And then a bear ate my head

Our last full day in Vegas we walked up and down the strip, and came upon the giant Coke store. (Coca-cola, just to clarify. It is Vegas, after all). Lizzie and I love Diet Coke with an unholy passion, so we had to go in. As you can see from the picture, there was a person dressed up as a polar bear (at first we thought it was animatronic, but it wasn't) with whom you could take a free picture. Obviously Lizzie and I needed to do this. Two small children were in front of us, and as the camera snapped, the bear leaned down and bit the little girl's head. She didn't flinch. When it was our turn, the bear leaned down and bit my head. I screamed. And made that face. (Thanks to Erin for the fabulous photography). Danielle laughed at me, and said "You saw it do that to the little girl!" and I said "Yes, but I'm an adult!" and she said "AN ADULT WHO JUST HAD HER PICTURE TAKEN WITH A GUY IN A BEAR SUIT" and I said "TOUCHE."

I was traumatized, and spent much of day two of the rodeo reminiscing about the time a bear ate my head (though to be fair, if I were a bear, I would totally gnaw on someone's skull). This was the finals of the Finals, so we got to see the cowboys get their gold buckles. One poor kid got bucked off and stomped by a bull, and they had to take him out on a backboard. Turns out his arm was fucked up (that is the medical term) but it could've been a lot worse (he could've gotten his head eaten by a bear, for instance). I also managed to fall down the stairs on the way out, but for once my scrawny (I mean massive) bicep was able to keep my more substantial ass from careening all the way down, so it just felt like I'd been racked for a few minutes. It's not my fault, guys, I'd been nearly mauled, and the trauma threw off my balance. I was probably having a flashback or something.

After the rodeo we went to old Vegas, and had some gross Chinese food. Since our flight was so early the next day, we couldn't really stay out late, but I've heard there are lots of bears in old Vegas, so it's probably better that way. I'm just surprised we were allowed to leave, since not one of us gambled the entire weekend. Luckily they're building some casinos in Massachusetts, so we won't have to go far to pay our "bad at math and calculating odds" tax.

Watch out for the bears, y'all...

Day two, in pictures

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

MINNIE MOUSE IS A MAN, Y'ALL! There were a ton of people on the strip dressed up so tourists could take pics for money. We saw Elmo, Sponge Bob, several Elvises, show girls, and at least four Michael Jacksons in various states of decay.

Surprise Charlie Daniels

The rodeo was just as fun as I remembered from Kansas. It had the same events, except for the mutton busting, but the fireworks probably would've scared the sheep anyway. Also, the event opened with a surprise performance by Charlie Daniels. His beard was mighty.

There were a lot of adorable cowboys with adorable names, my favorite being "Tuf Cooper." The announcers were rather sassy, and said that one of the ropers was "big enough to eat hay," and that another "matched his horse pound for pound." The roper missed his target, probably because he was sad that he'd just been called fat in front of 18,000 people. We followed the cowboys to the Mirage after-party (pausing for the champagne hand-off), and saw lots of hookers. One lady of the evening was clad in a corset so tight that it managed to create a muffin top out of zero body fat, and also provided us party-goers with an eyeful of nipple when she had a wardrobe malfunction. Also, not to be judgey, but she was a horrible dancer, and made her creepy date chase her around the dance floor, weaving through the two-steppers.

Not having had our fill of sketch, we decided to drop in on this "club" which was actually a tiny room in a tattoo parlor, where ladies (THAT'S US!) drank free. However, the jersey shore esque bouncer said there was a $20 cover, and I gave him a disdainful look and said "No thanks," which destroyed his soul enough that he let us in for ten. (If I am going to pay a $2o cover, there'd better be actual people in the club). We set about drinking our $10 worth of free liquor, and dodged some sketchy escorts who tried to get us to sit at the VIP table for free. And by free they meant we'd have to pop bottles of KRYSTAL, bitchez. As I mentioned, the teeny club was nearly empty, and these two sad women kept dancing up on these raised platforms in front of the VIP table. They were horrible dancers, so one of the bouncers told them to get down because "they weren't adding anything" to the atmosphere. This calls for a series of emoticons: :( :( :( :( HOW EMBARRASSING. Having drank as much free booze as our livers could handle, we took our fabulous selves back to our hotel, and slept it off.

