Last night was our 10th annual pilgrimage to the opening ceremonies of the Special Olympics, and Charlie's first. In case you're wondering what this entails, we roll into town en masse, creating a gauntlet of hundreds of motorcycles leading into the stadium. The athletes and their sponsors/coaches/families then line up in their respective chapters and file into the stadium while the riders rev their engines, high-fiving and encouraging the athletes all the way. It's not…

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could" I awoke before sunrise gasping for air, my gills flexing for oxygen like a fish out of water; what was this devilry all about? How could it be possible to be having a panic attack while camping somewhere as invigorating as the Rocky Mountains? True,…

In case you haven't noticed, the posts have been a bit more infrequent lately. The story is still growing and the antics at the Casa del Whackos still blowing and going, but sometimes the cares of life intrude and the frivolity becomes muted just a bit. Zach and I have been planning a motorcycle trip out to Moab for quite some time, and that was already weighing heavy on my conscience. Moab is one of…

...not as the man he is today. It's been a rough week at the Casa, with dad spending too many late nights at the VA hospital dealing with the effects of dementia. I know what you're thinking, that if we're just now figuring out that dad doesn't just have issues but has a lifetime subscription, we're a bit late to the game, but this time I'm talking about his dad. Dementia and Altzhiemers are terrible…