In this, my inaugural post to my travel blog, I wanted to retell a story that I’ve told many times over the years. It will set the tone for the types of stories I like to gather on my travels. Also, it will hopefully get everyone primed for the stories I hope to post during my almost three months in Spain this year.

As for now, here we go:

It’s getting to be that time of year. The sun is out (in most of the country), the barbeques are fired up, convertible tops are down and the motorcyclists are in Hog heaven. Back in July-August of 1997, I was on a long road trip traveling mostly alone, and visiting friends along the way. I drove to Los Angeles to visit Jackie, then to Phoenix where Stacen was working as a traveling nurse, then finally meandered up to Missoula where George was in a Master’s program at the University of Montana.

George is an awesome host. Kind, mellow, with a house full of homemade beer. What more could a girl want? One day as we were trying to figure out what to do with ourselves, he picked up the newspaper to see what was happening around town. His list of possible to-dos read something like: “Die Hard 13, picnic in the park, Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves playing tonight, the Testicle Festival…”

WHA? “Stop right there!” I said. You all KNOW I did. How can ANYONE, after hearing that the Testicle Festival was in town, NOT want to go?

So we piled into Geroge’s rust bucket with the nun in a snow globe hood ornament and off we went.

Now, I find that it’s best to go to these things with no expectations. (Wait, did I just say that? Not like I’d ever been to one of these things before) So, we get there, and realize that this is a rest stop for the er, lively crowd going to and from Sturgis for the big rally. The crowd was Klassy, with a “K”. We got in line for our barbequed Rocky Mountain Oysters behind a guy who insisted they increased his libido.

George of course, hit our meal with gusto and I nibbled at the chewy sacks. Hmmm. Definitely not Mmmm.

George and I still argue over the highlights of the day. He remembers the Harley with two passengers that did donuts around the crowd, because the woman riding two up (that’s Harley speak for riding shotgun) was doing her best Lady Godiva impression, ie:, sans a stitch of clothing. My most retold memory is being called into a panty-strewn bar to witness and help judge a hairy chest contest. The contest lasted about five minutes before quickly degenerating into a hairy butt contest. At that, we beat a hasty retreat out the door, laughing the whole way back to our homemade brews in Missoula.

The 2013 “Testy Festy” in Clinton Montana runs July 31st-August 4th. If you’re in the area, why not stop by and “have a ball”?

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