That's not Kosher

This lady, my friends, was very popular in Vegas (no, not me, though I can see how you'd think that). We got up late-ish on Friday, and then had lunch at a sports bar called Blondies, which had lots of semi-nekkid ladies (who had powerful skillz with double stick tape, holy cow, if you will) and beer taps at the table. We had a round of water and diet coke, which I'm sure was disappointing. After lunch, we went to Cowboy Christmas in the Vegas convention center to see vendors peddling cowboy related merchandise. Erin was in her element, but Danielle, Lizzie and I were taken aback by all the rhinestones. Since I was unable to blog while in Vegas, I made notes to myself so I could share when I got back, and one of my notes is: rhinestones! Rhinestones! RHINESTONES!! Everything had rhinestones, and according to Erin, these flashy belts, which look cheap and tacky (in my humble opinion) cost upwards of $300! Woah. Shows what I know. There was a lot of big hair, big hats, and American flags. I found a lot of furniture for my hunting lodge, and Erin got a rad belt buckle.

On the way back to our hotel, a taxi pulled alongside us at a red light. Lizzie was driving, and Danielle was sitting behind her. A red-faced cowboy leaned out of the cab window, and starting blowing kisses at my sister. Lizzie, being evil, rolled down Danielle's window, and the following exchange happened:

Cowboy (with Okie accent): I jeest saw yew outta the corner o' my eye, and yer so beautiful!
Danielle (uncomfortably, with Boston accent): Thank you.
Cowboy: Yer jeest so beautiful! You a Jew?
Danielle: No...
Cowboy: My Dad's a Jew!
Danielle: ...
Erin (with Kansan accent): Where are you from?
Cowboy: I ceen't tell you that!

End scene!

You think we couldn't have been handed a better opportunity to tease Danielle, but later on that evening, after the rodeo, we were driving to the cowboy after party, and a limo pulled up alongside us. The men inside rolled down the window, and gestured to my fabulous sister to do the same (and if she hadn't, Lizzie would've) and then handed her a glass of champagne. She took it, but for some reason decided not to drink it. What happens in Vegas (backwash) stays in Vegas, but the teasing followed her back home. Happy Chanukah, sis!

Occupy Logan--States of Snark Does Vegas. Sort of.

Greetings! This weekend, your friends at States of Snark made a quick trip to Vegas to attend the National Finals Rodeo, courtesy of Lizzie, who is magic, and makes things happen (for instance, later on the trip, Erin was looking for a packet of sugar, and Lizzie pulled one out of her pocket. Spooky!) This adventure featured two very special guest stars, the aforementioned Erin, who you may remember from the Kansas trip, and my sister Danielle. After a harrowing ride on the Logan express (where we sat in the very back row next to the toilet, because we are BAD ASS) we set up camp here until our flight, number 777 of course, on which we drank a pile of booze. We picked up Maude money, our rental car which was another Nissan Versa, and then drove down the strip to our hotel, which, Erin and I found out two days later at our friend Bendta's birthday party, was featured on the television show Gigalos! This makes me feel extra glad that we eschewed the nasty-ass jacuzzi in our room, which always seemed to have a soggy film on the bottom, probably because the water from the shower next door backed up into it occasionally. Yum! Since Danielle and I shared a room, and are both cold-blooded (obviously) there was no sneakily turning up the heat when Lizzie wasn't looking (and conversely, Lizzie didn't have to sneakily turn it down when I wasn't looking). Disappointingly, though, neither room had a stripper pole. Just imagine the amusing injuries which could've occurred. Luckily, I don't need a stripper pole to get injured. More on that later.

This attraction is closed

Move along.

Valkommen to Lindsborg!

Our final stop before returning to Wichita was Lindsborg, or little Sweden, USA. The town's website makes it seem far bigger than it really is (I hope their PR firm is making a lot of money) but it is still an adorable little town full of creepy sculptures called "wild Dala horses."

Come on ride the train, got to ride it

Woot woot

We like Ike

On our way back to Wichita from Manhattan, we passed through Abilene, the hometown of Dwight Eisenhower, and the location of his presidential museum and library. Erin and I went to the library, and saw lots of rad stuff about the state of Kansas. We went over to the chapel, where Ike and Mamie are interred. I don't know much about Eisenhower's presidency (though I believe he removed ol' Joseph McCarthy from power and started Nasa) but was definitely inspired to check him out. Wikipedia here I come!

