Ari Rankum
NAFO Karting Champion, 2012
About a month ago, I was waaaay out in western Maryland at the foot of the Appalachians. A bridge was out for repair and I got routed through a passel of bucolic byways. As the Feej and I were wending our way along, my eyes, always keen for bodysurfing opportunities, even if well out of context, spied an approaching set of three 7-footers. If I had a camera at the time, I could show you a picture perfect wave train made out of asphalt. I can't imagine an engineer inspected this abortion and signed off on it, but it persists and has the look of having been there for a long time. But I digress. I went over the first one somewhat gently and right at 30 MPH. Hmmm, says I, as I pass through 0 Gs. I wick it up by 5 for the second one, and launch the front. At the base of the last one, the stupid gene takes over, and I goose it. The Feej launched right off the apex. It was really graceful and sparrow-like for about a second before returning to fat pig mode on landing.
You know how usually, right after you let one rip, you then look around to see if the coast is clear, only to meet shame? Welp, this time, I looked around and I was still all by myself. Just like under the covers, some of life's stinky moments are best enjoyed alone.
You know how usually, right after you let one rip, you then look around to see if the coast is clear, only to meet shame? Welp, this time, I looked around and I was still all by myself. Just like under the covers, some of life's stinky moments are best enjoyed alone.