Would it surprise you to learn that two of your Team Seagal heroes have just returned home from a fantastik re-alignment of Jerkitude? Stove and I felt strongly it was time to bail, time to hit the road in an airplane and jump to the other side of the USA. Our Dr. Friend called and we answered. Battle plans were dispatched and two Jerks from Missouri were dispensed to The Grand Canyon State.
An early A.M. departure from STL ensured we would indeed view Dr. Wesley McLaren in the AZ Desert by high noon. Ohh man, what a sight he was. Dr. handled all of our arrangements with the skill of a 5-star hotel concierge. He prepared quite a ride, Stove and I just had to jump aboard and take in the sights.
First stop, Prescott (Press-kit), AZ. The home town of Dr. McLaren. Two days of cruising local forest singletrack between 5,000- 7,000 ft with the Doc left us very hungry for Mexican food and malted beverages. We indulged frequently and began to focus our intense attention squarely upon the real task at hand... CRUSHING the SBFL. In addition, we documented our progress:
Continuing forthward, the Team Seagal Locomotive clamored on down the track. Across the Verde Valley, a mere 57 miles to the north of Prescott was our second stop; Sedona, AZ. Taco, Stove, Dr., Mrs. Dr., and Your Author arrived as the sun set the evening before the race. We chose a super area to set-up our campsite, very nicely equipped with jumbo fire-ring and large cacti (for security). Tubed meats were warmed and canned beverages were put into our faces. We all joined hands and Dr began to read from his ancient Chinese scroll...
Soon, a giant Vortex appeared. Swirling wildly and spewing energy throughout the desert landscape, the vortex was intimidating. Dr. was courageous to step forward and inspect the beast he had summoned. Satisfied with its power, Dr. Wes beckoned us to come closer. "Follow my lead," he called. Dr. then entered the vortex, t'aint first. One by one we followed, leaving Taco behind to guard the tubed meats.
Holy shit. The Sedona Vortex we entered for the next 48 hours was positively mind-blowing. Your Author considers himself extremely fortunate to have been there. The race course laid out before us was a true t'aint buster on paper; let me tell you that meeting it face-to-face was a real treat. We aligned with two bad-ass dudes while returning enemy fire early on in the day. Otley and Jimmy, both fine examples of Jerkitude, hitched up to our charging locomotive and surely their lives were changed for the better as a result. The five of us each made the SBFL our bitch, we offer up the following images as proof that we had a kick-ass time:
Ohh man, that there was some good shit. We flipped a bitch and headed south across the Verde Valley back towards Prescott. Doc had us home by noon so we returned to the local trails to conduct another dirt parade. We climbed to the top of the venerable 396 trail and then followed D to the R down some twisty doubletrack to a remote mountain-top subdivision. Second house on the left was the new McLaren residence, Dr. had brought us to see his amazorz cabin in the woods:
Our luck with spring-like weather ran out the following day. A cold front blew in from the west and steady rain turned to snow.
Unfortunately, riding trail was out of the question. Instead we went to a breakfast buffet:
Next, Doc took us to the bar that gives you 2 fer 1 drinks:
Then we made a stop by the Liquor Deli and headed for home:
Mrs. Doktor prepared sweet potato enchiladas for supper:
The five of us crushed everything and went to sleep very drunk on AZ. We woke the next morning and promptly returned ourselves to Missouri. That's it, vacation is OVER!
Thanks for stopping by,