America's next top value inn

Here are pictures of the hotel we stayed in on Tuesday night. It was pretty stabby, and packed with contractors who all seemed to be full o' the meth, as they say. We wore our cammo hats from truck to hotel room so we'd be invisible to them. When I took a shower, water poured from the ceiling as well. A new spa shower head, perhaps? Erin apparently stayed here for two weeks after shoulder surgery, and somehow managed to escape without a raging staph infection. How she did that is anyone's guess.

Made in Manhattan

Kansas State University has a student population of about 28,000, and the campus is really pretty with Limestone buildings and well-kept greens, unlike some other campuses some of us might be familiar with. The student center has a bowling alley. The student center where I went had a dude who played "Rainbow Connection" non-stop on his guitar while you were trying to have lunch with your friends. Erin showed me around her old stomping grounds, and then we had dinner in Aggieville, the district of Manhattan reserved for drinking. There was obviously no dearth of bars, which we hit later, and though the area was quiet on a Tuesday night in the summer, I could almost smell the ghosts of vomiting students past. Drinks were ridiculously cheap, and I got a gin and tonic the size of a keg for $3. There's also something called a car bomb, which Erin and her friends may have occassionally imbibed, which is a shot of Bailey's dropped in a pint of Guinness which went for the low, low price of $2.50. Also, you could do Car Bomb races with fellow bar goers, in which the loser paid for all the drinks. Vomiting is free, though.

Erin is the Cat's Meow

Erin and I were taunting a horse from a barn window, when this noise, like someone stomping on a family of mice, came from behind us. We turned our back on the horse (never a good idea) and saw this little guy. He decided that we were friends to kitties (true) and got epic scratching from Erin. His purr was sort of like a choking diesel engine, and we spent a good portion of our time with Mr. Kitty trying to figure out the best way to smuggle him home. It'll be tough, because you're not even allowed to take Chert off the reservation grounds. It's almost worth becoming two more of Eric's human marionettes.

Tall Grass National Reserve

Here are some buffalo--I ate part of one of their friends for lunch. Sorry, guys. Tall Grass is a National park dedicated to the preservation of tall grass prairie, of which there is little left, most of it being transformed into grazing land. We took a bus out with a ranger (Eric, who was really awkward, and vacillated in my estimation between "he's so dorky and charming" to "maybe he kills people and makes marionette puppets out of them") to the center of the park, where we saw buffalo, learned about the Flint Hills (on which we were standing) and Erin told us that the local word for Flint was Chert, which I like much better. Chert Chert Chert Chert. Chert. Anyway, it was gorgeous, and Eric kept commenting on how quiet it was (serial killer?) and how there wasn't a machine to be heard for miles. We learned about overcoming adversity through diversity (dorky and charming?) and how the prairie lands act as co2 scrubbers. The tour lasted about an hour, and we were compelled at the end of it to be inspired, and to recycle. Or else.

Cotton Falls

We stopped at Cotton Falls for lunch, at a place called Emma Chase cafe. There we learned that there is a condition called "Flaccid eardrum," and that not everyone in the midwest is a fan of republicans. Also we had the most delicious peach pie ever. We walked around the little town for a while (compelled by our server to go to the local arts center) but our favorite stop (besides the garage where we bought ice from some very lovely young men) was in the mercantile, where the woman behind the counter shared with us a saying which her husband's father used to say about lanky young men: "He looks like he traded legs with a giraffe and got cheated out of his ass."

The Grasshopper Obesity Crisis

We began Tuesday by driving north, with the goal of making it to Manhattan, the little apple, where Erin did her undergrad. We stopped here at this scenic prairie overlook, which was just jam packed with grasshoppers. Every step we took was preceded by the pinging of grasshoppers big and small as they moved along with us in the tall grass. This fellow was the size of my palm, and desperately wanted to get away from us, but was too fat to jump very far. Ah, the life of a fat grasshopper.

Hats that Erin found in the back of her Dad's truck

Now you can't see our heads. Totally camouflaged.

Dogs of Kansas

This is Faith. She spends her days wandering around finding new places to nap. She is my hero.

I'm Going to Wichita

Bonus points to anyone who started singing Seven Nation Army upon reading the above title.

