Feedback... Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?

One thing I've learned is that everybody says they want honesty... right up until you ask them for some.

I've made changes over the years. I try to improve, learn new things, and be a better version of myself. But every once in a while I find myself wondering...

Am I making the right changes?

You ask people for feedback, and what do you get?

Crickets.

Apparently the loudest thing on earth is silence after asking, "So, what do you think?"

If you think I'm heading in the right direction, tell me. If there's something I could improve, tell me. Just don't wait until six months later and say, "Well... I've been meaning to mention..."

Well, thanks! That would've been useful back when gas was cheaper.

Now, let's be realistic. There are some things I'm willing to change. Maybe I can improve my attitude once in a while, learn a new skill, or stop buying another tool before I actually need it. (Who am I kidding? That's never happening.)

But if someone expects me to completely change who I am just to make them happy, that's usually where I start walking the other direction. I'm all for growing as a person. I'm not interested in becoming someone else.

I'm proud to be an American. I believe this country isn't perfect, but it's given generations of people opportunities to build a better life through hard work, freedom, and personal responsibility. Those are values I appreciate and want to preserve.

People come to America for many different reasons, and that's part of our history. My view is that if you've chosen America because you believe it's a better place to build your future, then it's worth appreciating what makes it different. We can all have different opinions, but if the same ideas didn't create the life you wanted somewhere else, it's fair to ask whether bringing those exact same ideas here is the answer.

At the end of the day, constructive feedback makes us better. Demanding that someone become a completely different person usually doesn't.

So here's my challenge to you.

If someone asks for your opinion, don't leave them hanging. Give them an honest answer—with a little kindness mixed in. You might help them more than you realize.

And if you ask me for feedback, don't worry... I'll probably tell you. Just don't be surprised if there's a joke attached to it.

Life's too short not to laugh while we're trying to improve.

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The Great Power Company Migration

 

Building a new house is exciting. You finally get to the point where all you need is one simple thing... electricity.

Simple, right?

That's when you discover the power company operates on a completely different calendar than the rest of humanity.

You call them.

"Can you hook up the power?"

"Sure! We'll be there sometime between now and the next presidential election."

Finally, the big day arrives.

Around 7:30 in the morning, you hear the rumble.

You look outside expecting one bucket truck.

Nope.

It's an entire convoy.

Bucket trucks, pickup trucks, supervisor trucks, trucks that appear to be supervising the supervisor trucks. It looks less like they're hooking up one house and more like they're preparing to invade a small country.

About ten people climb out.

Coffee cups in hand.

Safety vests glowing brighter than the sun.

The first hour is dedicated to what appears to be the National Standing Around Championship.

Everyone gathers in a circle.

One guy points at the pole.

Another guy points at your house.

Someone nods seriously.

Another guy scratches his head like he's solving world peace.

One fellow walks around the property three different times just to make sure the house didn't move.

After about ninety minutes of intense observation, somebody finally says...

"Well... guess we'd better get started."

At this point, two people actually begin working.

One climbs into the bucket truck.

One operates the machine.

The other eight have apparently been assigned to Quality Control of Coffee Consumption.

Every few minutes one of them wanders over, looks up into the air, says, "Looks good," and wanders back.

As the homeowner, you're standing there thinking, "I could've made breakfast, lunch, and probably supper by now."

To be fair, electrical work is dangerous, and it should be done safely. Nobody wants anyone getting hurt. But from the outside looking in, it feels like the actual work takes less time than the planning committee.

Finally...

The wire is connected.

The meter is installed.

The lights come on.

Victory!

Not so fast.

Now comes Phase Two.

Everyone stands around admiring the completed project like artists who just painted the ceiling of a cathedral.

Doors stay open.

Engines idle.

More conversations happen.

Someone checks a clipboard.

Someone else checks another clipboard just to make sure the first clipboard was correct.

Another ten or fifteen minutes go by before the trucks slowly begin rolling away.

By now, what could have been a couple-hour job has become an all-day neighborhood attraction.

The UPS driver has come and gone twice.

The mailman knows everyone's first name.

Your neighbors are asking if they're building a new subdivision.

In the end, though, when those lights finally flip on, all the waiting is forgotten.

