BoomTown!

Bakken Oil Boom: Williston, North Dakota…Modern Day

Hey Peeps,     

                       

            Wow.  Where to begin?  How ‘bout I lost my job?  (Where did I put that?  I know I left it around here somewhere…) Yeah, may as well.  So, I lost my gig.  Kinda saw it coming and to be honest, it wasn’t what I needed to be doing anyway.  Calling software engineer types and telling them about the job of their dreams and then having to hear about all the reasons why they didn’t want to make the move wasn’t going to shoot me out of bed in the morning or keep me glued to the insta-phone messaging at night so when I heard the news I took the blow, wondered what’s next and then gave a sigh, a deep “Thank God!” and looked up the road.

            You know me.  I’m not the suit and tie every day kinda guy and probably my greatest flaw is I’m always wondering what’s behind door number two.  It’s why I can’t watch TV with anybody if the remote’s in my hand.  Like my buddy Blankenship used to say; “I don’t care what’s on, I just want to know what else is on.”  

            But you hit a point in life where those things catch up to you and so here I am.  41 years in, un-employed, out of funds and looking at the sad end of reality with options running out.

            Might make somebody think Life’s looking dismal and it’s all ‘Straight To Hell’ like The Clash used to sing. 

            And then you remember I’m an Amer-I-CAN…I’m the cat who trucked a bike across North America just to prove a point.  That even if there’s two strikes, two outs, bottom of the ninth at least you still got one more pitch to hit and hey, who knows, you might knock that one off the reservation. 

            Yeah, that feels a little more like it.  Let’s rip it up, let’s kick this bitch into hyper-drive and let’s just go out and effin’ do something. 

            The unemployment line wasn’t an option.  I got physically ill at the thought of having to plead my case in front of some hefty HR type whose only job was to provide a roadblock for corporate progress and I was getting doughy from the desk jockey lifestyle anyway.  I wanted to put some action back into my game and I wanted to go to a place of mystical mystery where the jobs were falling off the trees, the pace was hyped and the America of old where ‘Show up, be ready to work and let your attitude and ethic stake your claim’ counted more than what your LinkedIn profile said you could do.

            You used to be able to find that solution at nearly every zip code in the lower 48 but this last decade of division, global war, plummeting debt and national misdirection is beginning to pulse it’s virus into the nook and groove of every neighborhood of Your Town, USA.  A recession is when your neighbor loses his job and a depression is when you lose yours?

            Well, I hit mine I guess but I’m too stupid to know when I’m beat and my heart still pumps the vitals of better days ahead. 

            Know what?   There is a pot o’ gold at the other end of the rainbow and damn, man!  It is for realz!

            So here’s the deal.  Learn it.  Oil Boom!  Bakken Oil Patch.  North Dakota.  America.  United States of.

            I kept hearing about it.  Jobs!  Jobs!  Jobs!  Arby’s paying 18 bucks an hour with a signing bonus  to deep fry chicken and fries…Wal-Mart doesn’t have shelves ‘cause they can’t keep anything in stock so they just drop the stuff on pallets and let the hawks sweep in…Show up, roll out the car, pick up a hammer and get after it!  Work!  No time to talk, I got shit to do! 

            Yeah well, it ain’t all like that.  They got shelves at the Wal-Mart but there’s so many people popping through there it must be the only one in the world where every single check out line is running and there are still lines eight people deep.  Arby’s doesn’t pay 18 an hour but Taco John’s will get you $15 per for steppin’ in. 

            But who’s got time for that kinda action when there’s all this other stuff to do? 

            I haven’t seen construction like this since I lived in Austin, Texas when 5,000 people a day were moving in to hit the high tech boom of 1997.  Entire neighborhoods are going in with lots already sold on the next, yet-to-be-built development over.  Single bedroom studio will get you $2K deep but don’t worry, there’s none available anyway.  Streets are stuffed with cars of people from all fifty states coming in and creating their own job. 

            The coolest thing I’ve noticed since I got here three days ago is I haven’t heard anyone talking about politics or looking east to DC for an answer.  Everyone’s too busy.  Everyone you meet is the same way; “Yeah, got here yesterday, think I got a job lined with this guy doing this…”  or “Stopped at McDonald’s for breakfast, guy in a truck had his window down, I asked if his guys were hiring.  He goes; ‘Follow ME!’”  Heard a guy at the table next to mine in the library (where I’m writing this) and he’s telling his new buddy; “Worked all weekend…29 hours- made $800.  He wants me to stay on but I found this other thing doing this.” 