Hi!

So. Sunday was lost to travel, as we made our way from Phillipsburg toward Wichita. Owing to several Keystone Cops-esque typical states-of-snark travel moments, Lizzie ended up missing her flight, and Erin, fitting right in, dropped her credit card in a Brahm's parking lot (I keep calling it the ice cream hut) and didn't realize it until we were an hour away. She and I went back while Lizzie drove ahead to Wichita, and after we had recovered the card, we got the text from Lizzie saying her flight, which had originally been delayed, had in fact left on time, and she was in an airport hotel. Best birthday ever. She left early this morning, and is back home. We miss her already.

I am now with Erin at her Mom and Step Dad's, and today we made a tour of the various sections of Wichita. It's an adorable city, and so different from the other parts of Kansas we've been in. There are buildings with MULTIPLE STORIES (when Lizzie and I took our side trip to the ball of twine, we saw a silo and mistook it for a sky scraper. Neat) lots of museums and arenas and zoos and parking lots and defunct amusement parks and all the other things you would expect of a sizeable city. We went to Yoder, which is a little Mennonite colony, and saw little ladies in dresses and bonnets driving tractors (see above). We bought a homemade apple pie for EIGHT DOLLARS! and the world's biggest cinnamon buns for ONE DOLLAR EACH and then came back to have dinner with Erin's folks. After that we hung out with Erin's friend John.

We went to the South Side Wal-Mart, which is open 24 hours. While we were wreaking havoc in the toy section, Erin noticed a box of vagisil which had been opened, emptied, and stuffed by the nerf guns. You know, there are many factors which contribute to criminal activities such as stealing, most of them inexcusable, but shit, no one likes being itchy.

Happy birthday to Lizzie

August 7th is a magical day, upon which many fabulous people were born, including my lovely sister (Happy birthday, Sis!) and my dear friend Lizzie. Happy birthday to my wonderful travel companion and my life long friend. Here's to many more trips to many more states, and to many more surprise handfuls of horse shit.

It's Boots and Chaps, It's Cowboy Hats

We are going to miss the rodeo. Day three was the most crowded, and we arrived to packed stands. Most of the events had top place finishes, with the cowboys, cowgirls and the animals performing masterfully. The steers often got the best of the ropers, and one poor cowboy got his head stomped by a bull after being thrown, and had to be carried away.

Cowboys, though... There is a reason why they are the subject of so many romance novels. So cute. Seriously--I felt like a total creep the whole time, but, dang. That's all I have to say about that (obviously not.)

After the events (during which a surprise grasshopper popped on my leg, eliciting a mini-scream-of fright, where upon it pinged over to Lizzie, and then back to me, until I realized it was only a grasshopper and not to be feared) we went to the dance, kicked up our heels a bit, and then meandered back to get drinks. There Erin struck up a conversation with a nice man who probably regretted talking to us, because somehow we ended up cheerfully commenting on how his blood type was the universal blood type, and that he'd probably wake up in a bathtub full of ice because we were going to steal his kidneys to sell on the black market. We reassured him that we really liked him, so we'd leave a phone within arm's reach. Then we invited him to come visit us in Boston. Strangely enough, he seemed interesting in coming up some time. (Honestly, if one tried to pick up the trail of conversation from point a to point harvesting your kidneys, I'm sure the whole matter would seem perfectly normal.)

We bid adieu to Brock (his name, really! I told him we needed more Brocks in MA) and then sloshed through the mud toward Erin's truck. On the way we saw a dude hanging with his friends, except his pants were at his knees, and he was peeing on the side of his truck. Questions:

a) Why are your pants down? Can't you pee through the zipper? You are a boy.

b) Why are you letting your business hang out in front of your dudely friends?

c) Why not use the toilet which is a two minute walk away?

Erin hooted at him with a jaunty "yee haw!" and I yelled "NICE PEE!"

When we got to our truck, we discovered that someone had picked up a wad of mud and horse shit and had hurled it (drunkenly, probably) at the passenger side window. It was stuck in a horrid, mucky blob to the window, so we crawled in carefully. Too bad I had the memory, as Erin would say, of a gold fish, and stuck my hand right in it while slamming the door shut after climbing out at Erin's folks' house. Ah, nothing like a handful of horseshit and mud to close out the rodeo. Yee haw.

