* One great road story involves two vans, myself, Rhyno, Christian, Joe E. Legend, Zakk Wyld (the wrestler), Chi Chi Cruz, a few others, a frozen lake in Manitoba at 4 a.m. in minus-50-degrees (Celsius) weather. You might have heard this one before, but it's worth repeating.

It was the winter of 1996, I believe. We had just finished a show at Gods Lake Narrow up in the frozen tundra of northern Manitoba. Put it this way, we were a 24-hour drive north of any real civilization (Winnipeg). To put that in to terms you might understand, that's like driving from Toronto to Ft. Lauderdale (which I've also done for spring break in high school, but we won't get into that).

This was the last show of the tour, and we all voted to make the drive that night, as opposed to waiting until the next day. Our promoter, Tony Condello (a one of a kind in this business, and that's saying something), wanted to stay the night. In hindsight, he was right, but we were sick of making Kraft dinner in the school home economics room and sleeping on blue gym mats. We had visions of dumpy beds and bowls of $2.99 all-you-can-eat pasta dancing in our heads!

So I offered to take the first shift of driving, and we'd alternate non-stop until we got to Winnipeg. To get off Gods Lake Narrow, we had to drive across a lake. This lake took an hour to drive across at 60 kilometers an hour. There was no land as far as the eye could see, and it was midnight with a full moon. It was pretty damn creepy. We had to follow orange pylons to stay on the supposedly "safe" parts of the lake, all the while it made cracking noises. The locals said it was just the current under the ice. Oh well, that made me feel better! Well it took an hour, but we made it across, due, of course, to my superior driving skills. Around 3:50 a.m., I was drowsy, even with Pantera blaring from the stereo to keep me up. It was about this time that I looked up and saw we were approaching our last lake. Only one problem: there was a football-field-sized hole in it! Let's just say I snapped to pretty quick, yelling every expletive you can think of and waking everyone else up in the process. I pumped the brakes and got it to a stop before we hit the hole, but my van full of wrestlers was already piling out. The ring van behind us, carrying all of our clothes, the ring and four wrestlers was able to stop, thankfully, before hitting us. Now, no one besides a troupe of wrestlers is stupid enough to be on these "roads, quite possibly for the whole winter, so we could have been in some major (as in death) trouble!

Tony, in his infinite wisdom, decided it would be safe to drive across. He found a stick, stuck it in the icy water and it was only about a foot deep. Only my ass! That was enough for me, so I tossed the keys to Tony and said, Go crazy, boss.

So Rhyno, El Fuego, Christian and myself all piled back in, while Tony acted like he had the situation under control. Then, wham! He gunned it, and we were off, at about 2 mph. The water was freezing and hitting the bottom of the van, we were redlining and about to stall, all of us screaming in Tony's ear, while Pantera was still screaming from the speakers, but I'll hand it to the little bastard, he finally got us across the 100 yards or so. I think Rhyno actually got out and kissed the snow-covered ground.

The ring van, being driven by another wrestler, Brian Jewel, had other plans. There was actually a small, clear path to the shore beside the hole, and he decided that was the way to go. By this point, we had all walked along this path back to the ring van in case they needed any help. Tony tried to tell Brian it was the wrong way to go, but he went anyway. He got about two feet and dropped to the wheel wells, while still driving forward, deeper and deeper. Water was shooting everywhere, and it was damn cold. I'm talking hypothermia cold. So Zakk, Joe and Cheech all piled out of the ring van trying to dodge the water when something even crazier happened.

I was standing next to Christian, when suddenly he just dropped, like someone had cut his legs off. I thought he slipped and took a bump on the ice. Nope, instead he fell through the ice up to his thighs! Now I can look back and laugh my ass off at this, but at the time it was pretty scary (but still in the back of my mind I was laughing!). This sent Rhyno over the edge (bad pun intended)! He saw Christian go through and hightailed it. He looked like the roadrunner, his thick stumpy legs were spinning so fast. Only problem was, in his panic, he took off back towards Gods Lake Narrow! By the time he realized his mistake, Christian was pulling himself out of the water (with me helping and laughing; hey, it wasn't me!). As we got Christian to his feet, Rhyno stampeded by us and knocked Christian on his ass again. In hindsight, it was awesome. Rhyno was about 325 at the time, and I've never seen a man that thick move so fast!