Well... almost.

Because now you're waiting on the internet company.

Good luck with that.

If you've ever waited for utility crews to arrive, you know the feeling. The work itself is important, and everyone deserves to go home safely. Sometimes, though, from a homeowner's point of view, it feels like watching a football game where there's more time spent in the huddle than running the plays.

Here's hoping your next project gets powered up a little quicker... and maybe with just enough trucks to fit in your driveway.

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Happy 250th, America! Try Not to Blow Your Fingers Off!

There are few things that scream America louder than firing up the grill, hanging out with family and friends, waving Old Glory, and watching fireworks light up the night sky. This Fourth of July isn't just another holiday—it's a celebration of 250 years of a nation that has overcome challenges, built opportunities, and inspired people around the world.

Being a patriot doesn't mean believing everything is perfect. It means appreciating the freedoms we have, respecting the people who sacrificed to protect them, and doing our part to leave the country a little better than we found it. Our republic has faced disagreements and difficult times throughout its history, and every generation has debated the direction the country should take. That's part of living in a free society. The important part is that citizens stay involved, vote, speak their minds, and work to preserve the principles they believe in.

Now, enough of the serious stuff. Let's get to the important business...

The Official Fourth of July Survival Guide

Step 1: Fire up the grill. If you can still see the burgers through the flames, you're doing just fine.

Step 2: Tell at least one terrible dad joke. It's basically required by the Constitution... probably.

Step 3: Wave the American flag with pride.

Step 4: When your cousin says, "Watch this!"... immediately take three giant steps backward.

Step 5: Remember that fireworks are meant to go UP. If they're heading sideways, congratulations—you've invented neighborhood-wide cardio.

And for the love of hot dogs, please don't try to catch a firework. They're pretty. They're loud. They are not baseballs.

Emergency rooms already know what this weekend looks like. Every year someone decides, "I bet I can hold this one just a little longer." No, you can't. Keep all ten fingers attached so you can still flip burgers, wave flags, and point at the guy who actually lit the fireworks backward.

Celebrate hard—but celebrate smart.

As America marks 250 years, take a moment to appreciate the blessings of family, friends, freedom, and the opportunity to gather together. Laugh a little louder. Eat an extra burger. Thank a veteran if you have the chance. Watch the fireworks from a safe distance, and make memories you'll be laughing about for years—not explaining to your insurance company on Monday morning.

From my family to yours, have a safe, fun, and unforgettable Fourth of July.

Happy Birthday, America!

Now go enjoy the celebration...

...and let's all agree to keep our fingers where they belong.

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How To Fix Stupid [A Blue- Collar Field Manual]

If you've worked construction, turned a wrench, farmed, welded, hauled freight, or fixed anything with moving parts, you've learned one thing...

You can't fix stupid.

You can patch drywall.
You can rebuild an engine.
You can straighten a bent fence post with enough determination.

But stupid? That's a warranty claim nobody covers.

You know the guy.

The one who asks where the tape measure is while it's hanging from his belt.

The one who spends twenty minutes looking for his safety glasses...while they're sitting on top of his hard hat.

The one who says, "I don't need the instructions."

Three hours later he's got six extra bolts, two bruised knuckles, and somehow the ladder is upside down.

Then there's the customer who says, "It should only take about five minutes."

Sure...if you ignore the electrical, plumbing, missing parts, crooked walls, and the previous homeowner's "creative engineering."

Around the jobsite we have a few unwritten rules.

If someone says, "Watch this," take two giant steps backward.

If someone says, "That's probably good enough," it isn't.

If someone says, "I've been doing it this way for thirty years," prepare yourself for a story that starts with a trip to the emergency room.

The truth is, every tradesman has had a stupid moment.

We've measured twice and still cut it too short.

Dropped the only screw we needed into the deepest crack imaginable.

Walked all the way across the jobsite just to realize the tool we needed was still in the truck.

Gone back to the hardware store three times because we were absolutely positive we had everything.

That's not stupidity.

That's Tuesday.

So, can stupid be fixed?

Maybe.

Start by slowing down.

Listen before talking.

Read the instructions once in a while.

And for the love of all things blue collar...

If three old-timers tell you there's an easier way, don't argue with them. They've already made every mistake you're about to make.

