Day 1 (Or How I Was Appointed the Lizard King by the Blue Bay)

How was I going to pull this off? That’s what I kept thinking while idly flipping through the sports page.  Three weeks ago, our fearless leader Geoff had dropped a stack of paperwork on my desk, mumbled something about a flaming torch coming across Lake Michigan, and told me to coordinate an event with Dan.  Now, Dan and I may be good guys depending on whom you ask, but responsibility?  I’m not sure about that. Can someone really be responsible if they still set up Madden tournaments and actually trash talk all the way through them?  When part of your work day is considered reading ESPN news and then checking your fantasy baseball team, checking out the daily card for this weekend's Stakes races, and then considering what sort of breeding combinations work with such and such pedigree, and oh by the way, I wanted to look up Kate Beckinsale on IMDB.com... well you get the idea. It’s not like we can even put in a full workday without getting distracted, let alone organize an entire event. 

Luckily for me, Miracle had just come out on DVD so I put in Kurt Russell, listened to him blow the whistle 500 hundred times at a bunch of kids doing suicides on ice and I was inspired. By the way, is there a more under-appreciated actor than Kurt Russell? He’s given us one of the most unintentionally funny movies of all time in Big Trouble in Little China, one of the best named characters of all time in Snake Plisken, one of the worst movies of all time in Escape From LA, and one of the most absurd characters of all time in Captain Ron. (Don't you think Depp watched Captain Ron about ten times before becoming Captain Jack Sparrow?) He got to play Wyatt Earp in one of the best Westerns of all time - Tombstone - and he still finds time to churn out solid popcorn action movies (Star Gate, Dark Blue).  But I digress. You see, these are the sort of things that I think about during the day, not organizing festivals.  Elections, budget deficits and cranky Frenchmen don’t bother me. What worries me is if the Tigers will finish .500 this year, if Smarty Jones will win a Triple Crown and if Kate Beckinsale is going to make an Underworld 2.  You think I’m kidding?  Well, what can you do except your duty to your Residency?  It’s time to get responsible. 

Three hours and several Rolling Rocks later...

I did the most logical thing any event sponsor would do.  You have to set up a campaign headquarters.  Now I had it on reliably good intelligence that the Flaming Torch would be coming across Lake Michigan by ferry to Muskegon from Milwaukee. How did I come by this information? Well, I made Tori my...errr...OUR (this is a democracy they tell me...but I’m pretty sure after enough alcohol I’m going to stage a coup and make this my residency) Minister of Information. That’s a fancy title for saying she’s the most responsible person in the Residency and can be relied upon to write down important times and dates in a day planner and make sure that Dan and I show up at the appropriate time in a fairly respectable state of sobriety. After making one "Is it Tori with an I or a Y" joke (and anyone who has seen Karate Kid more than 10 times must make this joke when meeting Ali’s or Tori’s - it’s just a rule) we set about making a schedule for our Flame ceremonies which, as far as I could tell, consisted of us taking the Flame from the Residency of the Great Plains, not dropping it into the Lake, passing it through Great Lakes Downs, moving it on to Hoosier Park and then making sure it got to the Kentucky Horsemen.  Of course they don’t actually let vagabonds like us in the state of Kentucky so they apparently were going to take the Flame from us in that state down South.  That would be South of Michigan and as any Wolverine alum will tell you,that what’s we call that state south of us (and I’m not talking about Indiana). Needless to say I wouldn’t be making the trip to pass the Flame along to the Kentucky Horsemen. I break out in hives if I go too near that border. 

I set up HQ in Grand Haven, which is about 15 minutes south of Muskegon. Why you ask? Well, it has much better beaches and a species of girl I like to call TTTHGs. For the unaware, that stands for tall, talented, and tan Heather Grahams. But if you’ve ever been to Grand Haven you probably know what I’m talking about even if you didn’t know the official terminology for these girls (and that’s why you have me).  As you can gather, these girls are tall, tan, and talented and their sole occupation appears to be trying to be Heather Graham, as if that were a profession. As pursuits go, this is certainly noble in my eyes. Tori was less thrilled and wanted a more practical location for our HQ, but I assured her that she would think better by the beach, being from California and all.  I think she rolled her eyes at that.

Several more Rolling Rocks laters...along with a few Cuervo shots, although it was being hotly debated which was a better GR Equinics drink, Cuervo shots or Lemon Drops...I decided to put it to a Residency vote, if I remembered.