So Christian walked back to the van while his pants and boots had already frozen to his legs. The rest of us got footholds on what ice was left and tried to push the ring van back the 10 feet forward it had dug itself into, while still dodging geysers of water. Finally, between Joe, Fuego, Cheech, Zakk and I, we got it back to the point where it dropped. Now we had to try and push it up about two feet onto solid ice again. By now it was 4:30 a.m. or so, and we just couldn't do it. This is where the tagline "Get the Rhyno" came from. He was the strongest dude on the tour, so I went to go get him.

When I got to the original van, Christian had his bare feet on the heating vents, teeth chattering away, while his boots and socks were frozen straight up. Rhyno was in the middle row of seats, swaying back and forth like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man, praying. He honestly thought we were going to die. He was the only American on the trip, so he wasn't quite used to this. Finally, I got him to let go of his death grip on the seat and walked with him arm in arm, like he was a little old lady crossing the street. We got him down there and the Man Beast kicked in and helped us push that bad boy out.

By now the sun was starting to peek over the forest. The ring van took Tony's route and made it through. We were back on our way by about 5:30am, de-thawing all the way to Winnipeg!

I'd like to say that was my last winter death tour, but it wasn't. All in all, I probably did close to 20 of these trips, either in the winter, where we drove across lakes, or in the summer, where we took four-seater pontoon planes and landed on the lakes we usually drove across. But it was all worth it, and I made some great friends along the way. Tony, Don "Cyrus" Callus, Bad News Brown, Gerry Morrow, Johnny Smith, Cheech, Dr. Luther, and my first meeting with two fellas by the name of Chris Jericho and Lance Storm. Most of those guys were smart and only did our TV tapings, though. We were the gluttons for punishment. If you liked this story, there's a million more. Maybe one day I'll publish this stuff.

-----------------------------------------------------------

* On to the Devil Man, Rob Zombie. It all started when Christian and I did our infamous split in T.O. (Toronto). When I cam back on TV, I wanted to reinvent my character, starting with some new music. Here's where we have to rewind for a second. You see, I've always been a big Rob and White Zombie fan. The first time I heard them was as I was getting my tattoo done at age 18. From then on, they were a constant part of my CD wallet that I brought everywhere. Fast forward back to the split. I approached Kevin Dunn (executive producer of RAW, HEAT, Tough Enough and everything else) about new music when I came back. I knew Rob had a new disc coming out in November, so I asked Kevin if it would be possible. Since it was only September, I didn't think it would be, but Kevin's eyes lit up, my eyes lit up and a call was made to Rob's people.

A week later, I had an advance copy of three songs and my choice of which to use. Well, Never Gonna Stop just jumped out because that's the way I look at my character. Keep beatin me down, I'll keep getting back up. So it was decided, they were cool with it, and I was asked to introduce the song, played for the first time live, on stage for the Merry Mayhem tour with Ozzy Osbourne in Albuquerque, N.M. It was going to be tiring, but I was in. From New Mexico I had to fly to England to wrestle Christian in a cage, come back Sunday morning, host HEAT at The World on Sunday night and drop the Intercontinental Title to Test the next night on RAW. Whew! But it was well worth it.

I got to the concert with Alanah, and Rob was backstage walking his dog (Dracula), and we started shootin' the s***. I came to find out that he thought I was being forced to use his music. I told him the tattoo story, and that I asked to use his stuff. We hung out in his dressing room and drank Red Bulls with his band (also great guys) while our wives talked about dogs. I went on stage that night, introduced the song and stayed out there for the whole thing. I assumed my microphone was off after the intro, so I sang along. The crowd was so loud, I couldn't hear anything. Well, I've gotten a tape since, and my mic was on, and I suck. But at least I fulfilled another cool dream, singing onstage with Rob Zombie. Now when I hit Los Angeles, we try to head out for dinner, and he's usually at the Staples Center for our shows. He's a class act, totally down to earth and a great guy. It's nice when someone you are a fan of lives up to your expectations. So don't be surprised if you see Rob Zombie and Edge walk into a diner near you! Trust me, you'll notice!

