The Holy Dirty Revival

About damn time winter.  Back to Church, singing the praises of the Holy Dirt Revival.

Jebus, I missed you guys - singletrack, dusty burning lungs, mud caked water bottle mouth pieces, brush thrashed shins, ghostly knuckles, bloody limbs, broken parts, hyper-focus animalistic survival mode at high speed down the rock gardens.

 It's the most tired you'll ever see a hunting dog.  Chasing you feverishly on descents, running down all the quail in the brush ahead of you as you climb.  A good dog always knows just what to do, like late season Seal Slides.

Nothing like a flat in an ultra creepy and secluded spot to speculate the intentions of the groups hidden serial murderer.

It's good to be out sweating, bleeding, and burning in the Dirty Cathedral.

When all things blow..

Things get weird.  Muddy turbines and whirlpools spinning above the base of willows at rivers edge.  Dust Bowl Revival.  Bloody Mary's.  Bass still frozen.  Carp water brown. Cheladas.

Scatterguns.  Unlucky rabbit down range.  Stuffed Animals.  Dried up old unlucky bunny.  Decimation of old cop target.

Making the best of things = Good day with your best friend.

Carp slough garbage wiper.