In the end, experience is just another word for "I've done enough dumb things that I finally figured out what works."

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find the hammer that's been in my back pocket all morning.

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"Making people laugh... one jobsite at a time."

s.

The Frustration Tax Nobody Talks About

 

?

You work hard. You show up on time. You care about doing the job right. Yet somehow you're the one charging less than everyone else while working twice as hard.

How does that make any sense?

I've caught myself asking, "Am I running this job, or am I just getting paid like I'm not?"

Then the homeowner asks me questions that make me laugh.

"So...are you in charge here?"

I usually smile and say, "No, I'm not."

What I really want to say is, "Apparently I only get promoted when there's a problem to solve."

The funny part is the owners notice who's actually thinking ahead. They notice who's making sure the work gets done right. They notice who's answering questions before anyone else does.

Meanwhile, I'm standing there trying not to accidentally become the unofficial foreman.

Here's where the frustration really kicks in.

I like doing things once.

Measure it.
Think it through.
Build it right.
Go home.

Simple.

Some people, though, have a different philosophy.

Step one: Guess.

Step two: Build.

Step three: Tear it apart.

Step four: Rebuild.

Step five: Explain why it took all day.

Congratulations! You just invented the world's least efficient construction method.

It's amazing how much extra work gets created because someone refuses to spend thirty seconds planning.

And somehow, the guy trying to prevent the mistakes becomes "the difficult one."

No...I'm just trying to save everyone from doing the same job twice.

Then comes the part that really gets under my skin.

Why do I let people walk all over me?

Why do I keep accepting lower prices because I don't want to lose the job?

Why do I keep telling myself, "It'll all work out," while watching everyone else charge what they're actually worth?

Being dependable shouldn't come with a discount.

Doing quality work shouldn't mean you're expected to carry everyone else's load.

There's a difference between being humble and selling yourself short.

I'm still learning that lesson.

The truth is, experience has value.

Thinking ahead has value.

Solving problems has value.

Preventing mistakes has value.

One day you realize you're not expensive...

You've just been undercharging for the amount of headaches you save everyone else.

Maybe the biggest lesson isn't learning how to swing a hammer or read a blueprint.

Maybe it's learning that your time, your knowledge, and your peace of mind are worth something too.

Until then, I'll keep trying to do the job right the first time.

Because fixing someone else's shortcut might build character...

...but I'd rather build the project.

Keep smiling, keep laughing, and don't forget to stop by Shop With Chuckle—where at least the jokes don't need to be redone twice!

I'd Rather Shake Hands Than Throw Punches

 

People are always surprised when I tell them I've never been in a fight. That's right—not one. Growing up, you'd think there would have been at least one schoolyard scuffle or parking lot showdown, but somehow I managed to keep my face looking exactly the way it came from the factory.

Now don't get me wrong. I enjoy watching MMA. Those athletes are on another level. They train for years, know a hundred different ways to fold a human being like a lawn chair, and somehow still hug each other after trying to rearrange each other's facial features for fifteen minutes. That's talent... and probably a pretty good ice pack.

Me? My fighting style is a little different.

Step one: Stay calm.

Step two: Realize nothing good comes from explaining to the police why someone is wearing your boot print on their backside.

Step three: Wait for the other person to cool off... or simply walk away.

It's amazing how many problems disappear when somebody finally runs out of things to yell about.

I've never believed that every disagreement has to end with somebody swinging. Most arguments aren't worth bruised knuckles, black eyes, or explaining to your boss why you look like you lost a boxing match with a lawn mower.

As a carpenter, I already wake up sore enough. The last thing I need is to add, "punched in the jaw by a guy arguing over a parking spot" to the list of reasons I need ibuprofen.

Sure, I don't back down easily. Standing your ground doesn't always mean standing toe-to-toe. Sometimes it means having enough self-control to let someone else have the last word while you keep your dignity—and all your teeth.

Besides, if I got into an actual MMA cage, the announcer would probably say:

"In the blue corner... weighing in at 'just wants to go home'... introducing Chad!"

My game plan would be simple:

• Dodge.

• Breathe heavily.

• Wonder why the cage door suddenly seems so far away.

