Shelley, Jenna, and Our Bold Hero went up to Pelican Rapids this weekend for the much-ballyhooed Fall Hayride.

This was, as promised, quite the event: the two trailers behind the tractor were packed with twenty-somethings and their coolers, bottles were passed containing hard liquor of an often-dubious nature (one tasted like root beer, another like red hots — the best drink of the night was the swig I took of some honest-to-goodness moonshine), and the ritual song was repeatedly sung.

There was a spread beforehand; Shelley brought her roll-ups and Jenna brought her bean dip. There were also some awesome scalloped potatoes. File them under "and I wasn't even hungry!"

But, tragedy: at some point — most likely after the halfway point (a bar where we had shots — more like double or triple shots, IMHO — of a drink called the Chuck Norris) — I lost my Lawrence hooded sweatshirt. I was unable to find it that night, and we couldn't find it the next day when Shelley graciously drove us past the route.

We left on Sunday after several hours of the Food Network (i.e. personalities on parade), and a feast courtesy of the woman who I assume is Nick's "cool aunt." No regrets, but I think I spent most of this weekend on or in a moving vehicle. I think it's a three-hour car ride, something like that?

Pelican Rapids itself is a strange town; Shelley gave us the tour. Not a real pelican in sight, naturally, but they've got pelicans statues everywhere, just like St. Paul has dinosaurs.

(The pelicans are, of course, far less ugly and stupid. God I hate those dinosaurs so much.)