#but actually it's the one time fog rolled in on the fest and rain started falling

[ardate]

Party San Open Air 2023

[wolf-in-a-suit]

Demon’s Deal

If your interested in more: Then check out Big brothers blues. ;)

Part 2 is up: ‘Mr. Crowley’

Figures- you thought, the truck speeding directly at you, its headlights reflected in the Impala driver’s window - not: ‘oh my god’, or: ‘please don't let me die’, just a detached 'figures'.

Well, to be fair it had been one of those days where the spilled cup of coffee, the ignored alarm clock and a pissed of Dean borrowing you his car, to make it in time, felt like the harbingers of a violent death. Although normally that was your mind just being overly dramatic, mourning your caffeine fix that was seeping into the cracks of the kitchen floor.

Seemed like today was your lucky shot!

Crash. The sound of glass splintering, steal being bend and things cracking with an unhuman sound echoed in the pouring rain. Still, the only thought running through your head was: 'Dean is gonna kill me!'.

The sharp smell of iron struck your nose, if from the car wreckage or the fluid dripping down your head you couldn’t tell.

The crushed interior of the Impala was fuzzy, you blinked in order to regain some focus and started to access you situation.

The car door was bend, as was the hood of the car, crushing you into the driver’s seat.

Arms!?: Check. You tried to wiggle free but to no avail. Feet?: No response. Now you felt the claws of panic drag up your spine and clutch your neck.

'Okay don't lose it. Sam has been over this with you a thousand times.' First step: Get help. But your hopeful look out of the windshield, toward the other truck, revealed an unconscious, bleeding driver slumped over his steering wheel.

Phone! Where was it? You searched through your pockets and realized that you had simply snatched one of Dean’s jackets leaving your phone behind in the process . A unusually high laugh escaped you- well of course, otherwise a car accident would be too boring now, wouldn’t it? - the laugh gained in speed and soon turned to choked sobbing. Shock the rational part of your brain said- 'Shut up nerd, no one cares!' the other side shot back.

Each movement became more exhausting. There was a lead weigh hanging on your eyelids, pulling them down. Darkness engulfed you.

"Having an enjoyable day my dear?" A smooth voice pierced through the black veil of sleep- or possibly something else. There was a few seconds of silence. The voice, now with an inmarginable hint of a hitch continued: "Now, now ignoring a visitor is just bad manners love."

With an annoyed growl your eyes opened. The source of your aggravation sat in the passenger’s seat, dressed impeccable as always, a stark contrast to the wreckage that had been the car.

"Crowley, what the hell are you doing here?" A sudden emotion slithered across his face but was soon replaced by that constant smirk. Had it been concern- no way, that had to be the blood loss speaking.

"Well, just popping in really. Seeing how my favorite Winchester is doing?" He simply ignored the dubious expression on your face at the word ‘favorite’.

"Since you're already here, 'just popping in', how about you get me out of here?"

The edges around your vision began to blur again. "I'm afraid I can’t do that love."

"What's that supposed to mean? Is this a sick 'haha‘ I-told-you-so-now-I'm-going-to-watch-you-bleed-to-death-gloat-fest?"

The demons expression couldn't hide that this had stung. "No, I can’t because you would bleed to death… and as talented as I am, I'm not a healer. So sit..." he regarded your predicament and with spite:"…tight. Help is already on the way."

With that he turned to the window, watching out onto the rainy road and muttering. "What does she take me for? I'm the king of hell not some..."

Now you were pretty sure you were dying because feeling guilty for Crowley, sure spoke for some heavy internal bleeding-most probably in your brain.

'Fuck it! If I die some company is better than none!'

"Sorry... I'm a really shitty host. I didn't even offer you a drink." The demons head turned and you saw that your apology had been received. A wave of dizziness hit you and your eyelids slid shut. ‘Just a few moments’.

"Now what would your dear brothers say to this pathetic show of discipline, hmm?" That little shit! It was so hard, but the anger gave you the strength to fend of the gaping darkness.

"Your bedside manner sure sucks Crowley! If you try to keep me awake you could be at least a bit nicer about it." He leaned in stopping inches from your face. "And what fun would that be?" Clank. Your head came to rest on the steering wheel. "Some fun we have…”

So tired... No! Sam and Dean always fought through everything live- and also death you supposed - threw at them. Damn it, you were a Winchester too! ��So 'suck it up and fight back' Dean would say, if Sam was here he'd say 'just hold on as long as you can… and then some more'. The pain slowly made itself known, like a white hot iron dragging itself upward your spine. Sam and Dean would... you Idiot!