One of my first official acts as GR Simsters Equinics President (other than just appointing myself Equinics President) was to declare Rolling Rock the official beer of this event. Rolling Rock is brewed in Latrobe, PA and we all know who PA is home to this season. Makes perfect sense in my mind and it would in Dan’s as well but there is a reason you haven’t heard from him and are stuck listening to my Joseph Conrad-like thoughts. Dan, you see, cannot be found because he is breeding horses. Now we all know that Ryan R is breeding horses because that has become his primary occupation. There is a 50% chance that if you missed out on a sire you were trying to breed with, it was used by Ryan R. (We have two Ryans here so that’s why he’s Ryan R, which is more politically correct than calling him Polish Ryan or Ryan the Pole. And you thought I was insensitive.) But Ryan R only got this sickness after it was transmitted to him from Dan. I had to bring those two under control somehow and alcoholic libation seemed the easiest way. The tasks were beginning to mount ... Before the Flame arrived the next afternoon I had to drag Ryan R and Dan away from their pedigree charts and arrange for Brett and Tyler to be picked up at the airport (they were flying in from Australia) by someone sober enough to drive (which ruled out myself, Dan, and Ryan R) because they are too young to drive, then make sure everything went off without a hitch at Great Lakes Downs. 

Sometime that afternoon Dan and Ryan R made it over to HQ, which I had dubbed Blue Bay. I distributed official GR Simster Nextel phones so everyone could be extra annoying paging each other (especially fun when drinking). The group was starting to assemble. Planes, trains and automobiles were rolling North into Michigan. Our fearless President Geoff arrived, Brian from San Diego, and Ryan (the other one) TM who brought along Ziklag, the only GI winning horse in our residency for us all to oooooh and ahhhh at. (He even set up a booth where you could get your picture taken next to him for $5. Yes, it gave a new definition to the term dog and pony show.) Andy and Mike rolled in, along with Courtney and Carlos, William and Vince, Raymond, Saracen and Zewango.

Andy was appointed to pick up Brett and Tyler from the airport.  I rode shotgun but then Dan and Ryan R wanted to come along as well.  They even brought breeding charts.  Granted it was a GR Simster H2, but would there be enough room?  Then I got to thinking, what could Brett and Tyler possibly bring with them, some G.I. Joes and a few Heath Ledger DVDs?  That reminded me...

"Tori, you better pick up some Kool-Aid, Gatorade and Lemonade."

"Why is that?" she asked.

"Well, Kool-Aid for Brett and Tyler to drink.  Maybe some pop too (that’s soda to those of you not from Michigan).  Kool-Aid is best though.  Grape and Black Cherry.  Maybe some Tropical Punch.  Lots of sugar too.  You simply can’t make decent Kool-Aid without a cup of sugar with a solid over pour.  We’ll need Gatorade for the hangovers and Lemonade, well, another ade sounds necessary. It should be good for something."

"Are you ever able to just say something without elaborating?"  Tori asked.

"No. Well, sometimes. I guess no because I could have just said no there right?"

We were off, one group to the airport to pick up those crazy kids with the weird accent (would they spend the entire weekend calling us mate?), one to the store for victuals, and the rest spread out like a contagion, swarming over Western Michigan prepping Great Lakes Downs for the ceremony, holding court at Blue Bay HQ or lounging around celebrating our first year as a residency. On our way to the airport, Dan asked me how far it was to the airport. He obviously wasn’t acquainted with the completely illogical way Muskegon is laid out. Muskegon is like a collection of those two-lane roads with countless businesses along both sides that connect suburbia everywhere. Therefore, it takes about 20 minutes to get anywhere. 

When we finally arrive at the airport, Ryan R looks up from his pedigree charts and asks in an astonished voice, "What the hell is that?"

"It looks like a surfboard," I deadpan. Yes, Brett had brought along a surfboard. Apparently thinking Michigan was surrounded on all sides by water, he thought he would be able to get in some surfing in between race cards. This was foolish for one main reason. No, not the logical one that you can’t surf the Great Lakes. He’s an Australian after all and they are all descended from criminals anyway. How could he know any better? No, his error was that he was also our official GR Simster track announcer and was going to be spending the entire time locked in the announcer’s booth doing his best Tick Tock McGlaughlin impression. He didn’t know this yet. The surfboard had brought up that previously alluded to space problem in the H2, however. It simply wouldn’t fit inside with 5 ½ people, luggage and Ryan R’s breeding charts. It had to go on top. So we motored back down to Grand Haven with a surfboard strapped to the top of the Hummer hearing Jim Morrison tell us to show him the way to the next whiskey bar.  Don’t worry Jim. We’ll be along soon.

