Saturday, my brother and I decided to go out and have a bro’s night. The night was filled with cheap booze, fast action and even faster women.
… nah, I’m just jerkin’ yer chain.
We went out, had some steak and taters at a delightful little place known as the Texas Roadhouse (oh, how I love the Texas Roadhouse!), watched “The Fighter”, then had an adventure.
On the way home, there was a place with a hill.
That’s about right
At the bottom of this hill is a place where you can rent innertubes made for sliding down hills, and then there’s a machine that pulls you up the hill so you don’t need to walk. You can then slide down at your heart’s content. It wasn’t a part of the plan, and I wasn’t sure they’d even let us do it. To be honest, I didn’t even think I was really going to pull in until I was pulling in.
We raced. I won.
After the fact, I find myself surprised by how much something so small affected me: all we did was spontaneously slide down a hill on some innertubes, but it got our blood pumping, it got us chatting and shivering (it was cold out), and it’s something we’ll never forget. It was an adventure.
There are so few adventures around here. Or, at least, few that I know of.
When was the last time you had an adventure?