If you have been following along on our pre-journey to the Put Foot Rally, and might I suggest that you do, you will have heard that our vehicle rolled over into it’s scrapyard grave at just the thought of us coming for it. We feel as though we wield some terrifying power, not to be confused with welding with power. We have no idea how to do that, which would be much more handy, but Handy is not our middle name or even that of our cousin 12th removed. Fear not, when one door is crushed another one rusts, or one man’s scrap is another man’s steed. Something like this proves true as we prepare to encase 3 unreliable men in an equally unreliable vehicle to find our own Fury Road.
The war machine is being constructed to transport us across the barren land. We may leave the doors rusted shut to protect against hijacking by the marauders of South America. A seat is removed in exchange for a refrigerator to carry man fuel and a decent whiskey. Our shelter gloms on and folds out to offer cloth between us and the wildlife who begin chewing the tires and working their way up.
We have packed the essentials. Suit to look dapper. Check. Goggles for no function but to look dapperer. Check. Tools we don’t know how to use, but look capable. Check. Lucha Libra masks to look, well, it’s a look. Check. We almost look the part. Now all we have to do is learn it.
We have explored the land as best we can from afar. In just over a week we will make our escape to learn if the land will swallow us whole or we will make it to home base. Furry road, three hairy beasts dodging wildlife with a dream, and a hunk of metal with a motor. T-minus
Put Foot Rally 2019, Furry Road.