Your brothers would make sure that at least the other guy walked out alive! With a groan you turned to the cocky demon. "Crowley I need you to do something for me."

"And what would that be?"

The short nod of your head to indicate the truck, hurt like hell. Pain was good, numbness was the enemy here, right?

"Get the other guy to a hospital if you can." At last a familiar sardonic look placated his face. "Darling, I'm not Mother Theresa. That guy is none of my business, unless he has a really charming personality: In which case I'll meet him below later."

Determination swept into your eyes, mixing with a pleading glimmer. "Please... do it for me."

"No."

"Crowley… please!"

"I SAID NO!" The scream broke through the well-crafted mask and left his face red. "I'm not going to leave you alone!"

...

Finally you figured it out: All this teasing in front of Sam and Dean wasn't all for show then. "Please Crowley, if he dies I'd never be able to forgive myself..."

His expression was cold marble. "... or you for that matter!" There was a small change around his eyes. Brown irises held yours and you were surprised at their warm quality. "No."

"Okay so make a deal with me then demon!" An intrigued flicker flared to live in the earthy depths. "And what would that be?"

"You'll help the driver and I'm not gonna die on you here." As a new wave of pain swept over you, you added: "At least I'll wait until you're back."

Seconds passed but all this felt like infinity to you.

"Alright, but you know there is no way out of such a deal right?" At the roll of your eyes he leaned in once again, a small grin growing behind his beard. "So let's seal this deal properly darling." "No way, I’m not gonna do that!”

His grin turned feral. "Well, I suppose you’re more the ‘filling out the paper work’ kind of gal then?"

...

Who were you kidding? You didn’t even stop to see if you had signed away your organs when accepting license agreements.

"This is actually the cheapest way a guy, even a demon, could hit on a girl! Let's get this over with creep."

The man was startled when you took the initiative and closed the gap between the two of you.

It was just a kiss- lips moving against lips- but after a second, a tenderness bleed into the action accompanied by an unspoken promise. Separating he took one last glance at you. "Remember the deal love!" A second later you looked at an empty seat.

The rain increased beating on part of the still intact roof, dripping down the bend metal and engulfing the interior in wetness. The pounding created a steady beat that felt increasingly far away to you.

Fog sweeping around the ground painted a desolate scene. Under shots of pain you wiggled deeper into Dean’s jacket, the smell of his familiar cologne washing over you soothingly. Just rest for a few seconds... the hunter closed his eyes.

Masses of water pounded now with an angry ferocity, but a small ray of sun escaped grey clouds and painted the forest in an ire red glow.

[biketrash]

New Year’s Resolution

 “New year, new me” How many times have you heard that? It’s a good mantra I guess. I kinda like the old me. Speaking of old, December brought yet another birthday. Forty-six so far (counting the actual day I was born). That’s forty-six New Years. While I don’t care for a new me, I did want to start my forty-sixth orbit of the sun off right. Elite Bicycles of Tyler was riding old Stagecoach road out of Marshall on day one of 2017. That sounded like the right I was looking for. My wife was on board. Let’s do it!  Marde and I were able to sucker our friends, Donald and Amanda into joining us. Scatter morning showers didn’t deter us. This was after all a rain or shine event. It was expected to clear up anyway. Loaded in my truck, we made our way to Lowe’s parking lot in Marshall. It looked mostly empty. A concerning sign for a ride scheduled to take off in fifteen minutes. Did we miss a memo? Perhaps a cancellation was necessary? Maybe they just moved the start time back a bit? There’s a truck with a bike on back! Hey, I recognize that truck too. If there was a memo, Tim didn’t get it either. As we are unloading bikes, Sam pulls up. Our group is growing. One after another, bike carrying cars begin pulling in. We are soon 20+ strong. With all the non squares in attendance, we rolled out of the lot and headed east on Poplar. The first ride of the year had begun!

From L-R behind me: Donald, Amanda, Tim, Sam.

