MUD MUD MUD

A couple weeks ago I participated in an event that supposedly initiated me into the realms of cool people on the prairies. This was only following excruciating rounds of verbal torment from the two draftsmen at work: my sister, Shawna and “the coolest guy ever”, Clayton. (This is a direct quote from said source and does not in anyway describe the feelings of myself or the world in general.) Apparently I was a chicken, scaredy cat, wuss, old fogy and, worst of all, a city slicker.

The event? Mud bogging!

I prepare myself for the worst: touque, mitts, camera, shoes with grip, ugly sweats and uglier sweatshirt, Kleenex and cough candy.

So Clayton picks me up in his brand spanking new truck that’s older than even me. Marvin is large and frightening, I have to take a running leap into the truck as my legs are incapable of stepping as high as I need to. The acrobatics are accompanied with very ladylike grunts and flailing arms as I reach for the stability of the seat at some elevation far above me.

We head for the neglected backyards of the industrial park. Here Marvin puts on a show: Ponds divided and conquered, trenches gouged through knee deep mud, 90 degree hills topped and straw whipped in swirls.

I, Screech, did not screech! I maintained my cool and even summoned up courage from some deep part of me to timidly yell, “faster, faster!”

(Please note that hyperbole has been, yet again, effectively administered!)

Below are some pictures of this momentous occasion: Enjoy!