Day 2

"Well, I’m just saying that they are horses, not dragons or even reptiles. I don’t see why you name them after dragons," I said to Dan.

"Look at the names of your horses. There is no rhyme or reason to them. At least I have a plan," he retorted.

"I think it’s a bit odd.  I’m going to name my next horse Dragon Slayer and that will be that. After your dragon spawned horses can’t run with him, you’re going to have to find a new power animal.  I suggest a penguin," I said loftily.

"Idiot," Dan snorted.

Yes, these are the sorts of conversations that you get into when you’re on an extended celebration.  The GR Simsters awoke to a massive spread of food and mimosas on the beach.  Waves, sun, and the coming of the Equinics Flame lay before us.  We gathered everyone up and made our way to Ferry depot where the Flame would be arriving from Milwaukee.  The crowded GR Simsters joggled and pushed, no not to get a look at the Flame, but to get to the tapped Keg in the back of Brian’s Escalade.  Brian had made a road trip from San Diego and had picked up members of the University of Texas cheerleading team on the way.  I’m not sure what route you take from San Diego to Michigan where you pass through Austin, but I didn’t care. We had official cheerleaders to add spirit to our Equinics rally.  When you consider the alcohol involved, we had more spirit than Rudy before he became a stupid fat hobbit.  A great shout and something resembling a primordial war chant resonated through our group as Geoff took the Flame from the Residency of the Great Plains.  I felt like I was an extra in a scene from Clan of the Cave Bear.

Geoff started to make a speech. "What will you do without Freedom?  Will you Fight?!!"

I realized that it was a William Wallace imitation. What I wasn’t sure about was whether or not he was joking.  That got us thinking that maybe it would be a cool idea if we painted our faces blue.  I’m almost positive this wasn’t my idea. I think it was Mike’s, but I can’t be sure.  As the Flame was passed from hand to hand, blue paint was applied and we reveled in the ancient spirit of pathos that coursed through our veins in the celebration of this cryptic rite of passage and ceremony.  Or something like that.  I focused on the UT cheerleaders to clear my mind. I had to stay focused and we had to get the Flame down to Hoosier Park. 

Geoff’s words drifted back, snapping me out of my semi-euphoric reflections. " ... and while we are a young Residency, we hope to one day be a strong Residency.  Our camaraderie is what I am most proud of and I look around and see lots of friendly faces.  Everyone should share in the journey of this Flame as it reflects the journey our Residency has taken. Together as one, together for all!"

I think that last part was stolen from a bad Charlie Sheen movie about Musketeers or something. But  Geoff was half drunk and I wasn’t going to quibble. Besides I did feel a sense of joy sitting there with my comrades as we celebrated the unity of the Equinic Flame as it passed through the GR Simsters Residency.  We were united in something greater than our stables. We were united under a banner of which we could all be proud. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent watching races at Great Lakes Downs.  Everyone had shipped out some of their best 2 year olds from their stables and we all got to take a look at them doing some breezes around the track.  We all were highly anticipating them running in this Spring’s California Cash Dash and the GR Simsters Eat My Dust Stakes, both $500,000 2-year-old Stakes races we were sponsoring.  After the track, we headed back to the beach in Grand Haven where we set up a volleyball game with a full spread Surf N Turf buffet.  Beach Volleyball, T-Bones and lobsters tails, cold Rolling Rock beer, UT Cheerleaders and a beachside Madden 2004 tournament.  I had already scheduled the Greyhound buses that were going to transport our camp of racing aficionados down to Hoosier Park the next day. We had accomplished a Herculean goal.  OK, so maybe it wasn’t Bruce Willis saving the world in Armageddon, but we did successfully (thus far) take possession of the Flame and were well on our way to enjoying our first Equinics as a residency. 

I remember late that evening that Jessica, a UT cheerleader, asked me why I liked horse racing so much.  As far as I can recall, I told he, "What is great about Horse Racing? Well, all great sports touch us deeply.  Baseball is a great game because it is a metaphor for life. It follows the natural progression of the seasons. The whole object of baseball is to make your way home.  Baseball, much like life, is a long road, a trial in which sometimes you have no hope of finishing first, because only so many people are born New York Yankees, but it’s not about winning. It’s how you play out the season."

