In the clouds.
We decided to go camping, so we gathered our sleeping bags, flashlights, bayonets, s'more ingredients, bear repellent, firewood, PBR, and tactical nuclear weapons, and piled them into the vehicle before trekking into the wilderness (re: there were multiple trees in the vicinity). The amount of supplies we took along for the one night stay was rather obscene, but not nearly as obscene as your mom's face.
Due to the massive FIB influx, all the campsites within the Devil's Lake campgrounds were booked, so we were relegated to staying all the way on the other side of the street, in a fairly decent campground called Nordic Pines. After setting up the tent, we went back into the park. The weather was a stifling 18000 degrees as we began our hike up the western bluff of Mt. Doom, but the views were spectacular as always.
Breathtaking scenery.
The lake was cool too.
On the way back down, the humidity lightened and we had a pretty decent breeze. We made our way around to the south shore to rendezvous with a chili dog and another friend who was at the park that day as well. After a brief cool down in the lake, where Kristin and I utterly failed to dazzle anyone with our lack of frisbee abilities, we chilled on the shore and took in some sun.
Then it was back up the eastern bluff. More picturesque sights, and a fair amount of rocks:
Rocks.
Also, the water was doing some sort of wicked ripple effect, as depicted here:
We decided to skip the Devil's Doorway and other surrounding attractions for the day, as we would do more hiking the next day. So we headed down across the bluff, and on that historic voyage, Cake Day was formed. Feeling good about the hiking experience and the prospect of grilled brats and cake on the horizon, we headed back.
One brief stop to WalMart later, and bad-ass chocolate truffle cake was secured:
Bad-ass!
Then back to the camp site. No sooner had the brats hit the grill than the heavens opened and began to rain on our goddamn parade. But we persevered, eating the brats inside the tent, and followed them up with the first of what would promise to be several helpings of phenomenal cake. The rain let up after awhile, and we (re: Kristin) built a fire. Through sheer pyromaniacal genius, she was able to build us an impressive display of fire, and thus began the roasting of marshmallows. The scent of 'mallow in the air inevitably attracted a stampeding horde of bison:
Interlopers.
We then fought the bison to a Mexican standoff (re: we kicked their furry little mallow-stealin' asses) with only our bare hands, and some sizeable branches we retrieved after Kristin punched through a tree. The bison scurried off, and we toasted our success with s'mores, and/or cake.
But the celebration was short lived, as the rain rolled back in. We grabbed all the essentials and retreated (in a guns blazing, very non-French fashion) back into our tent. It poured pretty steadily for the next few hours, and soaked through while we were trying to sleep, so that we were still getting a little damp.
Fortunately, by the time we awoke, it was STILL RAINING, so we stayed in the tent to wait it out. When it appeared the storm had more patience than either of us, we once again gathered our respective important shit and hopped in the vehicle to head home. We didn't get to do round two of the hiking, which was disappointing. But we did plenty the first day, and rumors have already surfaced as to continuing the Devil's Lake excursion for my birthday in October, a storied tradition established back in 2005.
Sunday was still pretty awesome. A little Firefly, a little cake, lunch with friends at a needlessly busy restaurant, a return visit from the esteemed Mr. McNamara. Then KH and I fired up the grill once more, this time in prime sniping position from the roof of her apartment, a previously unknown and seriously kickass location overlooking Lake Monona. More brats, more cake, more fantastic company. Then more friends, watching poker, messing with the good folks at Milios, a trip to Cold Stone, a trip back where certain people began to shout loudly and publicly a description of fellatio at the naive urging of the rest of us. Then, long goodbyes, and a longer drive back to O-town, where the real world awaits.
Summer, summer, summertime.....
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