Howdy Y'all

As some of you may or may not be aware, last weekend was the Third Annual COG NW Winter Party and Spa Surfing Championship (Shut up Doug.....I did NOT say "No surfing," I said "No Diving."). It coincided with the International Motorcycle Show being held in Seattle. Since I had added a hot tub to the back yard, I volunteered that we view the show, then repair to my place for burgers, a soak, and maybe one or two beers. Or three. Etc.

All was going just fine. Everyone was in the house polishing off the burgers and tater salad and slaw. I was out in back at the CharmGlow, flipping burgers, with my faithful dog, Chanucy the Thunderpup (he's a tad overweight, sort of like his master), at my side. It's dark, with the yard dimly lit from the glow of the house lights and the fat inferno from the burgers.

My periferal vision detects some movement along the tree line. I focus in, and for a split second I feel like I'm going unload in my drawers. BIGFOOT! My keen eyesight and years of Army combat training ("Here ya go soldier, just fill out these forms and Sergeant Reed will process them for ya") take over and I realize it's a guy in a Bigfoot suit. He is trotting along the back tree line, waves to me, then ducks behind a cedar. I yell to Thunderpup, "Git 'em, Chancey!!" 65 pounds of Beagle takes off at a high-speed waddle, snarling and yoping. Beagles don't bark, they yope.

Ol' Bigfoot takes off from behind the tree, and starts jogging around my yard. I open the patio door and yell to everyone to come outside, as Bigfoot is running around. For a minute no one moves, and finally Doug says something about cutting me off. "Well, look for yourself, dammit," I yell.

A bunch come out and we all get a good laugh. Finally, BF comes up on the deck and just stands there. I suddenly relaize I am all alone with him, as everyone has slinked back into the house. Dang, they're probably figuring since it's my house, if Bigfoot's really a deranged Doozy with an Uzi then I should face him. Thunderpup is making a lot of noise, but I notice that he's doing it from a safe distance.

Gulp! He starts to take off his mask. Now that's weird. Up till now I figured it had to be one of the NW COGers. In fact, I was sure it was Jordan, as he always has something up his sleeve. Remember the Grey Poupon schtick? But this guy isn't local. I've never seen him before, except for the fact he looks a little like George Fitch. Oh Mannnn! Where's the Uzi?

The he sez, "What's the matter, Rich. Don't you recognize me? It's George."
"George?" says I (God! I'm quick with a comeback.) "Fitch?" says I.
"Yup" says he.

We start laughing, and I go back inside. Everybody looks kinda surprised that I am not full of 9mm parabellum rounds. I say "You know who that is? It's George Fitch!"

Silence.

One women says "Who's George Fitch?"

. . . . . . anyway, the shock finally wears off, we all go out onto the deck, and everyone has a great time. George, you are a class act. The guy flies three thousand miles with a Bigfoot suit tucked under his arm just to make an entrance at a COG blast.

All had a great time. Doug had a REAL good time. Hey Al, ask Doug who ate his french toast the next day. George stuck around here and we spent Sunday doing a rerun of the bike show and checking out the blackbird and the FG at the Museum of Flight. Hope you made it back to the frozen Northeast, George.

Man, 'I can't wait to see what happens next.'

Rich