            It’s a spirit I haven’t seen in years.  Together.  We’re all in it, man.  I finally got to the community center to jump one of those $3 showers after a couple more days living out my car and even there it’s the same.  “Came over from Michigan ‘cause I can make $28 bucks an hour here doing what they’d pay me $7.45 for there.” 

            Dudes just whistlin’ and saying “Yeah, me too…comin’ from St. Louis.”  That was the big black dude.  Talked loud and at first everyone’s like “Uhh wait, so this is a community shower?  So like we’re all gonna shower like HS football practice?”  I mean, I’ve never been to jail but exactly what is the etiquette when you drop the soap? 

            So everyone’s a little cloaked at first, you know?  Like, none of us would be here if things were goin’ great back home but damn!  We’re all trying to make it better, you feel me?  So when I stumbled around going down the wrong hallway trying to find to shower room, the big dude kinda laughed.  Said “It’s over there” and pointed with a long finger. 

            Everyone’s helpin’ each other out, you dig? 

            Every time you end a conversation out here it’s “Good Luck!”  Yeah, call me if you need something.  You found anything?  Yeah, these guys are looking over here.  Hiring right now. 

            It is wild.  Wild West.  And it’s all about the oil.  American Ingenuity at it again. You know they now put a motor at the end of a string of pipe, turn that bitch sideways and snake it seven miles before frackin’ the rock and extracting enough crude to shoot North Dakota to #2 nationally as far as oil production goes?  That’s more than Cali.  More the Louisiana…more than Alaska…Three years ago The United States of America imported 64% of its oil.  Today?  That’s down to 42%.

            You can thank North Dakota.

            I’ll hit the oil later…that’s a story all in its own. 

            But trust me on this.  Don’t let anyone tell you America has kicked it. You feelin’ down?  Feelin’ out of the mix and off your game?  You should see this place then.  It is for real.  You get a cup of coffee at the Quick-Shop and they aren’t even able to keep the stirring sticks in supply.  There’s a little cup with a few plastic spoons in it.  Use one.  Stir your Joe, replace…and Get Out Of The Way!  ‘Cause there’s another dude behind ya and he’s got places to go!

            So here it is.  North Dakota is where America is already restarted.  It is hummin’ and it is movin’ and it is something from the story books.  New!  Big!  Fast!

            I went to see the Amtrak roll through yesterday since it was slow due to Labor Day (just meant the offices weren’t open...the drill rigs do not stop…) and because I’ve always liked trains.  I’ve been on Amtrak and I’ve never seen more than a couple people getting on or off at any given stop from Kansas City to Boston.  This thing came in and there must have been fifty people falling off of it and that many getting on.  Oil guys coming back from their 14 days off, oil guys getting on from their 14 days on…people looking for the future showing up with a hand bag and a dream of employment…Everyone jostlin’ and moving with that confused look of the new guy who knows he’s in the right spot but doesn’t know much else.  Who should I talk to?  Where do I stay?  What is this place?

            See, it’s out here.  Way out Western North Dakota and the only way in is by car, plane or train.  The planes route you through Denver or Minneapolis on double engine props because the runway ain’t long enough for anything else.  By car you gotta battle with crude-humpin’ semis and an armada of diesel, double crew-cab pickups.  The train comes in and it’s really like the Old West.  That light off in the distance shines, the whistle blows and it’s like the outside world comes in for a three minute stop on before shooting its way  on to Seattle…

            But I guess that’s enough for now.  Me?  Yeah, I’m getting hooked up.  Trying to get in at one of these Man Camps (what’s that?) and should be good once my urine checks out and the FBI gives me the thumbs up (“He’s Okay!  Hire Him!”)…and even there at the piss test center it’s the same.  Five dudes, sitting around waiting to pee in a cup and at first the silence is awkward and you know me, I have trouble being quiet.  Next thing I know this dude’s showing me his i-Phone and a picture of an oil rig blowing out at midnight.  Guy died during that one. 

            “Yeah, that dude out there (nodding past the doors at his buddy smokin’ a cig) was right up there when it happened.”  He said pointing to the monkey bench near the top of the derrick some 160 feet in the air as a huge black cloud of oily mist shot through the night sky at 2200 pounds per inch of pressure.

            Wild, Wild West…

            Stay tuned.  I’ll write more.

Live Free Or Die,

Jed

                        

Held Hostage By The Lunatic Fringe

Once again America is held in the limbo of stagnation by the lunatic fringe who feel obligated to find the most isolated and polarizing issues to focus the national debate while serenely ignoring the more pressing threats to our existence.

