7 Years 140 days - FUF

0:00Alright, you are back with comedian, boyl, and I'm quitting alcohol. So we're winding up another fucking week, are we first day of October? In two weeks have been in the US one year, an eventful year it has been. I think I'm heading out to Arkansas in October sometime. I'm just getting the confirmation and shit like that for that. So that should be interesting. My mate fucking Sam Kizadukian is in town. So I'm going to meet up with him tonight. The famous fucking artist. If you go back like, mmm, four years when I first moved back from India to Sydney, that's when I met Sam, we became friends and he was like down and out.

1:06Three and a half years ago, let's say it was three and a half years ago. Like absolutely nothing going. Now in that short turn around, he is selling fucking paintings like their hot cakes and he's selling venues, three and a half thousand seat venues in the US. So if you don't think you can turn it around quick, I mean you've got to have talent. You do have to have talent. So that's one thing, but you can turn it around quick if you put your mind to it. Anyway, I'm going to go meet him tonight. So let's bang on with this week's fucked up Friday. So we missed last week. Why did we miss last week? Oh yeah, we missed last week because I was on the media ban and I didn't want to open too many emails and stuff flicking through. So we skipped it and now we're back to it. So if you have a banger of a story, you would like read out on this podcast.

2:10Head to my website, boialcomedy.com. There's a section there for fucked up Fridays for fuck's sake just sending some stories. I'll get to it. So see you there. Anyway, we've got another one from Ryan from Rochester, New York. And he's fed up with it as well. I'm reading Ryan's story again because they're so fucking good. I love his stories, but also he's put a fucking call to arms. He's over it. He's done. He's like, I refuse to write more fucked up Fridays until I hear more stories about fisting best friends, mothers and three sims gone astray. I don't want to keep answering the boyle bat signal. Someone else step up and write some dope shit. If you're all such alcoholics, then prove how bad you were. Pussies. I like it. I like it. Ryan. Anyway, here's his story. This is going to be a banger.

3:10I know he's a proven fucking murderer. Friesy. So let's fucking go for it. In 2016, I rode my bicycle across America alone for the second time. The first time in 2008 was from Virginia to Oregon and had its own plethora of stories, but this trip that I describe was from the state of Washington to Maine. This story takes place in June when I woke up in whitefish Montana and ended my day in West Glacier. After a measly 20-ish miles, I found myself in a bar called Freedias in West Glacier. This is good for me so that I can one, get drunk enough to not care that I don't have a place to sleep and two, find a place to sleep after I drink 20 beers.

4:11Being a bicycle tourist at that age of 36 consists of me getting the feel of a place, finding a local hangout, telling good stories about my adventure across America, and then hoping it will all work out in the end. It was a wild summer. After about six beers, I'm feeling welcome enough, meaning I spend enough money, to ask where I could stay around these parts. A guy named Gary tells me about the bridge I can sleep under. To the bridge I go, I ride to the bridge carrying a six pack of deshoots, beer, and one of my many years, and find about 20 people chilling of the lower middle river bridge or on the rocks

5:12climbing over the railing, leaping into the air with their arms wind milling at their sides until they hit the water with an echoing explosion of white spray mixed with cheering, clapping and laughter. I am drunk, I have nowhere to be and I'm not leaving this fucking place. Things out, most of these people are rough, these high school or college kids working a summer job as rough river guides, guiding tourists down the river, getting drunk in stone, then probably screwing whatever is available in the cabins they stay in for the summer. It's the perfect summer camp movie that hasn't been made yet. A lot of Australians do that, I know a bunch of people that, when they were 18, 19, 20, went from Australia to the US to work in summer camps and they had a fucking ball. I keep drinking in the Montana Sun and someone asked me why I'm out here riding.

6:14I tell them I lost my way that I'm tired of following the rules that I'm more alive the farther I get from home. They all cheer me. Tell me to never leave to become a rafter with my collegiate swimming experience to say fuck it all and start living my life here in Montana. I sit in silence, drink my beer and there's and watch kids do backflips. I watch a black lab wag its tail and jump in the river. I watch a guy and a girl make out before jumping through the air off the bridge and I watch me drunk sitting at home playing video games after working two shitty jobs jerking off in boredom and going to bars alone on a Monday and I start to consider that this could be when everything starts to work out for all ride guy for fucking once in his life and

7:17changes direction. Hey, someone yells as I'm considering this we're going to free the years. Fuck it back to the bar we go. I buy about 10 beers for all the rafters and get drunk and start to ask where I should sleep tonight on my way to the glacier. There is a place a shirtless dude says but it's not somewhere a lot of people know about. He proceeds to give me very specific directions to which I nod my head and profusely thank him not a single vow resonates in my memory. When I stumble out of the bar it's 10 o'clock at night and I am fucked up. I kind of know the direction of what he told me it's basically back at the bridge down some railroad tracks so I very uncomfortantly get on my bicycle with 50 pounds of shit, clothes, sleeping bag, tent, food, more on it and ride the fucking thing into the Montana

8:24wilderness without a map drunk as fuck without a care in the world. Past the bridge I follow the railroad tracks on thick chunky and loud rocks and gravel. The front tires, swerves and slides I fall multiple times in the 3 inch rocks. I grip my hand bars angrily as I dangerously shift left and right through the darkness. I can't see 10 feet in front of me. I have a headlamp but it does nothing to help find the gap I'm looking for through the trees. I'm riding into some serious shit. I find what I think to be a clearing but I can't tell if it's what I'm supposed to be looking for. I'm standing in a silence I've never experienced. I hear my breathing, my heartbeat in the lobes of my ears and the gravel crunch under my shoes and tires and that is all I hear. The fear begins to bubble up that I am in a foreign, dangerous and wild situation and

