So in an attempt to prove that my legs are not vestigial appendenges on Saturday the Dump and I went on a little adventure. 23 miles by bike and 17 miles by foot. It took us way too long, but that was due to a flat tire that turned into an episode of Macgyver and guaranteed good earnings for Target in the third quarter. The dump is a good friend, but I think by the end of it, we had either grown tired of walking, ourselves or each other. There are only so many times jokes can be repeated (especially about Larry Craig and Maria Sharapova) without the aid of beer before they become unfunny. Either way, I slept 12 hours on Saturday night and then woke up and felt pretty okay. The thing that has suprised me on all of these things is no blisters. My guess is that it has to do with the uniformity of the pavement and the overall slope of the walk, but still 17 miles walking and just some tight thighs and a sunburn, makes me think again about one day hiking the Appalachian Trail or starting a Forest Gump like cult. I am kidding of course, because next Sunday starts football seasons where you sleep until twelve and then spend 16 hours in front of the TV wondering if the third string wide reciever from the Vikings has more than fifty yards...