It is a sad and tragic reality in today’s America that rational thought and productive debate are outlawed by a sub-culture of radicals who dictate the direction of national discussion by forcing the vast majority, who have no real stake in the topic, to bow to the alter of the latest media cycle.

Last month it was whether or not we should eat chicken sandwiches sold by someone opposed to homosexual marriage.  Before that it was “how dare you restrict my ability to purchase an assault rifle!” And now it’s all about abortion, or to be more precise, abortion for those victimized by rape.

Rome burns, the Titanic sinks and we spend our time worrying about the color of the fire engine and the deck chair ensemble. 

And we wonder how we ever managed to allow ourselves to fall into a world where we drop hundreds of billions of dollars a year on a foreign war we forget we’re in, accept 8% unemployment as normal, have 50% of the population on some sort of government assistance, annually spend $1.9 Trillion more than we take in and adopt a health care policy which does nothing to address either health nor cost all while the cliff of reality speeds ever closer.

We have some very serious realities facing our future and yet we cannot even begin to open the discussion because the radical wing-nuts of the far left and right won’t allow it.  Changes to Medicare?  Social Security?  Just try to mention it and doors slam, ears are plugged and the childish refrain of ‘La-la-la-la…I can’t hear you!’ shrieks back. 

Today, and for what will probably amount to the next 36 to 72 hours we’ll bicker back and forth about the most devastating threat to national security since the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.  What’s that?  A Stuxnet virus launched against our power grid? 

No, it’s abortion.  The holy of holies of when it comes to grid-locking progress. 

Look, I don’t pretend to get it.  I’m not a woman, it’s not my body and I don’t understand the whole “It’s a choice thing” argument.  Does life begin at conception?  I don’t know and to be honest I don’t really care.  To me the abortion rant is hijacked by those on the far sides of the debate who want nothing more than to hear their own voices clog the forum. 

For me, the abortion issue has never been about an unplanned pregnancy, a women’s right to choose or where life begins.  To me it’s all about an unwanted child and what should we do about that?  I have never heard a Pro-Life solution for what should be done once the ‘miracle’ is born.  What happens then?  What do you do with a child born into a world where the mother doesn’t want it?  And before we quick-puke the response of adoption please illustrate how that process is governed, funded and overseen. 

But we can’t have that debate can we?  Pro-Lifers might believe life begins at conception but it doesn’t have much of a plan once the birth occurs. 

Pro-Life is Pro-Life and if you don’t think like me then I had better scream louder.  Oh, and like much of what we “intelligently discuss” in the public forum these days it’s all 100%, no debate, everything-all-the-time, no exceptions so carry on and keep on moving because we know what’s best for you. 

Now before you unfurl your Pro Choice colors and rally in a unified chant could it be remotely possible to entertain the concept that abortion should maybe not be used as the primary source of birth control?  I mean, an ‘unplanned pregnancy’ should not have to be the definitive moment of someone’s life but is it possible to perhaps put a little more thought into what we’re doing once the lights are dimmed and the consequences of those actions? 

Oh, sorry.  I forgot.  We can’t have the rational debate because we lost our collective rationality back in the Johnson Administration…you gotta respect my rights even if they infringe on yours…

What if the woman is raped though?  And a pregnancy results?  Surely then there can be an exception from the divine rule, right? 

Hell no! 

So this is where we are today.  Arguing about whether abortion should be allowed for those who are victimized by the most brutal crime known to the human race.  Again, we’re not going to talk about what we’ll do with an unwanted child because we can never get that far into the debate and to compromise or rationalize on a case by case basis is simply ludicrous because we live in a world where there’s only one way and that’s the right way and it works every single time…

Here’s a side note about how we roll in America these days.  There was an argument a few years back about smoking on public beaches in Massachusetts and one person was adamantly opposed to the idea.  No cigarettes at any time on any beach for anyone he railed.  Okay, I see your point.  But then it was asked of him ‘Do you even go to the beach?’  No, he didn’t like sand…so even though there’s a topic about which you have absolutely zero personal involvement in you’re still going to levy an opinion about how others should be forced to behave?

See where I’m going?

Let’s talk about rape for a second.  It’s bad.  And yet it does happen.  Wish it wouldn’t but it does.  It happens about 90,000 times a year in the United States according to the most radical statistics.  Pregnancies resulting from rape are calculated at the extreme far edge to be at 5%.  This means in the most wildest of scenarios there are about 4,500 pregnancies resulting from rape in the US each year. 

