Keno's been working up north flyin' snow geese and dropping fuel, pepsi, and ripple chips on every ice flow north of La Ronge for a while now. He's been buggin' me to lend him the Murder Van so he can transport an uber mule of a sled up there so he has something to putt around on until spring. But I'm pretty sure the Murder Van's not quite ready for the abuse that a northern trek would put on'er and I can't afford to not have it running in it's optimal Muleage state. However, today Davey and I sprung the Yammy Bravo Mule from the ground so it can make a mystical journey up north later this week.
First we borrowed the ever faithful Elmer, Keno's community Silverado and head out to the valley where Bravo Mule lays baked in the sun and dirt. But of course Keno hooks us up with an empty truck, so first stop is the 7-11 for gas and ...welll... toquitos of course.
We get out to the farm ok and try starting the Bravo Mule, but it's not happening. I mean even if this thing does make it up north I can't see it getting him too far. It's enough to make even Lee a little nervous. Optimal muleage is one thing, but...
So we hoist it into the back, throw a chain around the skis and head back to town.
Feeling pretty good about the whole thing and thinking we'd made good time, we figure this means Keno owes us a frosty beverage.
So after all that, I think a slow and condescending clap is in order...Bra...vo!