In keeping with my manifesto’d goal of “doing more outdoorsy shit” and “going places” I took my black ass up to northern Minnesota for the 30th Annual Cuyuna Woodtick Races. I feverishly documented the whole thing so my apologies for the gratuitous photos. Not really, that shit is beautiful. Plus people always complain that I never take pictures of anything I do, so… I did.
What are the Woodtick Races, you ask?
That’s a good question.
I too had no idea what it was when my roommate Travis asked me if I wanted to go. I was under the impression that it was a horse race or a car race with a strange name like The Preakness or The Belmont, but boy was I wrong… was I ever wrong.
The Woodtick Races do in fact involve racing wood ticks. Yes, wood ticks. Those little annoying bugs that latch on to your body and suck the life out of you, are the celebrated icon of this event. A town of around 50 inhabitants swells to around 400 once a year for the preeminent racing event of the season in Central-Northern Minnesota. And let me tell you, when I say its preeminent, it is… it really is.
We arrived to Cuyuna Friday night after a rather interesting drive up. My roomate Travis had been asking all of us to come up to his cabin and specifically to go to the races. After months of asking and very poor planning on all of our parts Travis, myself and around 10 others made our way up north. After stopping for the required roadtripping hotdog we were on our way. I got caught up and reacqauinted with today’s pop music courtesy of KDWB (Call Me Maybe, One Thing, Part of Me, etc. So bad it’s good) and got to see much of the Minnesotan countryside that I’ve gone out of my way to avoid. Kidding.
In any case, we all went up to Travis’ family’s beautiful cabin for the weekend. Super spacious, really nice spot. Stocked with Dew and various other treats. When we got there we went on a nice little ride around the lake on their pontoon, before I made dinner for everyone. Old Fashioned were poured. Tunes were played; all in all a pretty lowkey night. I think everyone was pretty tired from the work week, so we just kicked it, ate, watched a movie and then went to bed.
The next day I got up super early for some reason, made some coffee and breakfast for everyone before we headed into town to hit up the grocery/liqour store. We stopped at the bait shop for fishing licenses and various other accoutrement. It’s always funny for me to go to place like that because I have no idea how to act in them. I had very littel insight into conversations about crappies, asian carp, walleye, slingers, setting, and whatever else they were talking about. I just took pictures and pretended that I had some clue as to waht everyone was talking about. I’m pretty sure I looked like an old pro.
When we returned we all hit the water, chilled in the boat for a bit, went jetskiing, fishing and the like. Mainly, I took this time to start day drinking in preparation for the Woodtick Races.
The races began promptly at 11 am. We arrived via foot by way of pontoon to the races fashionably late, but saw that the races had not quite begun. I was by this point in time a little bit tipsy, and was super shocked when I was called up to the stage (which was a bi-fold table) to sing the National Anthem. Unbeknownst to me, I was volunteered to sing. I got up to the stage having no idea what I was doing up there, was told that I was singing the National Anthem, to which I said, “Fuck yea, let’s do this.” It would’ve been nice if I only remembered all the words. If only… I skipped an entire verse, but regardless, I rocked that shit. I even made the Cuyuna papers!
At that point in time my day had already been made as I have always wanted to be a small town celebrity. And I was. I was kissing babies and shaking hands, signing autographs taking photos the whole shebang. NOT. One simply CANNOT mess up the National Anthem ESPECIALLY in middle America where children literally come out of the womb singing about rockets glaring red. Couple my N.A. fuck up with me being the only non-white person whilst rocking some seriously skimpy orange swim trunks on, I stuck out like a sore thumb. But by then, I was well on my way to Drunktown so I course, did not care. In fact, I reveled in it.
The Woodtick Races were an interesting event. It seemed to make little sense to me, but I was without a doubt absolutely captivated by it. It was like a combination of The Gilmore Girls and The Sons of Anarchy… with hints of Where The Heart Is. There were rows of motorcycles lining Main St along with a handful of small artisanal craftspeople selling their various goods. There were families and teenagers and other random 20-something like us, who had no real reason to be there everywhere.The event was sponsored by the Ironton Fire Department, who provided a full bar, along with a very nice little menu of food the proceeds of which go to support the Fire Department. That’s a cause I can get behind.
I gave my woodtick a name worthy of a true Thoroughbred Horse: In Her Majesty’s Service. Partially in honor of my homegirl Liz’s Diamond Jubilee, but mainly because it sounds really cool. In any case, In Her Majesty’s Service kicked some serious ass. Check out the video below. Travis had some issues with figuring out how to get a camera to work. Genius.
If video doesn’t work click here: http://youtu.be/f4vQb8YcY-Y
In any case myself, Corrina and Marissa were the only three of the entire crew to make it to the next round. Partially because some failed to show up for their turn due to drinking or garage sale-ing at the 7 total houses in town. What can I say… They’re commited to a good deal and to their booze.
The second round was not as succesful for Marissa and myself. Marissa and Miss Tickey were knocked out of the competition after a rather dramatic race. Miss Tickey began the race by… not moving. She sat perfectly still for about 30 secs before actually moving anywhere. She appeared to be napping. She “woke up” and went around in circles for finally getting her shit together, but at that point it was too late. Marissa was rather upset, she spent most of the race verbally assualting Miss Tickey. Slut, bitch, and skank were part of her preferred nomenclature for Miss Tickey during this race. After her loss, she was nearly put to death, but Corrina stepped in to save her life. My little Phocahontas.
In Her Majesty’s Service’s 1st Place aspirations were put out to pasture that same round, when her advancement was uncerimoniously usurped by a man named Ned and his tick Clarice. He was intense. I nicknamed him Cold Steel (pictured above). At this point in time I became acquainted with a lovely couple named Jim and Nan, who have officially become my heroes. Adorable. Old. Amy Winehouse fans. Lovers of day drinking. I could’ve and wanted to hang out with them all day. They were THE best.
Corrina had better luck, as Tick 2 swept the 2nd round races. He was however not skilled enough to advanced through the third round and we all found ourselves losers with little else to do at the races. So we dipped and headed back to the boat. We chilled there for a while, before I decided to head back to the cabin and get some meats marinating and ready everything for lunch and dinner. I was oddly obssesed with feeding people this weekend. I don’t know why. In any case, whilst in the kitchen working on some kabobs my work phone goes off- a phone that I’m damn near contractually obligated to answer- and I cruise straight through a screen door. Classic Thomas. Thankfully the door was easily fixed.
Dinner was phenomenal if I do say so myself. Check it out.
Told you.
The evening was great, more water activites were had by all, I grilled, drank, and listened to some tunes; the making of a perfect night.
At midnight we celebrated Marissa 23rd birthday with an angel food cake. I for some reason am not a big fan of Angel Food cake. It’s almost like a diet cake and I just can’t get behind that. It looks and feels weird. I don’t even know if they put butter in it, and lets face it… if there’s no butter, there’s no point. I have a hard time calling anything a baked good without butter in it. It’s more of a general snack food at that point. In any case it was a nice cake, regardless of my personal vendetta against it and is kind.
Spent the remaining hours of the night and the wee hours of the morning with some pretty solid people. I got to sing some blues (Robert Johnson FTW), which I always jump at.
The next day was part clean up and part Euro 2012 matches. Italy and Spain drew, while Croatia beat the snot out of Ireland. C’est la vie.
When we got back to the cities, most of us headed to Pizzeria Lola in South Minneapolis for a birthday dinner. Interesting place. Not really worth heading all the way to bowels of South Minneapolis but the staff was great so that makes up for the weird location and high prices.
All in all it was fantastic weekend. Hopefully I’ll be making trips like this more often.
tfranswee 