Now I don’t mean to diminish the pain buried within these statistics.  Each case carries with it a life altering set of circumstances.  But I am trying to illustrate how we, as a nation, are killing ourselves by focusing our resources and energies on issues which affect very tiny segments of the overall population.

There are 314,159,000 citizens in the United States today.  Should we spend our energies looking at the population as a whole or at the smaller percentage?  I’m not saying we ignore them just like I’m not saying we ignore the unemployed, the uninsured, the elderly, the veterans, the immigrants, the unhealthy, the incarcerated, the uneducated or even the unlucky but since the forecast for all of us is fairly bleak at the present time could it be possible to direct our attentions towards the greater solution in an effort to plug the dike so we don’t all drown in the end?

The ship is sinking, America.  Our entitlement programs, debt and collective refusal to open a conversation about compromised solutions threatens us all.  It’s time we band together and unite to seek solutions.  We cannot afford to allow the lunatic fringe of the far left and right to steer the ship any longer.

Six Summers Ago and A Half Staff Flag

I took the Michigan 57 highway across the state; it was a pretty straight shot almost all the way to Muskegon. Not much in the way of natural splendor or attractions but then I wasn’t in the sightseeing mood either. I was about fifteen miles north of Flint when I looked to my left and saw the flag at the State Police barracks was lowered to half staff. I wasn’t sure why so I pulled in and leaned the Liberty against a rail and went to find out.

“Hello, may I help you?” The woman at the counter asked.

“Yeah, hi. Hey I saw the flag is at half staff, can you tell me why?” I hadn’t read anything in the papers and I was curious to see if I had missed something.

“We lost a soldier in Iraq last week. A local boy.” She told me with a solemn face.

She went on to tell me he was from a small town called Swartz Creek. They didn’t know much of the details, only that this statistic was far more than another number. It brought home the irony of my day. I was experiencing the utmost freedom by riding my bike. I could go wherever my wheels and spirit took me and was under no obligation to seek permission from anyone. It was a gift I often overlooked and the flag I stared at and saluted as I left the barracks was a true reminder of the fragility of those very freedoms. A reminder that the country was still at war.

I was lost in these thoughts when I noticed my tire had gone flat between my arriving at the barracks and my departure from them. It wasn’t evident if the event was connected in some way but I couldn’t feel distressed about my station at that point. I changed the tire with a fluid ease that may have been some kind of subconscious acknowledgement of my respect for the young American who had given his life in the name of freedom.

It was sad though and while his death was one that followed many and would certainly precede many more I felt despite my never knowing the man’s name I still shared something with him.

He gave his life but I doubt he gave it willingly or with too much reflection on the enormity of his sacrifice. Surely he was aware of the foundation for the fight he was in but I strongly doubt he would have thought his life was an even trade for much of the apathy and selfishness that had plagued our nation in the last years. I do not think he would have graciously laid his body in the path of fragmented steel and hurled bullets for the jealous jockeying of car horns honking at rush hour or the corporate greed and political dishonesty we had grown so accustomed to it no longer succeeded in raising our eyebrows.

As I rode I wondered then, if he had been asked, what did he give his life for? What put him in that place of danger rather than him staying in the sandbagged safety of the company bunker? It was pure speculation but I thought maybe he did it for the things he felt strongly about and that probably meant the people he was with when he died. He may not have felt a strong unity with the country as a whole but I would venture he did feel a solidarity with those who shared the sand and sun with him on a daily basis and it was for those Americans for whom he died. The flag means different things to different people. I see it and I’m reminded of our national history and future potential. But I also see it and it stirs memories of sunny 4th of Julys with friends and fireworks. Beaches, mountains, baseball and the rest of the stereotypes. But most importantly the flag symbolizes good things to me, the red, the white and the blue conjure memories of friends and family and how when the chips are down those resources can be relied on for support and inspiration.

He was one more soldier in the long line of names and the flags were only lowered around his home town. A private grieving that the country saw as one more statistic and one the town could absorb and move from a few weeks after the burial procession. But the family and the friends of this one more American Hero would not be healed so quickly. Each name carries the weight of the world with it. My lacrosse coach from Kansas State was killed on the last day of the first Gulf War and that moment never left my heart. I knew the family of this most recent casualty would never see war in the same light again and that each holiday the empty seat at the table would only seem more obvious.

There is no such thing as ‘light casualties’ to those who have to bury them.

