Thursday, January 26, 2006

Narrowly Escaping The Clutches Of Satan

Ted post horror trip-out sesh
During the dryer days of December The Captain and I went on a scouting mission to the elusive Brush Creek into Roaring Creek. Dubbed "Morgan's Ugly Cousin" by Councilman Cumnock, Brush is a typical plateau run chocked full of sieves and undercuts of mammoth proportions. The investigation revealed some promising drops, spaced between series of gnarled boulder gardens, whose runnabillity would only be known with a full juice bar. The Captain returned with his Rancho Rumbla for some maintenance a few weeks later, and prepared the ditch for its first decent in quite some time.

Jason running from his own demons

With the rains of a few weeks ago, the time had come. I met Ted H. and Jason M. at the Boot around 1:00 pm and we headed to the Seventh Day Adventist compound atop the ridge. As we approached the gates of this impenetrable fortress, I sensed a disturbance in the force. The Great Beelzebubbler had forseen our plans. Realizing that this might be the last day the prophet Aquafienda had seen in her most recent orbit of Landerhoff, we quickly dug a great tunnel under the Adventist's armour by which to access the holy land and where we would bury Ted's vehicle. There would be no use for combustion engines on this tour. As we donned our water suits, I heard a noise coming from the dark void behind us. We gathered our wits and means, and made a dash for the surface. As the light of day again pierced our crania, I turned to take one last look at Ted's mighty four-wheeled stallion, but it was gone. In its place, rising out of the darkness, a mono-winged, wolf-dragon was hobbling toward us at a not-so-alarming rate. He jumped, and batted his wing wildely and came crashing down a few feet further. Again he did this, and as he landed a great thud resonated through the tunnel. Fractures in the earth branched out from his position like growing snowflake arms reaching for the light. He sniffed, snarled, and reared back to stand on his hind legs, flatulating as he did so. From his butt, a plume of black smoke emerged. The dark cloud swirled about his feet and from this nebula miniature flying skulls, with firey eyes and sword tongues, came at us laughing shrilly. It was apparent the Great Beast had shat himself, and as he looked down to asses his mess, we siezed the moment and made a run for the water with the fear of Hades coursing through our veins...

These two drops are in succesion, the one on the right is followed by the one on the left. That is because I have dislexia.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...