Cox and his mom cruised into town this afternoon on ther way to Portland, yes, that Portland, all the effing way across the continent. Brandon and I met them at Tops on Union and we shoveled greasy lumps of pig fat into our pig-fat holes and quizzed the travelers about their route and Cox’s eventual permanent destination.
It’s a big move to make, and one that would scare me out of my mind. But if anyone can handle it, Cox can. I wish him the best of luck, the safest of trips and the happiest of trails. Oregon trails, of course.
I resolve to use the term “pig-fat holes” as often as it’s ethically possible to use such a phrase.
And by ethically possible, I mean until the people around me start throwing things at me.
Or throwing up, as it were. :)