First things first- this week’s shoutout goes to my friend Austin Horst. I had an absolutely pitiful steak yesterday bud. It made me miss you so much!
**(Read that last sentence in an effeminate voice for added effect)
So this weeks blog is a bit shorter. I have officially passed the halfway point of my Race. This being a significant moment for a racer, I have decided to take a walk down memory lane; these are but a few of the wonderful (not so wonderful memories) that have made my experience unique.
CHILE . . .
Wanting some flavor with my toast, but not knowing the Spanish word for “jelly” or “jam”, I took a leap of faith and ordered “pan con preservativos” thinking “preserves” would make my point.
Incidentally I had ordered toast . . . with condoms.
ALSO IN CHILE . . .
It being proper to do that weird kissing thing on both cheeks when you meet or say goodbye to a woman, I leaned in to do so to what was fortunately a rather attractive first grade teacher. But due to some miscommunication that was not at all my fault, she leaned the other way.
Planted one right on her . . . No regrets.
ARGENTINA . . .
It would go without saying for most . . . But naturally not for me. Don’t act too enthused about slitting a sheep’s throat and gutting it in front of a recovering vegan.
Hi Rachel!
BOLIVIA . . .
Christmas Eve. I sleep cozily in my sleeping bag, patiently awaiting the arrival of Santa himself, when lo and behold I receive another gift . . .
If you are going to place your horrendously uncomfortable inflatable mattress pad next to a clothes-drying rack, see to it that as you sleep, no female’s undergarments fall on your face. I can only hope this immediately woke me up, but who knows?
CAMBODIA . . .
God only knows the fate that awaits the recipient of a bacterial infection when he or she runs out of toilet paper in a remote Cambodian village with no running water.
God . . . AND I KNOW!
THAILAND . . .
To salty Aussies and Thai street vendors when one is from Texas, one is a cowboy. One does not have a choice in this matter.
I am a cowboy. I miss the olden days when I’d wake up to the smell of Pa’s fresh coffee around the campfire back in the old box canyon. I miss saddling up my trusty steed “Trigger” and riding to school every morning, dodging tumble weeds and Comanche arrows as I whistled “Oh Susanna!” My good friend Johnny Reb and I had to turn in our Winchesters to the principal’s office before we corralled our horses in the Ag barn . . .
You get the idea.
SERBIA . . .
Of course one can not simply go from 94 degree heat to 29 degree heat in a 14 hour span without questioning why Dr. Seuss had to die . . .
“Why die?
Why did he die?
All told.
I’m told he was old.”
**(Read that in the style of Morgan Freeman for added effect)
Perhaps I should have slept more on the plane.
If you are still reading this blog at this point . . . God Bless you.
-Matt.
