Going through the security check before my flight to Denver for the Breckenridge Nike 6.0 Dew Tour, the customs officer at the Phoenix, Arizona layover asked me (of all things) if I am a stand-up comedian. "No," I said, "I'm Canadian. Apparently, everything that comes out of our mouths is hilarious." I wasn't sure what to do when she asked me to sing the national anthem. Could one be denied entry into the States for refusing to sing "Oh, Canada"? Was I having a flash back from my drug-riddled youth? Somehow I sweet talked my way out of this conundrum and soon after landed in Denver - forewarned to watch my alcohol intake due to the altitude and dry air  - and started driving towards the mountains. Flipping through radio stations that seemed to only play Christmas music, my escalating attitude not altitude, came to a screeching halt when I passed the hookah store on the side of the highway. "Ah-ha," I thought to myself. "Don't just honk if you like hookah; stop off right by the Ishtar, stroll by the hookah shop, and then meander on down and go for a hair cut at the barbers." They weren't kidding around when they named this place the mile-high city.

Mile High City indeed.

I arrived to the house of Jesse Fulton's Shreducation crew and a couple of Canadian boarders that were all hustling to get into the Dew Tour. I was pleased to meet the milk connoisseur and ladies man Anthony Wolf, known as ‘the wolfman', but better known as 'Toin' - pronounced the french way (twan) - relaxing by the fire the night before he would take his run through the superpipe. We discussed his penchant for dipping dill-pickle chips in milk before bedtime, and then the next day he shoved his ass in my face while I was shooting pipe. Thanks Toin.

Toin.

Anthony Wolf.

(keep reading for more of Nat's uncut tales and photos)