This is the Shorts and you're listening to the Jert-Bike Diaries.

Adductate the near production.

With additional support from New Belgium Brewing, Kuat Racks, and Patagonia.

I showed up 30 minutes late for my first deep sea sailing trip on an empty stomach with

not a drop of water to ease my hangover.

I brought a pair of sunglasses I'd snatched off my bureau, hoping they'd hide the evidence

of my drinking from Tony and his professor.

Tony stopped pacing the deck when he spotted me.

The grey go teed Gary nodded and smiled as I shouted my apology toward the dock.

We need to get an early start because there could be weather coming in later, Gary declared,

and untied the rope that tethered us to the land.

We glanced at the sky like Wiesend Fisherman.

The gorgeous blue shot through my eyeball like a knife.

Tony gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, you are dead.

I cringed and hugged him back.

It was like hugging an inverted broomstick.

We were an odd pair.

He was a gangly six feet tall with bristly hair over coke bottle glasses and a proud Roman

nose.

I supported a bleach blonde mohawk and wore enough eyeliner to make the pharaohs proud.

He'd arranged this sailing trip with his mentor, a physics professor and avid sailor, because

he thought my social graces would help his chance at a student job in the department.

...