On Saturday, August 18, 18 intrepid, determined, and slightly "not all there" individuals threw caution into the wind, as well as common sense and adult values, and descended upon a quaint 'burg in central Alberta. Their sole goal was to once again be victorious in the game of fun, but to also show that a wonderful adventure could not be found only within the cozy orange lights of a big city, or even a reasonably-sized city.
The task was simple: Find a small town, and exploit its measly local taverns and sip & spits. My ingenious mate, Greg G, took it upon himself to scour and scout only the most fitting of towns to meet our task. And then he found it: Bentley, AB. It was right under his nose the whole time. Well, actually it was 21 KM west of his nose. He lives in Lacombe, and Bentley is pretty damn close. But he still found it, alright? We had our task, and our target, but we needed a trick. Something to truly make this adventure worthy of a small young adults' novel, like one of the Christopher Pike books where the teens get drunk, but still solve some ridiculous mystery. Then it hit Greg like a sack full of other, more heavier sacks:
Tricycles.
We'd hit the bars by riding tricycles, or if one couldn't be procured, a children's bike, obviously too small for our pizza bagel-filled frames. A pubcrawl, by which we'd travel to and fro by means of embarrassing, yet extreme and memorable fun.
And so it came to pass. The evidence? Located here.
We came, we conquered, we had cheap breakfast. We learned of the legend of Dick Damron, and why that name shouldn't be chuckled at, but instead swooned over. Bentley, you gave us underaged punks who may or may not have been drinking, an abandoned lot to tent in, and a new appreciation for diamond plating.
We give you a fair salute, and a vow to return one year's hence.
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