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| - In my life there is a constant, almost unrelenting conversation between the two halves of my nature, the lazy and the downright stupid.
The lazy wants to chill on the couch, inhale cheesballs like Marion Berry inhaled rock, and wait for the zombies to come take me away to a never ending cycle of brain eating and shuffle walking.
Then there's that part of me that seems to be in charge, the side of my personality always searching out my next stupid, near death, possibly injury laden adventure somewhere outside.
South Mountain can always scratch my stupid itch. It does it so well, I've even broken bones here. That's a pretty damn good showing by a large pile of dirt and rocks if I do say so myself.
If you really want to get your ass handed to you professionally, you need to get a downhill bike and some armor, look up Gnar Gnar tours, and let them throw you down Geronimo or Mormon at high speed. I thought I was a bad ass on my bike, and the first outing on Mormon I busted two ribs and cracked my sternum.
I was in love instantly.
Now when I want to go pedal, break bike parts, or test out he tensile durability of my bones, I can do it all within an easy 20 minute drive of my Rancho De Stupid Gringo.
On an easy day I can go ride Pima loops or Desert Classic. When I want to get my dick knocked in the dirt and have my ass handed to me I can dig out my big bike and find new ways to throw myself to the ground.
South Mountain, I love you in a purely masochistic sort of way. For your birthday I am going to get you a gimp mask and a whip so you can beat me like this was Pulp Fiction or the sort of snuff film only Nicholas Cage would make a movie about. You're my best friend who beats me like a red headed step child with a penchant for pain, so I will be seeing you tomorrow. I'm almost walking right again, so let's fix that old friend!
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