Or as Hayley would say, ' my butt'. While the rest of the free world was enjoying a holiday without petroleum the Steeberts trio hit the highway in search of patriotic freaks, purple mountain majesties, and pyromaniacal firework displays. Our Buick landed in Tacoma at Ingrid and Joe's replete with the 'great food experiment', two tents, taco bell+starbuck's pillage, and of course the ever worshipped Ipod.
We checked all the boxes of our un-stay-cation: Friends, Freaks and Fireworks. We saw an old friend- and by old, I mean OLD! - unearthed a crab hotel on Vashon island, snickered at pirates on Alki Beach, squinted at a Tall ship battle royale, watched two amazing pyrotechnic displays- NEAR! OOOHHH! FAR! WOWWWW!!!- and alliterationally talked about farting. This vacation ends navigating the only roundabout in Yakima listening to the last song of Robert's 'Alphabet Tour' of the Ipod- Widespread Panic. Why did it sound so much like the un-'z'-like Phish?? Yzey Anastasio maybe?
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