Okay, confess. Who else’s childhood involved precariously balanced towers of playing cards, mismatched Legos, and anything else vaguely rectangular? Yeah, me too. So, when my inner architect suddenly craved a Jenga showdown, the quest was on. Bozeman, our mountain haven, promised adventure, not just aisles of plastic blocks. My map app scoffed at my “scenic route” suggestion, but hey, who needs traffic lights when you have meadows bathed in sunset?
We weaved through backroads, dodging grazing cows and marveling at the Madison Range blushing pink in the evening glow. Every twist and turn felt like a scene from a Montana postcard, complete with the soundtrack of crickets chirping and tires crunching on gravel. We even spotted a majestic bald eagle soaring overhead, reminding us that nature was playing its own epic game out there.
Finally, after navigating a maze of one-way streets and side-eyeing suspicious squirrels (those little buggers are ruthless Jenga thieves, trust me), we reached the holy grail: Target. Pronounced “tar-gae,” of course, with the kind of fondness reserved for good deals and the promise of finding anything your heart desires (or in this case, desperately needs).
The toy aisle greeted us with a symphony of plastic clatter and flashing lights. But alas, no Jenga. Our tower dreams seemed destined to crumble like stale cookies. Undeterred, we embarked on a guerilla search mission, interrogating employees with the urgency of seasoned detectives. Each “Nope, sorry” felt like a Jenga block tumbling from the stack.
But then, just as despair threatened to swallow us whole, a ray of light! (Okay, maybe it was just the fluorescent aisle lighting.) Nestled on a dusty shelf, amidst an army of squeaky stuffed animals, sat our Jenga hero. Victory! We snatched that box like it was the last life raft on a sinking ship.
Back home, amidst the aroma of campfire stew (okay, maybe slightly burnt, but that’s another story), we built our tower. Each block, a testament to our backroad odyssey. Jenga pieces clattered, laughter echoed, and the night pulsed with the thrill of victory. Turns out, the real treasure wasn’t just the game, but the winding road that led us there, the shared adventure, and the sunset that painted the sky in shades of triumph.
So next time you’re craving a good game night, remember, the best adventures are often found off the beaten path. Embrace the detours, savor the backroads, and who knows, you might just stumble upon your own version of Jenga (pronounced “jen-gah,” but seriously, who says it that way?). And hey, if you find yourself in Bozeman, feel free to join the quest. Just beware of the squirrels. They’re onto us.
On this day in history, ‘Hey Zeph! Want an Action Wipe?‘ I asked, after cleaning the blood from my shin.
— Saved by a Package, 2013
Boneshakerbike 
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