I lost myself in the miles and the thinking as I rode away from there. The flags eventually returned to full staff and the conversations with the people I met didn’t speak of the war but it weighed on me. Later that night after I’d bowed out to a thunderstorm and took a room at a motel I was reminded of the differences between where I was and where the war was. It wasn’t on the news, it didn’t fill the paper and had I not seen the half staff flag I wouldn’t have noticed it either.

I watched the Red Sox and Mets play baseball that night on ESPN.

   

Killington Cup Continues With Strong Showing At Relay

Race For The Cup Heats Up As Team Flowrider Nabs Podium At Killington Relay- Rocket Ladies Finish Dismally As Chance For Title Slips Away

Killington Mountain, VT.- A perfect bluebird day provided an elegant backdrop as the rope dropped for the third leg of The Killington Cup and sent fourteen teams of four careening down the course for a chance at local glory last Saturday. Team Flowrider took the honors in a heated dash for the line while several other competitors were knocked out of the race due to poor planning and lethargic efforts.

“Well, we knew it was gonna be a rough ride but we all felt pretty good about our set ups and strategy.” Team Flowrider spokesman, Mark “Mark D” DiFillipo said at the post-race presser. “When Mustang took the baton at Bear with a three chair lead we started getting confident about our chances.”

The race began at K1 Peak with fourteen teams present at the opening bell. Grabbing the junior ski pole batons teams were faced with a daunting run through gaper traffic before sliding under the Superstar chair and making a run for the first hand off at the base. The early lead was shared by several teams as they utilized shady methods and outright treachery while jockeying for position. Team Swanson Chaos held an aggressive line but team captain and eldest brother Bob went too hard into the High Road cutoff and slipped off the trail before disappearing into the woods under a milky cloud of snow dust.

“Yeah, he was ampin’ hard and I could see he didn’t care about consequences so when he went ass over tea-kettle I figured it served him right.” Curfew House first legman, Shane “Hazy” Grady commented afterwards.

The wreck dashed all chances for a podium spot for a team which came in with eyes on a title shot.

“He knew better…we knew better. Shoulda been Justin’s leg but Bob’s the oldest and he kinda wanted that spot.” A clearly agitated Ben Swanson muttered.

The initial hand off did not go as smooth as some teams would have liked. The K-Fives, Coon Snakes and Ass Magnets all fumbled the transition and found themselves facing a deep hole from which there was little time to climb out of. Coon Snake spokesman, Kelly Champney voiced her displeasure at what she felt was a lack of focus by some squad members.

“I’m not going to sit here and name names but when you can’t even give the baton over the lift rope and insist on stepping out of your bindings to walk it over to me…well, we got problems.” Champney said, barely cloaking her frustrations.

Team Iron Balls, consisting of Tucker, Lil’ Tucker, Cutter and Ittai made a strong show in the first leg of the race but when Lil’ Tuck flipped the baton to Cutter at the Skyeship mid station he neglected to remove the wrist strap and precious seconds were lost in the transition. The lapse infuriated team captain, Tucker Lange and he was not silent about his displeasure.

“*&^%in’ guy can’t even give a proper hand off!” Lange screamed while waiting impatiently at Bear Base as he saw Flowrider, Mustang Ben Colona take the easy pitch from Slopes and board the lift with a three chair gap.

The Curfew House, long known for their tidy sleep habits and pre-race lights-out rule of 8pm, were fresh and rested as Shane “Hazy” Grady easily finished his leg and transitioned smoothly to Ned “Big Legs” Healy. Healy ripped the Cruise Control run and dished the stick to Zack Nasty Ducharme who quickly rebooted his namesake by clipping the binding of Hurrican Boner as he whipped around the cat track and aimed for Bear. The strategy was effective as The Hurricane, riding for an independent team out of Newark known as The Glass Chalice, flew from his skis, turned a cartwheel in midair and planted his face between two hard packed moguls. The Hurricane’s day was done but Mr. Nasty’s wasn’t as he earned frowns from spectators and competitors alike with his reckless disregard for safety and penchant for unsportsmanlike behavior.

“Yeah, that guy…you see that guy lemme know, alright? I want to see him in the parking lot.” Fumed Team Rabid Mice victim, John Durney. Durney was making good time when Nasty approached from behind and lodged an elbow into Durney’s side causing another glorious pile up which netted skiers from three teams. Nasty simply laughed at the allegations.

“I wasn’t even on the course at that time.” Nasty lied.

