I’m leaving the sunny shores of Oscoda come tomorrow, and I should be homeways by about ohhh…2 pm. This is dependant on whether or not I wake up on time and how many large bull elk I slaughter with my car along the way.
I assume you won’t be working so I’ll either call you, or look for you online, so we can get our acts together for Sunday’s trek to the icy tundra of MTU (I assume you’re no longer going).
I’ll also try to get a hold of Tim at some point to see what he’s up to, then we can really get the show on the road.
I must also find time for an oil change twixt my busy planning/packing schedule. My parents have taken mercy on our poor souls and have outfitted us with the finest vehicle this side of the Alleghany, our family’s Buick SUV. This means you won’t have to be crushed by 8,000 metric tons of clothes, books, and golf clubs, Dave; and we can actually manage to bring our golf clubs. Of course, we’re going to need to stop every 1300 feet to fill up the gas tank, but whatever. We’re all splitting the tab for gas this year, so no skin off my nose (refinance your house prior to leaving PLZ).
So I’ll talk to you all in about 24 hours (hopefully), and we’ll see each other in another 40 hours for the long, fruitless trip to Houghton, Michigan.
Oh yes, along with the large, dangerous, gas guzzling, flaming SUV, my parents have also given us a gift of Smirnoff Triple Black to get the whole thing moving in the right direction. Not nearly enough Triple Black for our desperate needs, but, what are you gonna do? Hopefully you have procured some Jack, and possibly a bottle of Jager, but I hold out no expectations.
Good hunting, Mr. Poma.
Signed,
Aaron Johnson
“Ye Olde Sea-Cook”