The past few days have been tremendously mellow.

Grunge was about the same as always, very laid back, lots of hot muddy men. I wasn't feeling especially frisky, mostly I soaked in the canal, drank beer, and smoked. There were a few guys I really had an eye for but nothing transpired. Amazing how easy it is to waste a whole day - and how delightful it is to do absolutely nothing. The theme this year seemed to be "new love" - several freshly formed couples were there, including one guy who I have shared much lust with in the past but who is now so enraptured with his new guy that you couldn't have kept them apart with a crowbar. Very sweet, actually, it's such a pleasure seeing men fall in love.

No pictures, I figure there is no way to top previous ones so no need to be a shutterbug.

Tacos on Saturday at this event remain one of my favorite cooking events of the year. It seemed really easy this time around, hardly any work at all. A well made taco is a fantastic thing. It requires a properly griddled tortilla that is simultaneously soft and crunchy, well-grilled meat that is chopped with cleavers, and lean, fresh condiments like queso seco and chopped chile. Basic, down-home ranch food, nothing manufactured or canned. Tim's place is perfectly set up for this, and the resulting tacos are positively radiant. Better yet, I could wear my special taco shirt while waving my knives around. ;-)

What really made the trip, though, was taking my newly relaxed and mellowed-out self over to Berry Creek to visit TC.



He lives way out there, at the end of about 3 miles of rather exciting dirt road. Not entirely coincidentally, he lives very close to Brush Creek, the town of media empire fame. For some reason, nobody has seen fit to erect an interactive tactile smell-o-vision interpretive center educating tourists about the history of this strangely influential place. And that seems like a glaring oversight.

[Seriously, there's nothing there, and very little about the town that relates to the company. I've got such a tortured sense of nostalgia about the whole bear era that simply driving past the sign throws me back two decades, to when the world depicted in his art looked to my young eyes like a vision of unattainable glory, something which I'd never be cool or manly enough to partake of. It was a real love-hate relationship. But this is a complicated subject that will have to wait for another time.]

After I arrived, we unwound with a drink and a toke, and switched to a more suitable form of transportation. I'd never driven an ATV before, and boy, was that an odd experience. (Also dipped for the first time, and had to laugh at my innocence - man, I'm never gonna get my redneck card at this rate!)

With his dog surfing bravely on the luggage rack, we headed another five miles down the road to Milsap Bar, at the confluence of two rivers. Now that was something else. I'm a connoisseur of fine swimming holes, and this is surely one of the best. ( More photos )

All told it was an absolutely magical day full of testosterone and adventure and manly affection in a stunning place with lots of red meat and beer thrown in for good measure. What more, really, could anyone ask for?