In what was supposed to be a coming out party of sorts from one of the ladies teams, Snowpatrollers Melissa Gerlach, Alex Shuppert, Amy Dorr and Beth Standbridge came away less than advertised with a slow showing and listless performance which quickly had fingers being pointed and tear ducts working overtime.

“Meli! Step Your Game UP!” An animated Alex Shuppert bellowed from the viewing platform as she saw her stallion-like efforts go for naught when Melissa Gerlach breezily swooshed her way down the course, oblivious to the pressures and tensions of competition. The resulting shouting match proved too much for Standbridge and the supporting cast who quit the race, melted into tears and angrily threatened each other with vows to forcibly take back loaned copies of Madmen DVDs.

“I thought I did very well, thank you.” Melissa said sweetly after she completed her run and the rest of the combatants were long vanished from the staging area.

More drama ensued on the back side of the race as the course’s longest leg stretched from Skye Peak though the Snowshed beginner’s area and under the access road via the ski tunnel. Team Iron Balls honcho, Tucker Lange, still seething at Cutter’s lamentable showing, tore through the run with a vengeance as he tracked an elusive Slopes who held a slim margin over Curfew House, The Snow Gunners and Rookie House. Rookie House front-runner, Kat Lafferty had one desire, to finish in the hunt and get the baton to their anchor-lady, Monica Marois. She came close but as she cut the corner into the tunnel her inside leg was cut from underneath by Tucker in an obvious effort to dislodge her from her skis. The ploy worked and as Lafferty careened into the tunnel wall and vanished from view her screams terrified the assembled crowd. The hollow thunk of bodies flailing into the tunnel walls could be heard above the maniacal laughter of Tucker who emerged from the darkness and handed the baton to Iron Balls anchor, Uncle Bob who boarded the chair just a few slots behind race leader, Lisa Solinger of Team Flowrider.

The sketchiness of Tucker’s action was not lost on those who saw it and possible repercussions could be aimed Tucker’s way once the authorities are able to conclude their investigation.

“We do not encourage the aggressive style of skiing Mr. Lange showed today and we will look into the matter to see if punishment is warranted.” Ski Patrol spokesman, Randall Van Aardsmore said when contacted.

Digging into his ample supply of Busch Light Uncle Bob fortified himself for the final dash to the finish line in front of the Roaring Brook Umbrella Bars but Solinger was not about to allow the race to become close. She waited at the top of Ramshead Quad and just as Uncle Bob disembarked she swung the lift operator’s shovel into Uncle Bob’s face. His beer exploding into a cloud of foam, Bob coughed and sputtered through the confusion but by the time he’d regained his senses Solinger was long gone and Curfew House anchorman, Steve “The Gunslinger” Andrew wasn’t far behind her.

Looping past the K1 Lodge via the Great Northern trail, Solinger took the rope and capped an impressive outing for the unseeded Flowrider Team. Gunslinger Andrew held his Euro tuck for the final charge and eased under the gates a few moments before Uncle Bob who nailed down a solid third place finish for the Iron Balls squad. Showing the ‘refuse to lose’ spirit that the Swanson Brothers are known for, Team Swanson Chaos made steady progressions after elder brother, Bob’s disastrous catapult into the woods and finished a respectable ninth with Justin’s impressive anchoring job.

Straggling in far behind the leaders were the Ass Magnets, Trench Rats and Glass Chalice but it was nearly an hour by the bar clock before Amy Dorr sidled under the rope and signed the card for the Rocket Ladies who locked up last place and the honor of picking up the tab for the post-race party.

“I gotta do what, now?” Dorr asked in confusion when told of the fine print rule. “So that’s why everyone was taking this thing so seriously?”

With the third leg of The Killington Cup now in the books the leader board has shrunk and top honors might soon be decided.

“If that cup don’t say, ‘Zack Nasty Ducharme on it by April I’m gonna be out to hurt somebody.” Nasty D. said as he worked a file on his ski edges in preparation for the forecasted retaliations he knew were coming.

Killington Relay Final Results

1st Place- Team Flowrider (Mark D., Mustang, Slopes and Solinger)
2nd Place- Curfew House (Grady, Healy, Ducharme and Andrew)
3rd Place- Team Iron Balls (Tucker, Lil’ Tuck, Cutter and Uncle Bob)
4th Place Team Sneak
5th Place Coon Snakes
6th Place- Rabid Mice
7th Place- Rookie House
8th Place- Snow Gunners
9th Place- Team Swanson Chaos
10th Place- K-Fives
11th Place- Ass Magnets
12th Place- Trench Rats
13th Place- Glass Chalice

Last Place- Rocket Ladies