"Before there was a Grind, there were four men, one canoe with a hole in it, and a profound misunderstanding of the Llano River."
A chiropractic legend among the swordsmen. Trevor is a pioneer to the Grind and was smart enough to escape Canada to plant roots in Texas. He recently impregnated his wife on the first try, which the committee notes is statistically improbable and morally suspicious. Trevor will filet your fish on a rock before you've reeled it in. Careful where you hang your hammock — if you're within rope's reach of his, he will try. Twice.
A servant of Google and a recent newlywed. Mark is one of the original four pioneers who launched this mother fucker. He is no stranger to danger, and is also an actual Eagle Scout — the kind of pedigree we want on this trip. Mark recently wrecked his foreign pussy car when an American truck ran him off the road. We believe the American Citizen got tired of seeing a black tampon driving around and did us all a favor. Texas hell yeah. His communal lamp brought joy to the masses. His morning attitude has been known to bring rain.
Another pioneer. He caught the only fish on Grind 1.0 — no less than 10 minutes after capture, Trevor had it filleted on a rock and Mark had it boiling in noodles. Jimmy has, on separate trips, lost his wedding ring AND his knife (recovered in the rapids by Trent Mummey and Adam Lunger). Despite a few hits to his ledger, Jimmy is the unofficial Treasurer, the keeper of the $275 Venmo, and the only man who can both cry at a country song and pee off a kayak in the same hour. A solid sprint over open water at the end firmly returned him to the 8-point club.
The final pioneer to this trip. Colin has found Jesus in cycling. This guy has the most powerful work ethic — or addiction; it is genuinely hard to tell. As an ex-national champion cheerleader, you can count on him for a great time and probably a little more. He caught his first fish in a decade on the last 28-mile run, gathered the firewood, set up his hammock, and had dinner cooking long before you got off the river. 4 beers, 3 hours, and 2 miles in the dark on Friday night put him knocking on the door of the elusive 9-point club. If you have to ask what gets you there, you probably don't have the stones to make it.
