birthday boy

I inauspiciously celebrated my thirtieth birthday last weekend. I had an epic weekend planned: huge rides in Crested Butte and on the Monarch Crest trail in the mornings with cross races in Gunnison in the afternoons. It was gunna be big; 30-years-old big, two-thirds bigger than turning 21. That was the plan anyway. What actually happened is that I got blind drunk and missed the whole thing. Friday afternoon started innocently enough around 4 when some coworkers and I headed out for a little friday-afternoon/doug's birthday celebration. The night ended approximately twelve-and-a-half hours later, when I passed out. I had been do a half dozen bars and a couple house parties. I had been sung to, laughed at, turned down and toasted more than twice. I know there was a trampoline involved at some point, and I know where it began and where it ended, but past that, I can't commit to much.

I guess I have some things to work on for the next decade. Hopefully at 40, I'll be able to sustain the bender and still make all the riding and racing. If I ditched you last weekend, sorry, but I'm pretty sure I had a good time in my absence.