Of course this had nothing to do with the original question, but I was getting philosophical and probably had other things on my mind rather than just explaining horse racing to Jessica. "Football is a great game because it is combat without weapons and brings out the pre-renaissance man or woman in all of us." And really? Was the renaissance that great of a thing? A bunch of Italian guys start wearing puffy pirate shirts, sculpting nude men and painting pictures of...well whatever. Before that we had never ending feasts where you didn’t have to use silverware. You drank beer out of Elk horns. You hunted and fought and didn’t have to worry about any of that there book learning. Where’s the progress here?

"Horse racing is great because it brings us ever so close to Glory.  We live in a world where moments of glory are few and far between, but for those 2 minutes, when a horse is going through the mud and blood to the green fields beyond the wire, we are transported somewhere else and find ourselves in literal awe of this creature and through this animal a part of our modern soul is set free.  Sic Transit Gloria ... all glory fades as the saying goes, but does it?  I think not.  Glory is forever! We will always remember Secretariat and Man O’War and Seattle Slew! There is nothing like the moment of impending greatness, the shiver of anticipation every time a potential champion takes the track. Smarty Jones, our nation turns its lonely eyes to you!" By the end of my expounding on horseracing Jessica was looking rather glassy eyed, like a Hooters waitress at the end of her shift.
 
Sometime in the morning we packed up for Hoosier Park.  We were carrying on the Equinics Flame for the glory of racing, the glory of the residency, and the glory of our fellow Simsters.  I was flush with excitement.  And of course the Bloody Marys that make the perfect 10 am drink.  To INDIANA, away!!

Written by Todd

A funny thing happened on the way to Indiana, however. This is Dan now, by the way, and despite the fact that I had planned to take over once we hit the road, I would have had to even if that was not the plan. You see, Todd, who wonderfully penned our adventures at Great Lakes Downs, had what we shall call An Incident, for lack of a better description. Remember those Bloody Marys that he alluded to in the previous paragraph? Well, Todd has a bit of a different way of “making” Bloody Marys than most people. He throws his bottle of Bloody Mary mix in the trash and fills his chalice to the brim with Grey Goose Vodka. I tried to explain to him that his drink constituted straight vodka, but he insisted that was how they made Bloody Marys in Michigan. I think you can see where this is headed.

After a few of his custom Bloody Marys, Todd decided it would be a good idea to take Ziklag, our residency champion, 'for a spin.' Well, the only spinning that occurred was Todd spinning on his face after Ziklag kicked him squarely in the stomach, sending him about fifteen feet in the air. Luckily, the horse was no worse for wear, but the same can’t be said for the human half of the equation, as he is currently passed out in the back of the custom GR Hummer, which can mysteriously fit 21 GM Simsters and a horse but not the dreaded sufboard from Australia. You ask what happened to Brian’s Escalade? Well, we had to put the cheerleaders somewhere and Brian graciously accepted to drive the cheerleaders. The conversation went something like this:

"Brian, would if be ok if you drive the... "

"YES!"

"...cheerleaders?"

Anyhow, once we got Todd situated in the back of the Hummer it was time to hit the road for Hoosier Park! The directions said it would take between four and five hours so we were ready to get fueled up for the journey...but wait, where was Tyler? We had trepidations about bringing a ten-year-old on our journey, but seeing as how he was the best jockey among us, and quite mature for a pre-pubescent, we had decided to bring him. Arghh! Wait! And where’s Tori? Now it was understandable for a youngster from Australia to get lost in the never ending maze of highways that is Michigan, but we certainly expected a 27 year old from California to be able to hold her own in Wolverine land.

It was at that precise moment in my thought process that I heard a high pitched shriek coming from the nearby woods. My first thought was that a Tasmanian Devil had unknowingly boarded Brett and Tyler’s flight from Australia, but no, it was Tyler himself, screaming that there was a monster chasing him. I was about to scold Brett for allowing his kid brother to stay up late the night before listening to Geoff’s story about the wicked Bruja Woman of Michigan who eats little boys in one gulp, but shortly after Tyler exited the woods sure enough, there was a figure that appeared to be following him. From the distance that I saw the figure from I was almost ready to start believing in the Bruja Woman, but as the figure got closer it started to look vaguely familiar. In fact, it looked a bit like...

"Tori, what the heck happened to you!"  gasped a startled Raymond.

