After twenty-one hours of travel — made all the more glamorous by a food-poisoned kid (tuna fish is no longer welcome at the Trout Underground) — we staggered across our doorstep late last night.
Actual pocket lint from a 21 hour travel day (think there's a reality show in this?)
Facing mounds of “Deal With Me” messages, I’m tempted to simply declare email/online bankruptcy, starting over with a clean slate and a guilt-free mind, but when you’re self-employed, that’s not how it works.
I did manage to download the trip’s photographs, which aren’t exactly art, but do nicely punctuate the stories stored in the Underground’s ‘dazed by too little sleep and too much travel’ brain.
This afternoon, you’ll see a post. I promise.
I’ve got a lot of notes.
And a Big News Post soon.
See you trying to remember where the kitchen is, Tom Chandler.
That’ll teach ya to go on vacation.
Welcome back. Now you can join the rest of us who can only chew the unsatisfying cud of vacations past whilst pining for the next one.
Steve Z(Quote)
You got it right; all I’ve got to console me are two monster days of smallmouth fishing, and a couple moments of big fun right from camp….
Tom Chandler(Quote)
No need to rub it in.
Steve Z(Quote)