• Hope the referee mistakes me for the ring announcer.

Life gives us enough battles without volunteering for extra ones. I'd rather spend my weekends exploring back roads, working on projects, or grilling dinner than comparing medical bills after a pointless fight.

If someone wants to argue, they can have at it. I'll be the guy walking away, still smiling, because the best fight is usually the one that never happens.

After all, I've made it this far without throwing a punch. I'd say my undefeated record is doing just fine.

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Dear Politicians: This Isn't Your Personal Piggy Bank

 

I sometimes wonder if some politicians look at taxpayers the same way a kid looks at a piggy bank. Need another program? Shake the piggy bank. Want another study that takes three years to decide the sky is still blue? Smash the piggy bank. Can't balance a budget? No problem—there's always another taxpayer who got up at 5 a.m. to go to work.

Meanwhile, the average American is trying to figure out why eggs cost more, gas jumps around like it's on a trampoline, and every bill seems to arrive faster than payday.

Here's the funny part. Most of us don't need a committee meeting to figure out how life works. We know that if we spend more than we make, eventually there's a problem. We know that promises don't pay bills. We know that borrowing forever isn't a retirement plan.

Americans have been governing themselves every day without realizing it. We raise families, run businesses, help our neighbors, coach little league, volunteer at churches, build homes, repair cars, and somehow manage not to hold a four-hour meeting every time someone wants pizza for dinner.

Public servants are supposed to remember the important word in that title: servant.

When people feel ignored, they naturally start asking difficult questions. If the folks doing the hiring—the voters—keep saying, "This isn't working," but nothing seems to change, frustration grows. It starts to feel like the club protects itself before it protects the people who sent everyone there in the first place.

Have you ever noticed how politicians can spend months arguing on television, calling each other every name in the dictionary, then somehow agree that none of them should face serious consequences? Suddenly they're all teammates protecting the locker room.

Imagine trying that at a regular job.

"Sorry, boss. I missed every deadline this month."

"No worries. We all voted that you're still Employee of the Month."

Construction sites don't work that way. Farms don't work that way. Factories don't work that way. If the roof leaks, you fix it. If the tractor breaks, you repair it. If you don't do your job, eventually someone finds someone who will.

Government shouldn't be any different.

Maybe that's why so many Americans are asking for more transparency, more accountability, and fewer career politicians who seem to forget who signs their paycheck. The money doesn't magically appear from a government money tree hidden behind the Capitol. It comes from people who work long hours, skip vacations, pack their lunch, and hope there's enough left over to enjoy life.

Here's my dream campaign slogan:

"Treat taxpayer dollars like they're your own."

Now that would be revolutionary.

Until then, I'll keep getting up before my alarm, heading to work thirty minutes early no matter how hard I try not to, paying my taxes, and hoping one day Washington discovers the same budgeting app the rest of America has been using for generations.

Because the American people don't expect perfection.

They just expect to be heard.

And maybe... just maybe... to stop feeling like the piggy bank that never gets a day off.

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The Impossible Mission: Trying Not to Get to Work 30 Minutes Early

 

Every workday starts with the same ridiculous routine.

5:00 AM. The alarm goes off.

Not because I'm one of those motivational speakers who says, "Success starts before sunrise!" Nope. It goes off because I have to convince my body that leaving a warm bed to go earn a paycheck is somehow a good life decision.

The first five minutes are spent negotiating.

"Maybe it's Saturday."

"Nope."

"Maybe it's a holiday."

"Nice try."

"Maybe work got canceled."

"Keep dreaming."

Eventually I drag myself out of bed, stumble to the coffee pot like a zombie that runs on caffeine instead of brains, and begin the daily race against the clock.

Here's the funny part...

No matter what I do, I still get to work a half hour early.

I've tried everything.

I've sat on the couch an extra ten minutes.

I've checked the weather three times.

I've looked in the refrigerator hoping food magically appeared overnight.

I've even stood in the driveway wondering if I remembered to lock the front door...twice.

Still early.

I swear if I intentionally left late, I'd somehow hit every green light known to mankind and still pull into the parking lot with enough time to watch the sunrise.