Red Cloud--the geographic center of Douchery in the Contiguous 48 States

As aforementioned, there is quite a bit of rocking out whilst driving. This sometimes leads to the occasional wrong turn, and this time our failure to pay attention took us up north into Red Cloud, Nebraska.

NERD ALERT!

Red Cloud, Nebraska, was home to none other than Willa Cather, whose books I really, really love. I know it's not her most popular, but I am a huge fan of "Song of the Lark," in which the prairie features heavily. You can definitely see the influence of the prairie on her work, and from the picture on the left (which is of the Cather memorial prairie) it's easy to see how it can burn its way into your heart. However, the denizens of Red Cloud were less than impressive.

We were pretty hungry at this point, and went to a little bar and grill. We didn't know whether it was a seat-yourself establishment, so we sat at the bar, figuring it would be the easiest. The bartender, Cody, came over, barked "What d'y'want?" and then slapped a pink flyswatter right next to my hand, promptly smushing a fly on the bar. (He did this several more times.) We'd been driving for a while and had some serious biological imperatives to deal with, or we would've left, so we both ordered a diet pepsi (slam, slam here you go, grunt, "WHAT ELSE?") and then we asked for menus. (Slam, slam, what you want?) I tried to make small talk, but Cody was not interested, and by the time Lizzie and I had hit the ladies' room, our food had been unceremoniously dumped in front of us.

While this was going on, there was a huge crowd of people talking politics, and they were so hateful and ignorant that I suddenly lost my appetite. There's room for all sorts of political leanings, but racism, sexism and homophobia shouldn't figure in. The whole environment was hostile, so Lizzie said "Sir, can we have the check?" to Cody, who screamed at her "DON'T CALL ME SIR." and we paid and took off, heading back south. You are no Neighbors Rosicky, people.

Thrift+Patience=death

Not too far away from the geographic center of the contiguous 48 states is the world's largest ball of twine. The title of this post is a play on the sign outside the ball of twine, which is Thrift+Patience=Success. I was informed by my friend Lisa that the man who constructed this ball of twine died from emphysema from the fibers he inhaled while putting it together. The poor man died constructing a ball of twine. Sure, it is the largest ball of twine, but, as Lizzie evilly suggested, we could outsource the production of an EVEN BIGGER ball of twine, which change Cawker City's claim to fame to "Second Largest Ball of Twine in the World" and then poor Frank Stoeber would have died in vain. Cawker City doesn't have much else going for it. It's "Ball of Twine inn" (Thank goodness we're staying with Erin's folks, or Lizzie and I would've been like "ha ha let's stay there, wouldn't that be fun?" and the ball of twine inn was more depressing than the shack'n'up inn from Mississippi--we would've wanted to die) "Ball of twine commerce center" "Ball of Twine antique shop," Etc, etc. Without the ball of twine, poor Cawker City would probably disappear from the map.

Also, fun fact, the ball of twine STINKS. Erin mentioned that it stunk before we left, but it was really something we had to experience before fully appreciating it. Ugh. Frank, how did you not wear a gas mask during its construction? I stopped construction on my own string ball, because if I'm going to blow out my lungs, it's going to be from singing loudly in the car on our road trips. (That is Lizzie's favorite part of our trips, rest assured.)

Please don't kill us with lightening

Dear God,

Lizzie and I are very sorry about the photo in the previous post. We are contrite, and no one thinks we're funny anyway. Please accept our sincere apologies.

Geographic Center of the Contiguous 48 States

Today we had many adventures! We went to the duck race in the morning, and then Lizzie and I took off for the day while Erin stayed at home to catch up with the rest of her family who had arrived for the last day of the rodeo. First stop was the Geographic Center of the Contiguous 48 states. Now faithful readers of this blog will know that Lizzie and I went to the 4 corners a few years back, and faithful readers will also know that one of our favorite commenters, my Dad, has vociferously contested that achievement, as new surveying has led to the discovery that the actual 4 corners border is a few miles from the monument. (Screw that, we are not going back there.) Since our 4 corners experience was a lie, we figured the next best thing we could do was hit the geographic center of the 48 contiguous states.