Tori’s face was the color of Santa Claus’ silks and she was walking with a noticeable limp. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to tell us what was wrong because her mouth appeared to be swollen shut. Geoff was the first to realize what had happened. "Tori, I told you that there was poison oak back in the woods. Why didn’t you listen to me?"

Before she could attempt to sign an answer, she began wobbling and it appeared that she was going to pass out. So we put her in the back with Todd and hauled ass to the local Muskegon hospital. When we pulled up to the emergency room the medics rushed out and began to take Todd out of the back.

"Don’t worry about him!" screamed Carlos, "He only got kicked in the stomach by a horse! We’re not worried about him. It’s the one passed out next to him we are worried about!"

So they tossed Todd aside, got Tori onto the stretcher, and brought her inside. We all went into the waiting room. Almost a half hour later the doctor came out and told us that Tori was perfectly fine and that she was ready to go.

Ryan (not Ryan R mind you, simply Ryan), being the Sim Sports connoisseur that he is, surmised that, "Perhaps we should wait until she is sharp before we leave."

Geoff shook his head, told the baffled doctor thanks, and went back to pick up Tori. A few minutes later, we were back on Interstate 31 and on our way to Hoosier land. Looking around the Hummer, we realized that Geoff was nowhere to be found. Fearing that we may have left him at the hospital, we searched the entirety of the car before Courtney woke up from a nap and told us what had happened.

"Well, you guys know how he loves his guitar and he never goes anywhere without it. Well, last night, after a few Tecates...ok, maybe 10 Tecates, he broke out his guitar and played a song for one of the Texas cheerleaders. He sometimes gets so into the songs that he’s singing that he doesn’t really realize the impact of the words in the song. And let’s be honest, he’s a guy and guys don’t have any sense of how a woman’s emotions work. Anyhow, he decides to sing Bryan Adams’ ‘When You Love Someone’ to this girl. So he gets to the part that goes ‘When you love someone, You’ll feel it deep inside, And nothing else can ever change your mind.’ Needless to say, the girl was in tears and she’s been clinging to his arm ever since. He woke up this morning not even knowing who she was but she’s already planning the wedding. So I imagine that he’s somewhere in Brian’s Escalade wondering what the hell he got himself into. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to work on my book about horse racing. I’ve actually been writing it since I was three, but I want to get it finished up as soon as possible."

In the third row of the Hummer, Andy, Mike, and Ryan R were discussing possible breeding combinations, since this was, in fact, a Sunday, and the GR Simsters have been known to spend more money in one week on breeding than Americans spend on fast food in a month.

"So Andy, let me get this straight," Mike said. "If I give you 200 credits, in addition to breeding fees, you will breed me a Danzig x Mr. Prospector x Secretariat horse?"

"Yup, that’s correct."

"Ok, and remind me how many times you have tried to get Danzig on a Sunday?"

"Hmm, I think two."

"And how many times have you actually gotten Danzig on a Sunday?"

"I guess that would be zero."

Ryan R decided to add, "Well, Andy hasn’t had much luck with getting Danzig but he did breed a Danzig Connection horse last week."

"Ok, so Andy," Mike said. "You want me to pay you 200 credits as a breeding fee for a horse that you have never actually been able to get?"

"Yeah, that’s right."

"Ok, well I think I’m better off saving my money for something that might provide more of an investment, like a hula hoop or perhaps a lifetime supply of sporks."

In the back seat, Phil overheard the discussion and decided to chime in. "I don’t understand why you guys feel the need to spend hundreds of dollars every month on breeding when you can be very successful breeding horses for 200 credits a piece."

His suggestion was met with sneering from Ryan R, Andy, Mike, Brett, Tyler, Tori, myself, and even Todd raised his head for a moment to laugh at Phil’s impudence. I imagine that Brian and Geoff were also blowing off Phil’s crazy suggestion but it was hard to tell what was what in the Escalade, as the Texas cheerleaders were blocking the view (never thought cheerleaders and blocking the view would be a noun-verb clause I would ever use!)

"C’mon Phil," Ryan R said. "How could you possibly say that you can get great horses without spending hundreds of one’s own money or in my case, the money that my employers give me to spend on gas and food?"

There was really no need for Phil to answer however because when Ryan R was done speaking, Ziklag, a cheaply bred son of Chester House and a Grade 1 sim champion, picked the perfect moment to pull himself away from his bale of hay and spit water all over Ryan R’s face. That was the end of our breeding discussion. It was a good thing too because everyone began to realize that they were getting really hungry. Well, except for Ziklag who had been munching on even amounts of hay and the chocolate chip cookies that Todd had stashed away in his jacket pocket.

