So I've only been once. Pablo thrice, Softserve Mikey, hundreds. The breathless emails (OK, I don't know how an email is breathless, but it felt like it) have now become real time texts with photographic evidence. Mikey loves the Nak, he just does. He's had some days there that rival only his beloved Goodnews of yesteryear. And his love makes him blind. Blind to the horrific wind, blind to sleeping on a dirty garage floor next to Uncle Ed's greasy boat motor, blind to millions of fishless casts in the shadow of Treefon's cabin, blind to being busted for no license (Lisa). To me she is a big tease. I've seen the pics and heard the tales, but my day there consisted of more hours huddled against the bank hiding from the wind, as flailing an eggsucking leech. JB will have to speak for himself. Ya, if it didn't take 20 hours of butt busting, back aching flights, the expectation could be lowered, but it does and I'm not ready to back, not yet.
