... and it really is an addiction, I think. I mean, while I'm up on the mountain, I'm constantly falling and getting banged up. It's like being beaten with a wiffle-ball bat all day and then having some hot chocolate while you talk about how much fun it was. Then you drive back to Portland on a sheet of ice between an H2 with only one passenger and a Jetta hauling six people. Why do we do these things? It's just odd. Makes me glad I'm not a psychiatrist... I'd never have anything figured out!
Buttercup... the place where it all started.