Well, I'm finally back from my epic vacation in the land of trees and lakes. That's right, the upper peninsula of Michigan, also known as the deformed flipper hand to the LP's mitten. WHAT a vacation. Over the course of this trip: I turned 24. Lauren learned a lot about rum. We discovered that Steve has no reverence for the dead. I tackled Steve down a sand dune. Some of us may or may not be various mythological beasts. I found out that no one likes shining but me; we did it anyway. I ate pizza out of an envelope. STARTER LOGS ARE IMPORTANT. Using a grill she is unfamiliar with makes Lauren a bad cook. We went to the Mystery Spot; I have yet to vanish. We learned that just because a man looks and sounds a little bit like Buffalo Bill doesn't mean he expects you to put lotion on. Steve talked to a biker. I trained under a waterfall. I found out just how out of shape we all are. We tried out a new game we are tentatively calling "tubthumping". MANY MORE.
The story I've chosen to elaborate on today is how I became a flasher. On maybe our third day out, we decided it would be a great Idea to head to Munising falls. For those of you who don't know, the falls are an old and beautiful part of the upper peninsula, and a place with great connection to us all. We stood in awe and wonder, enjoying the view every second and every step of the way. Shortly thereafter, we were on our way. Suddenly, Catherine guided us to a secluded spot; a waterfall with no guardrails preventing us from entering.
Suddenly, despite the cold, our path was clear. I walked through mud, through streams, and across gravel and rocks. Once I reached the other side, grinning, I shed my shirt, my shoes, and all of my precious electronics. Then, I got in. Standing beneath the waterfall was exhilarating, to say the least. It felt like someone was throwing sharp ice cubes at my head.
Getting out, the error in my judgment suddenly became clear; my pants were soaked, and we had a several hour ride back into town. As I trekked back to the van, soaking wet and barefoot, a plan began to form. In my mind, the logic was simple: Pants chafe when wet. Pants are wet. Therefore? Don't wear pants! Congratulating myself on my logic, I had Brian grab ahold of my pants, and then, when the coast was clear, I leaped out of them and into the van in one clean motion. Now in only my underwear, I sat in the back, where the windows were tinted, and tried to get comfortable. After all, the drive back to town would be short and simple, right?
We immediately got lost. After driving a good hour down the road we were supposed to go down, we discovered that it was blocked off for construction. A feeling of dread settled over me as the others made the fateful decision to turn down a side road, relying on the GPS to see us through. Now, this DID work... eventually. After another hour of twisting, turning roads, the soaked underwear I was wearing began to become incredibly uncomfortable. In an attempt to relieve this, I slid them down a little. Shortly thereafter, I discovered that, due to them being soaked and cotton, they were reluctant to come back up. Slightly embarrassed, and now completely naked, I covered myself a little more, and settled in for a long, strange drive.
Shortly after, I realized something awful; I had to pee. Not your average, every day run of the mill peeing, either. This was epic, adventurous, DANGEROUS peeing. I had to go THEN, or else risk peeing accidentally while going down a steep hill or something equally unpleasant. We discussed the matter briefly, and agreed upon a solution.
Brian's trench coat.
That's how I ended up naked in a forest save a trench coat.