Meanwhile, there's always that one coworker who screeches into the parking lot sideways with one boot on, carrying breakfast, apologizing because traffic, weather, aliens, or a family of squirrels delayed them.

How?

Teach me your ways.

Being early has become a curse.

You can't just sit in your truck either. Someone always walks by.

"Oh good, you're here!"

Well...I was enjoying fifteen peaceful minutes of absolutely nothing.

Now I have to pretend I wasn't contemplating whether I should just go home and call it a vacation.

The funny thing is, after waking up at five in the morning, working all day, and getting home, I'm too tired to accomplish half the things I wanted to do around the house.

Apparently I can arrive at work thirty minutes early every day...

...but getting motivated to mow the lawn after work? That's where my superpower ends.

Maybe tomorrow I'll finally figure out how to time it perfectly.

Who am I kidding?

I'll probably beat the boss there again.

If this sounds like your morning, congratulations—you've officially joined the "Early Bird Construction Crew." We don't catch worms... we just spend an extra 30 minutes wondering why we left the house so early! 😄

Farming: The Job That Never Clocks Out

 

People always ask, "What do farmers do during the day?"

The better question is... what don't they do?

Owning a farm is like having a giant to-do list that keeps making copies of itself. Before you've finished fixing one fence, another one is leaning over having an emotional breakdown. The tractor decides today is the perfect day to need a new hydraulic hose, and somehow every animal knows exactly when you put on a clean shirt.

I've always loved the old saying, "Your corn should be knee-high by the Fourth of July." That's one of those sayings that's been passed down for generations. It's nature's way of giving you a report card. If the corn is reaching your knees by Independence Day, you're feeling pretty good. If it's ankle-high...well...you start looking at the weather forecast like it owes you an apology.

The funny thing about farming is that every season has its own personality.

Spring says, "Let's plant everything at once!"

Summer says, "Now keep everything alive."

Fall says, "Hurry up before the weather changes its mind."

Winter says, "Here's your chance to rest!" Right before a snowstorm drops a tree across your driveway and the barn roof decides it needs attention.

And don't think farmers get weekends off. Crops don't care if it's Saturday. Cows don't check the calendar before they're hungry. Chickens don't sleep in because it's a holiday. The farm wakes up every single day expecting breakfast, repairs, and someone to solve the newest mystery.

You also learn that nothing on a farm is ever truly broken until you've fixed it three different times. Farmers have mastered the art of saying, "That'll get us through today," knowing full well that "today" somehow turns into the next five years.

One thing I admire about farming is the optimism. Every spring, you put tiny seeds into the ground and trust that months of hard work, sunshine, and just enough rain will reward you with a harvest. That's a level of faith most of us could use a little more of.

So the next time you drive past a field of beautiful knee-high corn around the Fourth of July, remember there were countless early mornings, late nights, grease-covered hands, muddy boots, and probably a few colorful words aimed at stubborn equipment that made it happen.

Farming isn't just a job. It's a lifestyle where the work never really ends—but somehow, neither does the satisfaction.

And if you ever think you've finally caught up with everything on the farm...don't worry. The farm has already come up with three more jobs while you were thinking about it.

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The Long Drive to Celebrate 50... Because Apparently Texting "Happy Birthday" Isn't Enough

There comes a point in life when your younger brother turns 50, and suddenly you realize two things.

First... he's old.

Second... wait a minute... if he's 50, that math isn't looking too good for me either.

When the invitation came to celebrate his big birthday, I figured, "No problem." Then I looked at the GPS.

Three... long... hours.

Apparently, my brother couldn't have picked a birthday somewhere around the corner. Nope. He had to live just far enough away that the drive required snacks, gas, another snack, and questioning every life decision that led me to owning a vehicle.

The drive started out great. Music was cranked up, windows down, and I was making good time. About an hour in, I started wondering if I had crossed into another time zone. By hour two, I knew every pothole by its first name. By hour three, I was convinced my truck deserved a participation trophy.

Finally, I pulled into my brother's driveway.

He greeted me with, "Glad you made it!"

Glad I made it? I felt like I had just completed the Oregon Trail.

The best part was staying the weekend at his house. There's something funny about sleeping in your sibling's guest room. No matter how old you get, you're still treated like the younger kid. The only difference is now everyone compares blood pressure medicine instead of baseball cards.

The birthday party itself was a blast.

Turning 50 is a strange milestone. You're officially old enough to complain about the thermostat, make noises every time you stand up, and spend twenty minutes discussing lawn fertilizer like it's breaking news.

Every conversation sounded the same.

"My back hurts."

"My knees are shot."

"I have to get up three times a night."

"Want another piece of cake?"

Absolutely.

Calories no longer count at birthday parties. That's just science.

We laughed about growing up together, remembered the dumb things we did as kids, and somehow every story started with, "Remember when Mom told us NOT to..."

Spoiler alert...

We did it anyway.

Looking around the room, it hit me how lucky we are. Life gets busy. Work gets in the way. Everyone has their own schedules. Sometimes driving three hours feels like a chore.

But after spending the weekend laughing until your stomach hurts, eating way too much food, and making new memories, you realize the drive was the easiest part.

Besides...

If your brother is turning 50, you have to be there to remind him he's officially entered the "making sound effects every time you get out of a recliner" club.

Happy 50th, little brother.

Thanks for giving me an excuse to burn a tank of gas, wear out my backside on a three-hour drive, and spend a weekend full of laughs.

I'd do it all again...

...although next birthday, you might want to consider moving closer.

This kind of birthday only comes around once. The three-hour drive may have been long, but the laughs, stories, and time spent with family made every mile worth it. After all, birthdays fade, but weekends like that become the stories you'll laugh about for years to come.

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Two- Tracking in Northern Michigan: Where GPS Goes to Cry

 

Some people like five-star resorts.

Some people like crowded beaches.

Me? Give me a full tank of gas, a four-wheel-drive truck, and a dirt trail that starts with a sign that basically says, "You probably shouldn't."

Welcome to two-tracking in Northern Michigan.

If you've never been, you're missing one of the greatest adventures money can't really buy. A two-track isn't just a road—it's Mother Nature's version of saying, "Let's see if you packed a spare tire."

The fun starts the moment the pavement disappears. Suddenly, you're weaving through towering pines, crossing tiny streams, climbing sandy hills, and wondering if that bump you just hit was a rock...or someone's old fishing boat.

The best part? Hardly anyone else is around.

No traffic lights.

No rush hour.

No guy riding your bumper because you're only doing 55 in a 55.

Just fresh air, birds singing, and your suspension begging for mercy.

Every turn feels like you're discovering something new. One minute you're driving through a tunnel of trees, the next you're parked beside a crystal-clear lake that looks like it belongs on a postcard.

You start asking questions like:

"Should we go left?"

"Nah...let's see where the sketchy-looking trail goes."

That's the spirit.

Sometimes it leads to an amazing overlook.

Sometimes it leads to a dead end where you perform a fifteen-point turn while pretending you totally meant to stop there.

Either way, it's an adventure.

The beauty of two-tracking is reaching places that most vehicles never will. Your average sports car would take one look at these trails and immediately schedule a therapy appointment.

Meanwhile, you're bouncing along, laughing every time the coffee jumps out of the cup holder.

Of course, there are a few unofficial rules.

Rule #1: Bring snacks.

Rule #2: Bring more snacks.

Rule #3: Never tell someone, "We're almost there." Nobody knows where "there" is.

Cell service? Maybe.

Directions? Optional.

Stories? Guaranteed.

Every trip ends with someone saying, "Remember that giant mud hole?"

Or...

"I still can't believe we found that hidden lake."

Or my favorite...

"I swear that deer laughed at us."

Northern Michigan has a way of slowing life down. Out there, nobody cares what you're wearing, what kind of phone you own, or how many emails are piling up.

The only thing that matters is what's around the next bend.

And honestly...that's a pretty good way to spend a day.

So if you ever get the chance, leave the pavement behind.

Turn onto that dusty little two-track.

Roll the windows down.

Turn the radio up.

Wave at the occasional ATV.

And go make a memory that Google Maps will never understand.

Because sometimes the best destination isn't on a map...

It's wherever that little dirt trail decides to take you.

Now if you'll excuse me, I spotted another trail that says "Seasonal Road."

Those are usually the ones that end with either an incredible view...or a really funny story.

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