 The damp air rushed across my body as the tandem picked up speed. I am glad I didn’t carry through with taken off my long sleeve shirt back at the truck. I had certainly thought about it. Much descending didn’t allow for warming up. The fact that we’ll be climbing all this later does cross my mind. Tandems are supersonic down hill machines. Marde and I coast through the group. We are passing people I know are my superior fitness wise. Thankfully arrogance is kept at bay with the occasional elevation correction. As soon as the road levels out or, Heaven forbid turns uphill, the Jones pair is put back in our proper spot on the cycling pecking order. Tandems don’t climb well. Lynette, on her single speed, eases past Marde and I on the climbs before we ease back past her on the next drop in altitude. Back and forth we go as we continue on Poplar towards Stagecoach.  At the start of Stagecoach, the stretched out gang of cyclist regroups. From here we say goodbye to the pavement. Dirt will be our friend for the next several miles. As per usual, the tandem finds it’s rightful place at the back of the pack. Here Marde makes a new friend. A Great Dane mix is walking the road. On all fours, he is tall enough Dirk Nowitzki could pet him without stooping over. Even though we are already behind our group, we must stop and scratch his ears before continuing on. 

We couldn’t NOT pet him...

 The dirt surface of the road is fantastic. Deep cuts in the landscape put us between tall clay walls as we pedal away from Marshall. A misty fog hangs in the trees all around us. A fitting look for a road some claim to be haunted. The ghost of fitness past is the only thing scaring me though.

Creepy and cool

Tires deserve dirt

 Mile eight brings the fork in the road that will make this ride a lollipop. An out and back with a loop in it. Large logging machines sit idle as the Lumberjacks are off for the holiday. A couple in the group bid us farewell as they turn back down the lollipop’s stem and head back to Marshall. We take the left fork towards Karnack and speed down hill. Once again the tandem gets delusional and weaves in and out of some faster riders. Soon enough it loses it’s gravitational advantage and falls back.

Eight miles in

 Regardless of how far back we fall, this Tyler group occasionally stops and allows us to rejoin. Even when I assure them it’s OK to drop us, they stop and wait. “I like the rest!” one claims. Even then, they give us time to rest once we roll up. Leaving one stop, a rider takes a tumble. It’s akin to tripping as you stroll down an empty hallway. The road is flat and featureless. He laughs it off and remounts his beautiful Salsa. With weight back on it, the front tire flattens out on the ground. Ah, there was something there after all. Not fully flat, it was suffering from a slow leak. Once we knew he had all he needed to get it up and rolling again, we opted to push on. Far slower, we knew he’d catch up with the tar fast tandem in short order. 

A few spots were flat

The bad kind of flat

Tim on a break away

 As we near Karnack, we are reintroduced to pavement. With asphalt comes faster speeds. Even though we are faster, so is the Salsa. As predicted, he passes us without struggle. A left turn takes us to a Family Dollar. Most find calorie replenishment. A few take advantage of the reheat opportunity. One guy reminds us duct tape is versatile. A lack of bike bags does not deter him from continuing on with powdered donuts, Pringles, and a cold one for later. I see a bike tour in his future with that kind of ingenuity.

Dollar pit stop

A powdered form of genius 

 The group prepares on the return trip back to Marshall. Realizing they were planning on simply retracing their tracks, Marde suggests continuing the loop we’d already started. It would actually be shorter. The group elected to split. The ones aching for more aching chose to return the long way back. Those of us gripped in a sense of leisure chose to finish the loop. They had the advantage of aggressive speed. We had the shorter route. 

Worth every pedal stroke

 The logging equipment marks the end of the loop. The faster group will also come by here from the other way. Marde and I wonder if they’ve already beaten us here. Like them, we will be backtracking for here back to Lowe’s. This scenery is worth seeing again. Hills we climbed earlier are now relaxing. Earlier coasting time are now quad burning pedal fests. As we near the end of our dirt road bliss, the fast guys pass us. Well, that answers that question.

This hill was easier the first time

    Back on pavement it is now just myself, Marde, Donald, and Amanda. A couple of miles later, we are back at my truck. Sam meets us there. He had told us about the Longhorn Ammunition facility earlier that day. We discuss it again. Talking about a future adventure at the end of this one. New adventures are not exactly new resolutions for us. It’s what we already do. New year, old me. I like the sound of that. 

The OLD me and the wife