Bad dog, good boy

Pain or pleasure...which do you require?

Pain or pleasure…which do you require?

Of late, TheDirtMagnet has been going after list rides with the reckless abandon found previously only in his distant past as a river lemming.  As the (non-existent) reader well knows, these rides are built on foundations made of low-grade mapping sands, and the odds of an encounter with a bad epic (as opposed to the more popular breed of good epics) are very high indeed.  Yet, even with this tendency to jump before precautionary reconnaissance has seen it’s due, recent list rides have without fail resulted in one type of beneficial experience or another.    The truth is, TDM has been on a roll lately, and though not all these efforts have resulted in the discovery of classics, each and every one of them have been interpreted by TDM’s mangled brain as special in some way…some of them more special  than others.

So it may be understandable one of these rigs recently turned out to be a little too special for comfort.  It could have been worse…a loop was completed, he was never truly lost, but it definitely could have been better. The worst part of the whole endeavor was that TDM never even found the arch that was his main motivation for this caper, though he now suspects that he was standing unknowingly on the very feature he sought  as he was scratching his head in confused dejection.  So, the fiasco was clearly a disaster, right? Initially TDM suspected this to be true, claiming that he would never be back with the vehemence of a two year old hucking peas at his/her parentals.  But then the curiosity began to skin the cat,  and not five minutes after departing the scene of the crime he began to reconsider this opinion, and pathetic slave that he is, that very night the maps and aerial photography were out, and a revenge tour was being planned. This could be taken as sickness, but TDM believes in something, and in this case he will let the (nonexistent) reader in on a little secret. You see, adventure costs the currency of comfort, but in the end a really good day out could never be ruined by something so small as failure or a bad ride, and after the bruising begins to fade, and the lemon soda and cool swim improves the spirits, the memory of the hunt is left remaining, and the rest is just water under the bridge. For an idea of what these waters might have entailed on this day, consult the word cloud above, then find your own nightmare, and let the love and the hate mingle to form yet another fine time.

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