One final tomorrow morning, then I'm a free man. I'd express how excited I am, but it's only coming out as a high pitch squeak. And nobody likes reading squeaks.
The trees around here are finally getting their green on:
And the trees that aren't are getting their dead on:
As the skid mark shows, this one almost killed me. Sam Morrison tried to make a snide facebook remark about how hard that corner was to see around, but fortunately he's a failure of a college student and is unable to use social networks. And he doesn't understand the mind bending speed at which I was traveling down that singletrack.
31.8. My mind is bent.
I hate to keep beating on this, but if you haven't voted for me in the PMBSR, go hit a couple buttons and vote. If I win, I'll have plenty of fun things to write about. If I lose, I'll pout for a couple minutes. But seriously, go vote. You can vote once from every computer you have access to. Tanks.
At the last count I had something like 150 votes. Many more people than that read this thing everyday, so that leads my to a few conclusions.
1. I am a meat bag and people don't care if I get to go stage race
2. People don't feel like clicking the links because they are distracted by incredibly cute pictures of hamsters
3. A combination of the first two
I'm leaning towards option three, but I'm baffled by the speediness at which the new entrants to the contest gathered votes. And many of them just started blogs. Such mysteries.
Here's a picture of a cute hamster in case I tricked you with that other link: