Close your eyes. Think of the busiest place you can. Preferably an outdoor place and not somewhere like the Tokyo metro in rush hour. Actually, that may be a good place to start. That is Mt. St. Helens on a weekend. The Worm Flows route is a superhighway into the sociological makeup of the Pacific Northwest. Every walk of PNW life is represented on the conga line to the caldera rim. The lack of technical difficulty means you will be entertained. It is also a prime stomping ground for ricking. On Cinco de Mayo no less…
Mt. St. Helens Fiesta Rave
We begin at a humble taqueria outside of Tacoma, Washington. As we’ve seen earlier, the tall rick Kyle, fresh off the boat from his stints in the socialist haven of the Portugese “Republic,” was craving Taco Time yet again. We were not surprised, yet it felt like we were being insensitive to the legacy of the Battle of Puebla. Kit, fresh off lasik, honed in on an auspicious logo on the interstate sign. Like an owl spotting a mouse, this shit was on.
The Mt. St. Helens “expedition” was hatched back in January 2017. Four months of foresight is a rarity among the ricks. On permit opening day, several ricks purchased their permits. Naturally, other ricks did not, and the permits were, alas, sold out leading up the outing. After scheming about forging permits or just going sans-permit, these ricks took an un-rick route and purchased permits through the official permit reselling channels. I don’t usually condone this, but hey, it worked.
Seattle had shattered rain records in the winter of 2016-17. For most stretches since November, it seemed like it would never stop raining, so the optimism surrounding the St. Helens siege was seriously waning.
The ricks convoyed to Mt. St. Helens in no fewer than five cars. Lead, and then-unemployed, rick, Rowen, led the charge and established base camp. His GPS coordinates for the base camp turned out to be a location outside of Mt. Vernon. Silly iPhones. Things were off to a good start.
Judging by the sky, you think we would have just bailed. It was rainy. Cold. Drizzly. Gray. Breezy at times. To brighten our spirits, we utilized the spirits in the car. A milk jug vodka redbull got things kicked off nicely and we were on our way!
Our vodka redbull blood count was now hovering at minimal levels, so this wasn’t going to be easy.
Drizzly gusts blasted through the alpine forest, but the tunes of Diana Haddad and Shireen kept us amped and skinning at a respectable rick pace. Before dark, the red ill-eberg (Hilleberg) was spotted.
From experience, it is best if we do not camp around others. Especially families. That’s never a good idea. The parking lot had been abuzz with folks getting ready to camp and relax. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody played a guitar. That was not our agenda.
A welcome margarita kicked things off.
Kit asked “can we dig a snow cave?” and… well… we began to dig a snow cave. One of the silver linings of the cold spring was there was ample snow at camp. Poor souls in the parking lot, they were missing out.
More booze was drank. More digging dug.
Eventually the Olmsted siblings arrived. By this point, the rave cave was nearly complete. It was christened with a run through its birthing canal. The rave cave was fitted with the finest JBL party starter sound system, benches for sitting, not one but TWO entrances, glow sticks, ceiling decorations, scratch tickets, and, of course, bottle service.
Considerable amounts of tequila later, it was time for bed. Our original wake-up time of 4:30am was now impossible. It was pushing 3 as it was.
Mt. St. Helens: A Classic BN Descent
As dawn broke, the conga line began to coalesce. At first it was a trickle of serious yet gabby city folk, but the hordes had arrived. Group by group they passed our wrecked camp as wrecked bodies lay in the tents. Bit by bit, the ricks assembled, and the party continued. The zombie hordes gazed with envy as the fiery Latin beats bumped through the camp during breakfast.
Tequila sweats are a thing, and with the sun fully out, we felt it.
St. Helens is one deceptive mountain. Unlike most of the other cascade volcanoes, you begin relatively low. So undulating slope after undulating slope began to take their toll. Would we ever get there? The group splintered and splintered yet again. With no party starter to keep the party going, morale was at an all-time low. But the ricks trudged on. In a stunning display of rickdom, all ricks summited in the ping pong ball.
The only thing left to do was to rip the mountain…. naked. WARNING MAN ASS BELOW
The boys nearly went deaf from all the hollering from the ladies. It’s ok, we’ll be back to BN a volcano another day. Follow us to stay posted on our next BN outings 😉
Grant was dehydrated and flirted with puking upon reaching camp, and Kyle was hungry, but aside from that, the ricks had done St. Helens in a clean, respectable manner. They popped a not-so-cold bottle of the finest Andre in celebration. Cheers to you, Mt. St. Helens.
Follow us for more mountain climbing adventures
Oh, but we’re not done yet. No, no, no. That is not the rick way.
Pure Bliss: A Post Ski Rave
A deliberate drive back to Seattle got us ready to pregame properly (at Taco Bell, finally) for the annual trance festival: Bliss.
This was a bit of deja vu for Kyle and Grant. The previous year, they assaulted Mt. Baker. Tanner Hall’s Broken Ankles™ blessed them with calm, sunny weather, so they were able to ski from the summit rim in classic BN style as well. (Plug alert: Stay tuned for the first edition of 50 Classic BN Descents of North America coming to an adult website near you). Anyway, after doing the rick thing, they went to the first iteration of Bliss the same day. The stars aligned this year for a repeat, complete with new experiences and a couple new
addicts attendees. Quite remarkable.
The next few hours were a blur of lasers, pounding 4/4, driving synth, and moving melodies.
The ricks were not satiated, so they rallied on to the after party. There, some heavy trance was laid down by the likes of Dimibo, Nifra and Markus Schulz. Poor souls who didn’t show up…
It was 5:30am, nearly 24 hours since waking up, and the ricks finally, FINALLY, called it a day.