I haven’t penned a paddle report in three weeks due to a fractured rib I fell into mountain biking. Consequently, I’ve had little to write about.

Until now.

A package appeared on our doorstep yesterday. And it isn’t an Amazon box. Strange. Opening the box, I find a foil-wrapped object inside, roughly cylindrical in shape, a bit lumpy, the size of my hand, somewhat heavy. Peeling off the foil wrapping, I find a potato.

Digging deeper in the box, I discover a plain white envelope, unmarked. Two sheets of lined paper inside the envelope are marked, fine penmanship filling the white space between lines.

Here’s the letter:

“Dear Members of the Kayaking Group of Hooligans:

“After you & your cohorts unceremoniously dumped me into your camp fire, I was transferred to a different plane of existence. After spending nearly 2 weeks wandering this other universe, I finally discovered a potato portal that brought me back.

“I arrived in San Francisco & managed to roll my way into a post office during lunch hour. I saw that someone had butter & sour cream which scared the ‘eyes’ off me. People were eating potato chips, even Pringles. I decided to get out of there when I saw the bacon bits!!

“I rolled around until I fell into a box. Being a fingerling potato, I grabbed a pen & wrote your name & address on it before sealing myself up. Thank goodness for my tin foil armor. I arrived at your home feeling very over baked & here I am …..

“Sincerely, Chip #1

“P.S. Please get me back to the security of the camp fire & don’t lose me again!”

There you have it. An authentic letter from a potato that verifies the existence, the reality, of a multi-spudverse connected by potato portals, a reality the Thurseve Paddlers have been espousing for some time. 

If you doubt the written word of a potato, you should know this tuber is no garden-variety potato. No, not at all. 

Identifying herself on the box’s return address as P. Chip Spudman, 1 Tuber Str, Russet, Ca, she cleverly folded herself into the box with the latest edition of the New York Times, Sunday Edition. 

Any potato who reads the New York Times has to be an intellect and must be believed. Amirite?

P. Chip Spudman, her letter, and her shipping container can be seen in the comiX, should you need more proof.


Date: Thurseve, 17 March 2022.

Distance:  Between multi-spudverses.

Speed:  Really, really fast.

Time:  Daylight Savings.

Spray factor: A mist of maple syrup.

Dessert: Potato pancakes.

comiX —>  https://photos.app.goo.gl/bM3qHqcsELBqbPAfA