"Yeah mates," said Brett. "I reckon that Tyler and I are really hungry and I imagine that everyone else is bloody hungry as well. Is there anywhere around here that we can get a good vegemite sandwich? Or perhaps a few boxes of Tim Tams?"

The stares that were passed back and forth between the non-Australian GR Simsters in the Hummer were blanker than the faces of the trainers who opposed Smarty Jones in the Preakness. So I decided to take control, well sorta. "Umm, well, there’s an Outback Steakhouse off the next exit. I’m not sure if they have Vegemite sandwiches or Tam Tams but you could probably get something that is similar to the native cuisine from Australia."

Everyone was still trying to figure out exactly what a Tim Tam was but I did get a few nods of approval so Outback it was! I called up Brian to tell him where we were eating. I heard a loud, "Nice!" from Geoff and in ten minutes we were sitting down in an Outback just outside of Fort Wayne, Indiana.

Before we sat down, I told the wait staff to warn the chefs to get a lot of food ready because some of our residency members are rather large. Heck, with Geoff and Ryan R we already have half of an O-Line for a football team and Glen isn’t exactly small himself. Luckily, they had just received a fresh shipment of food so we had no problems filling ourselves. Tori was back to her good old self after that poison ivy scare, so that was good to see. And while Brett and Tyler weren’t able to find a Vegemite sandwich on the menu, they had a lot of fun telling our waitress to fetch them a Bloomin’ Onion. I was sitting next to Raymond and Migman both pretty quiet guys but that wasn’t par for the rest of the table as we got plenty of looks from other Outback patrons that were not of the kind variety.

Here are snippets from some of the conversations:

"Seriously guys," said Ryan R. "We spend about $500 per week on breeding horses, don’t you think that there should be some sort of kickback program for the big spenders?"

"Oh yeah," I responded. "At casinos they have deals where if you spend a certain amount of money in a given period you get free hotel rooms and cash bonuses. I definitely think we should get free perks like hotel rooms all over the world and gift certificates to Borders."

"You guys are sick, absolutely sick," said Phil and Ryan in unison, shaking their heads.

...at another area of the table:

"Seriously," said Courtney. "It’s so lame."

"Speaking of men," piped up Saracen. "What do you guys think about War Emblem’s woes in the breeding shed? Apparently now they’re just letting him pick his own mates. Kinda strange if you ask me."

"Well, to be quite honest," Tori said. "Don’t you think that the men who run that breeding farm where he is would know that all men are very choosy about their women? Unless of course they have their beer goggles on."

"Yeah, kind of like our residency guys," Saracen said, grinning.

"Kind of?" said Courtney, which brought a huge chuckle from the ladies.

"Honestly," she continued. "All the guys at that breeding shed need to do to get War Emblem willing to cover any mare they want is to dump a few quarts of Jose Cuervo down his throat."

Before everyone knew it, it was already eleven o’clock and we still had to get the Flame to Hoosier Park! So we filed out of the restaurant in semi-orderly, semi-drunk fashion, gave the keys to Andy and Brett (our old enough to drive but not old enough to drink boys), and continued on our merry way to our destination.
For the final sojourn, I decided to travel in Brian’s Escalade because, well, um, I thought someone should probably make sure that he knew how to get to Hoosier. Of course, it was a little bit hard to communicate with him while I was in the back doing keg stands with two Texas cheerleaders holding my legs up but I’m sure that if necessary I could help navigate. I kept telling them that I wanted to sit next to Brian in the front seat, but nooo, they wouldn’t listen to me. No really, I swear!

Well, one keg stand led to another and the next thing I knew the sun was shining and I had a raging headache. It wasn’t helped any by Geoff playing a tune on his guitar while Tyler sang, "There’s a dead rat in the middle of the road, there’s a dead rat in the middle of the road, there’s a dead rat..." and you get the picture. But I gathered my wits about me, sat up and looked around and sure enough there was a big sign that said Hoosier Park. We had finally made it!

Raymond and Carlos were cooking scrambled eggs and bacon and the entire group of GR Simsters was seated under an open tent conversing about our incredible journey. And smack dab in the middle of the tent was the Equinics Flame, blazing brightly.

That’s the end of this leg of the torch journeys but it will continue and the GR Simsters will be there on August 14, ready to race for Equinics glory!

Written by Dan