Spent the week­end at Trolley’s house with Wheaties, Aaron, and Nick. The car ride took about three hours, squeezed into the back of his com­pact Jetta. I would have called shot­gun but I doubt any­one would have respect­ed it; Nick and Aaron had pri­or­i­ty as the biggest guys. I made a playlist for the ride there, and it was good for the first half. The prob­lem with such playlists is that they’re usu­al­ly meant for sum­mer in the open air, not night time win­ter rides. A lot of songs end up being inap­pro­pri­ate.

Trolley’s place is a 350 acre farm, on a long road that’s actu­al­ly named after his fam­i­ly. Definitely a place with per­son­al­i­ty and an amaz­ing view of the open coun­try­side. Heat is turned up by throw­ing more logs in the fur­nace. His cat Femo is more vocal than Dolly and always cries for atten­tion. She’ll quick­ly turn bel­ly up if you scratch her the right way, and does­n’t like to wan­der more than an arms-length away.

The first par­ty was at the cab­in, which is a small hunt­ing lodge a 10 minute walk away, also owned by the Trolley’s. That’s when I remem­bered that I’m real­ly bad at par­ties with lots of drunk peo­ple. Drunk peo­ple who I don’t know scare me. A lot. I nev­er know what the hell they’re going to do. At one point, two peo­ple put on box­ing gloves and start­ed beat­ing the shit out of each oth­er in this tiny cab­in, which must be about 196 square feet. The sec­ond par­ty was at the house, and much low­er key. People start­ed jump­ing into the hot tub and out the win­dow then rolling around in the snow. I did­n’t drink the first day (aside from a swig from a bot­tle of Fireball, which actu­al­ly isn’t bad), but end­ed up buy­ing some alco­hol for the next.

One of the days was spent on a hill on some pri­vate prop­er­ty. We set up a jump to do some freestyle board rid­ing, and broke out the mod­i­fied GT Snowracers and tobog­gans.

A great time.