There’s a funny thing that can happen when you are on the road and just sort of fed up with “being far from home” and “desperately trying to get home at all costs.”

You just sort of give up and say, “Fuck it. Let’s just point it.” It’s a sad realization that the trip isn’t offering much else other than mile after mile of western nothingness, sweaty mental arithmetic shearing off the endless amount of miles, road food and a sore behind from sitting all day.

We got up in Cheyenne, got out on that Interstate and started hauling ass west.

At one point I woke up to notice Lovejoy leaning over towards me, using the last couple square inches of clear windshield to navigate the snowstorm we were in. He hadn’t quite figured out how to defrost the windshield yet, and was doing his best to not have to wake up a sleeping Draplin. Such a nice kid. We got the windshield cleaned up and the snow stopped and it was sunny and dry again. Just like that. Funny how the west works.

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The highlight of Wyoming was a little challenge that Lovejoy accepted. With each stop for gas we’d piss, grab a drink, grab a treat and keep going. We were standing there looking over the candy selection, and saw the cinnamon bears all lined up, just asking for trouble.

Last year, somewhere in Mississippi, Ryno’s famed roadgrub traditions took a turn for the worse. The fucker tried to eat 10 red hot dollars in one minute, and lost. It ain’t easy. And this time around, a year later, those cute little bears were just asking for it.

Here’s what went down a year ago: Ryno vs. 10 Red Hot Dollars

Lovejoy gave it his all. I was afraid the little shit was gonna bite through his tongue or something. He was chomping down real violent-like. Yikes. “Focus, Lovejoy, focus…”

He got through eight of those bears. A good effort.

520. “The challenge.”
521. “The battle.”
522. “The defeat.”

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Stopped over in Park City for some chow and conversation with Joe from Re:volve. A couple months back I helped him out with an identity and t-shirt line of “Peace-themed” t-shirts. Good energy. I mean, for the most part, the shirts I make everywhere else in my career are crass logo explorations that just sort of proliferate a brand and “get it on people’s chests.” I do it with my own DDC brand.

These shirts are different for me. They say something. They take a stand. I am very proud of my contribution to this project. Chests are billboards. Re:volve puts a positive message out there than transcends party politics, trashy clothing brand logos and predictable hippie graphics. I’d rather see some kid wearing an “End War” shirt than a goddamned Abercrombie or Old Navy logo. You know where I stand on this stuff.

Personally, I don’t wear logos. I don’t like my real estate being a billboard. Just something about me. Contrarian, sure, considering what I do for a living, but, that’s how I run it.

Bravo to Joe and all at Re:volve.

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Leaving Salt Lake, doing some quick arithmetic, I realized we had 800 miles to go to get to Portland. Fuck. A third of the trip, overall, still in front of us.

Lovejoy was feeling the fire and said, “Let’s go all night.”

And that’s what we did, powering up and out of Utah, across Idaho, then, up and into Oregon, all the way to Portland.

We got in at 6am, worn out, stinking and dazed.

This was the end of the 2006 DDC Fall Tour.