eugene to visit the younger brother, all the way up highway 5 to the place where rock stars used to shoot junk under train bridges wearing backwards baseball caps and combat boots. The road trip was a good one, thanks to The Mayor's mixes (the "mod" one, and "road trip" mix were my favorites), and my stinky companion Kublai Khan.

This is Chapter 1:

14 hours through North Dakota and Eastern Montana will do strange things to a man. It's like a vision quest through Corn Palaces and giant twine balls. An astral portal directly through the horizon line, with quick stops to use the bathroom to admire the hieroglyphics on the stall wall. Lot's of line illustrations of boners and racial epithets.



Kubs rode shotgun with me the entire way. He sat like a human being. With one paw placed on the armrest, and another gently massaging his groin area. If I didn't love that little bastard I would have made him sit in the back on top of some boxes and camping gear. He smelled like he ate a humpback whale that had washed up on the shore and baked in the sun for a solid week before vomiting up bum shit after a night of Hungry Man TV dinners. I put up with it. I needed someone to listen to me do my best Donald Fagan impersonation. He was as good an audience as any, despite the chronic halitosis.

I arrived in Bozeman on Wednesday around midnight. I hooked up with my buddy Vinny over a couple of cold brews at a bar that used to be the Zebra. Now it's some lame frat boy social.

I used to pay the power bill at the Zebra. It was the type of bar that you could walk in slobbering drunk, punch the bouncer in the throat, wrestle around on the sidewalk for half an hour and then belly up to bar and nurse your injuries over a freshly made Mint Julep. Now it's a frat bar. Puke.

The next morning Vinny and I hiked up to Lava Lake. But not before visiting Cameron and Jenny, and their new little boy Tucker. Cameron owns Kublai's dog mother, Siti. They got in a fight the first second they saw each other. I don't think Kubs paid his due diligence by smelling her privates. After all, his long strange trip started there.

Cam's son Tucker is a real handsome little buddy. He looks like Cam. All bald with no shirt on. If you put a pair of Carhartts on that kid he's a spitting image of his Papa.



The trail at Lava Lake was longer than I remembered it. I threw up in my mouth once, and my heart felt like a cheddar wurst sausage split up the middle. I kept going and made it to the top, because I'm a champion.



While walking back down the trail I ran into old friends Marcy and Allison. I've known Allison for a long time. We used to wear corduroy patch pants and smoke lots of herb together back in the old days. Marcy and I were roommates at one point. In a basement apartment that smelled like there was a constant gas leak. She would claim to this day that the smell was actually my feet.

I chatted with the gals for the remainder of the downhill as they filled me in on all the Southwestern Montana news that's fit to print. Who is married. Who is in rehab. Who is running from the law with a Costa Rican motorcycle gang, etc.

On Friday night I met up with Cameron, Smokey and Schubert. Smokey and Schubert are old pals from the dorms 15 years ago. I spent a lot time with these guys in the formative years in Bozeman. Memories of nitrous tanks and Tex Tucker were the topics of conversation. Really good guys that have grown up a lot since I saw them last. Smokey has a little boy, and Schubert has two. A lot of laughs were had and we took pictures in front of Schubert's Sin Bin, an 80's era conversion van with monster truck tires. Fucking awesome.



I left Bozeman and stopped at K2 for breakfast. My buddy Eric owns the place and we shot the shit over a delicious eggy burrito. Eric is good buddy that I've known since I was about 13. He and his twin brother Adam opened the restaurant about a year and a half ago. If you're ever traveling through Belgrade on jackrabbit lane, look these dudes up for the Liberty sandwich, the Montana take on a Philly Cheese Steak. Good eats. Good eats indeed.