It was about a 45 minute drive from Phillipsburg out to Lebannon, where the site is located, and on the way we spotted a sign on the highway that was like "OMG GEOGRAPHIC CENTER." We screeched to a halt, ran out, ready to take our picture with the sign, but then we read it, and it was like "Hey, just kidding, the actual Geographic Center is like, three miles away in a park." We (maturely) took our pictures flipping the sign off, and then continued on our way.

We made it to the real geographic center, and it was seriously awesome. There was a monument (of course) and also a Baptist chapel, where we celebrated our geographical acheivement by taking respectful photos in said chapel

Put all your ducks in a row

Today was duck race day. Erin, Lizzie and I were led to believe that we had a hot tip on a duck that was absolutely sure to win the race. We placed our bet, confident in our pick, and it turns out we was robbed. Some little duckie's gonna be sleeping with the fishies tonight. Well, you know what I mean.

Hats! Hats! Hats!

Guess which one of us is the villain?

Scandal!

Dexter is cheating on me with Lizzie. Did they think I wouldn't find out?

Alcohol is where you yeast expect it.

"I'm sorry, but it looks like your roof beams are just infested with termites. We're going to have to tear the whole thing down. It's gonna be 'spensive, hope you've got yer 401k in order."

Yesterday morning(ish) we went for a tour of the Ethanol plant that Erin's Dad runs. We got to wear hard hats, and mine was inspected by someone named "Chuckles," which really made me feel secure. Erin's Dad is a genius, and explained the running of the plant through a pretty excellent digestive system metaphor, which meant there was lots of room for scatalogical humor. We also discussed the nuances of yeast poop, and how it relates to alcohol (ethanol and the kind that you drink as well. Toast up me hearties! Yer tankard be filled with yeast droppings!)

After the plant (which smelled like beer and bread) we went to a local restaurant called the Chubby Pickle. I, of course, had to buy a chubby pickle t-shirt after we had eaten, and had an awkward exchange with the cashier:

Cashier: Is that for here, or to go?
Me (holding t-shirt): I'm sorry?

Cashier: Is that for here, or to go?

Me: Oh, we already ate.

Cashier: YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR IT.

At first I thought she was joking, but I figured if I started laughing it would make things worse. Who knew the Chubby Pickle could be so angry? I wonder if she meant I had to wear the T-shirt in the Chubby Pickle, and the Chubby Pickle alone. (The Chubby Pickle Alone sounds like a book about Adolescent Hygiene).

We went on to Hays, did some shopping, came back and gussied up for the rodeo. The events were the same, but the mutton busting still made me want to die from laughing. If I ever need to cast a patronus (NERD) I would just visualize that. We also saw this one bronc rider dislocate his arm. Ouch.

After the rodeo was the rodeo dance, and while we danced with one corn husker, the rest of the cowboys were too scared by the rock and roll music to kick their heels up. The same band is on again tonight, and hopefully they'll learn some country music so the crowd doesn't ride them out on a rail tonight.

Rodeo Day One: Commentary

The rodeo started about 7:30, beginning with a show by the Prairie Dusters, a ladies' team of trick riders. Next came bare back bronc riding, then some steer roping, some saddle bronc riding, team roping (wink), barrel racing and bull riding. It was rather exhilerating seeing people getting tossed off and trampled by gigantic animals. The cowboys were really impressive (and cute. Also cute) and sometimes there was some big angry bull ambivalence, which cracked me up. The creepy rodeo clowns would try to bait them, and the bulls would be like "would you like to discuss the consequences of the latest debt ceiling deal on Washington?" and the clowns would be like "LOOK I HAVE A STUPID HAT." Unfortunately, nary a clown got gored.

The first night of the rodeo is 'Tough Enough to Wear Pink" night, and Erin's Dad's company gives a dollar for breast cancer research for every person who comes in wearing pink. There were probably about 2500 people, and most were wearing pink. We did a Pass-the-Hat right before the bull riding, and the audience were Lizzie and I were stationed was not very generous. They also had horrible children who had been kicking us in the back all night, so I think it's only fair that we raise the money they didn't donate by holding a "Kick the Small Child" punting contest. I would've anted up to participate--betcha I could've launched one at least halfway across the arena...

This probably isn't going to end well

How dare you laugh at me and my nipple rings?

Unsurprisingly, the crowd was not into this guy here.

Steer Wrestling

I heard it's totally fake and that they're working of scripts.

More Rodeo Magic

Bronc Riding