A little over 48 hours ago, I posted a blog about some nasty bears. It elicited strong emotion from my readers, which says a bunch about my readers.
The ensuing whirlwind of commercial activity ultimately led to an exchange of cash and merchandise on my front porch. There was only one person involved in the exchange, and he dashed up the steps, grabbed a ceramic-filled baggie hidden in the corner, stashed an envelope, and fled. In my mind, I imagine that he was wearing black socks in an effort to conceal himself.
Putting this kind of deal together would appear to be my best effort at turning the south hill into south hill-yard. Not my proudest moment.
But anyway, I think he liked the mug because he emailed me that "It will join the ranks of 'heavy rotation'." I'm not sure what that exactly means, but I'm pretty sure it's good. As for the envelope . . .
First thing out was a george. Agreed-upon deal, mug for a buck:
But wait, there was bonus material. It took me about 2 seconds to figure out where this was going to get stuck:
And then it got better than better. Are you kidding me? A limited edition first fiasco spoke card. And while this is way cool, it's the note attached to the card that I really value because it puts everything into perspective . . .
Some dude moves to spo and starts a monthly bike congregation centered around the full moon. He prints and laminates spoke cards. The first ride is in the middle of summer and no one shows up. He rides alone. Undeterred, he keeps at it. The thing slowly grows. A mere 2-1/2 years later, the biggest challenge is finding a place that can hold everyone. The fiasco is now an institution.
And this is a relic from that first ride. Holy hell, that so totally kills.
That envelope was personal as hell. Thanks, Jeff, you rule.