9:30that I should turn the fuck around and get out of bear country. When I make it back to the bridge it is almost not visible in the darkness. As I approach I consider if I am sleeping directly on top of the bridge or under it in a sleeping bag and start to get off my bicycle when a pickup truck turns the corner and pulls up next to me. Excuse me, comes the voice from inside the cab of the truck. It's old but with a hit of apprehension and uncertainty. Have you seen a raft come by here recently? I tell the voice no and the interior light flips on inside the cabin. The guy has an old trucker hat on and is wearing a faded flannel and ancient blue jeans. He looks like a grandfather like a nickel behind the ear trick type of man. He also looks worried he tells me his wife, his two daughters and his three year old grand

10:35kid are on a raft that hasn't shown up yet. Again, just a reminder I am fucking wasted. Are you supposed to pick them up here? I ask? Yes sir, just down the river, west it here. He tells me through the open passenger window. Okay, I say and get closer to the truck. When were you supposed to be at your designated spot? 830 he says. It's 1030. Holy shit. Have you called the police search and rescue? I ask my words are probably slurring as I ask this quickly. I open the passenger door and sit in his truck. I don't know how to use any of their phones. He points behind and I see in the back seat a pile of cell phones sitting there useless rocks. I pull out my phone and dial 911 after telling 911 who I am.

11:36I give the phone to him and have him explain and I learn his name is Jerry. He says okay a few times hands my phone back. They're on their way he says let's stand on the bridge as extra eyes I say we get out of the truck walk to the bridge it's dark and cold the valley reaches east and fades into the darkness. The water rushes past and allowed whisper Jerry's engine of the truck hums behind us. There are no other sounds just water and fuel. The moonlight barely illuminates the breaking of the rumbling water. This is bad. I try to ask Jerry questions about where he lives his job things to keep him calm but it's me that I'm trying to relax. This is real bad after about 10 minutes of talking about his wife and kids we hear a thumping of some kind in the distance it gets louder and louder than a bright beam

12:37of light shines through the trees in the distance to our right and a helicopter comes barreling through the valley it curves in an arc then circles and circles and the light on the bottom of the helicopter turns and shoots its beam left and right and it circles again and it rises quickly and heads towards the ridge line and disappears behind the trees to the left we can still hear the blades thumping through the valley. I can't tell if that's good or bad. Jerry says they circle a few times I'm willing to bet that's a good sign. Besides if they the helicopter reappears and hovels shine in the bright beam of light directly onto one spot and doesn't move for a few seconds boom got him I say I hear Jerry sigh relieved. We walk back to the truck sit down he thanks me for helping and I tell him it's the least I could do we are not in the truck for more than three minutes when another truck pulls

13:40up behind us and shines its headlights into the rear view mirror. Jerry and I get out and agree by two park rangers one hand each on their guns. If you've never seen a national park ranger then you've never almost pissed yourself. Holy shit they are terrifying I walk slowly up to them my hands up in the air with a smile and introduce myself quickly and then introduce Jerry we learn that his family is fine they are stuck on a rock a mile up river they are going to be picked up from the raft by the helicopter and dropped off at the school just down the road that's where Jerry needs to be right now within seconds the park rangers disappear and Jerry is in his truck he thanks me again and pulls away leaving me in the darkness with the sounds of the blades of the helicopter thumping in and out of range behind me through the silent towering trees.

14:44Well sleeping on the bridge it is then just need to set up my tent and headlights blast over the small hill and blind me momentarily the engine slows as the brakes are hit and the SUV pulls up right next to the path that I took in order to get to the secret campsite the SUV gets parked and sits there engine idling I'm too drunk for this what the fuck is happening do I walk toward the headlights the driver's door opens I can't see it in the blinding light but I can hear it close there are footsteps in the gravel another door opens a headlamp turns on and flitters around like an angry lightning bug inside the cabin of the SUV good sign this person is definitely camping they're wearing the proper gear and they go into the campsite I tried to go to the person turns towards me and I see through the endorphins and alcohol eyes

15:52that it's a woman her headlamp blinds me but I can make out her features the light thinly drapes down around her cheekbones and stops at her jawline there are shadows collecting in the pools around her neck biocolour bone where the straps of her short green dress hang lightly off her tan skin her dress clings to her curves like smooth waves calm slopes and long parabolas of emerald and her thin dress ends just above her knees her calves jut out and her legs curve back into sharp ankles a calm raspy voice says oh hello Andrew Roberts for president oh my god so what happened did you end up fucking this camping bird or was it just some old lady

16:53it was just some old lady wasn't it you've just left it on a cliffhanger you're like oh this lucky bastard he's really living the life but it was just some old fucking coal mining bird and the raspy voice is just fucking 30 years of chain smoking she's 78 I feel like there's a sequel coming on but you definitely know how to write Ryan I enjoy reading your stories they're fucking easy to read out because they're fucking well written that story was more like a a landscape that was a that was a portrait of a landscape more than your traditional fucked up Friday if you know what I mean that had texture and it had color and it just liked a little degeneracy but there was still a little bit in there I still enjoyed it that'll do for tonight enjoy your weekend and I'll see you the fuck light off