------------------------------------------------------------

* Last week I went back in the vault for an old story, but this week I thought I'd bring up some good in-ring ribs that I remember and still make me laugh. Most of these stories involve Owen Hart, so you can imagine some of the amazing laughs I get to this day.

One night, I think we were in Hershey, Pa., Christian and I were wrestling Owen and Jeff Jarrett for the tag team titles. Now every night Owen would do his old-timer high step. It's hard to explain, it had to be witnessed, but it was hilarious. Owen was a guy we loved and he liked us, so that meant it was open season when it came to ribs. This night Christian and I backed Jeff and Owen to opposite corners for the classic and dreaded 10 punches. I was punching, but Jeff wasn't moving. He had his head buried so I was hitting him in the top of the head. It must have looked brutal. I noticed he was kind of convulsing, but he was laughing. I hopped down and came face to face with Jeff wearing a red foam clown nose. I about buckled I was laughing so hard. I looked across and, lo and behold, Owen had done the same thing. Christian and I somehow were able to shoot them into each other at which point they bumped and both noses flew straight up into the air with Owen and Jeff laughing till they cried and Christian and I covering our mouths.

We also wrestled Owen in his last match in the Rosemont Horizon in Chicago. Not something I like to have on my resume, but it's there. He was truly on this night. He had Jeff, Christian and I all laughing. I actually have a picture from this match of Christian and I shooting Owen into the ropes. Of course he was doing the old-timer high step, and it's caught on film. The look on his face is priceless. I have it hanging in my office as you read this.

There are so many of these stories, better than these, but for some reason I thought of them driving home from the gym today. This is just one of the many reasons I miss being in the ring. The camaraderie and friendships.

I also miss Owen, and still think of him all the time. Every time I do, I laugh. I think he would have wanted that.

-----------------------------------------------------------

* The response I got last week let me know that Owen's pranks are a big hit, so here's another one. Once again, this one involved a match with Christian & me vs. Owen & Jeff Jarrett. We were in Germany (I can't remember the name of the town), and Owen was in rare form. About halfway through the match, they had some heat on me. Owen decided to hit me with an object from his trunks. He pulled it out, wrapped it around his fist and decked me with a dreaded NAPKIN!

Now I had seen what he was doing out of the corner of my eye, so I sold like I was out like a light. He went to pick me up, but I dead-weighted him. Out colder than Mike Tyson against Lennox Lewis (Maven, that one is for you). So he decided to give me some infamous Owen Hart pin attempts. First he covered nothing but my ankles. The rest of my body was free to kick out, but he had those ankles covered. Of course, the ribs were now going back and forth, so I waited until 2 3/4 to kick out. From there, he gave me the crotch cover, where he'd basically sit right on your face. I had no counter for that so I kicked out quickly. Now, the referee was checking him for the object. He did the classic old-school "check my kneepad, check my armpit trick until finally the ref caught him and the napkin fluttered harmlessly down to the mat. I was laughing, Jeff was laughing, the ref was laughing, Christian was laughing, and the crowd sat in complete silence. They had no clue what was going on. The ribs finally ended with a grand finale of a double clothesline with the napkin from Owen and Jeff. Just another classic example of Owen being Owen, and making a long, tiring trip entertaining.

-----------------------------------------------------------

* Since Kurt is making his big return this week, I thought it would be a good time to chronicle one of my favorite Kurt Angle stories. Hope he doesn't mind, but if he does, I have nice months before he can get his mitts on me. It was back in the days of Team ECK (Edge/Christian/Kurt, for the uninformed). The three of us were riding together. We were staying in Nashville with a show in Memphis the next night. So after the Nashville show, we grabbed a bite to eat and went to the hotel. My room was next to Kurt's, and Christian was down the hall. I hunkered down and got a good night's sleep until about 8 a.m., when my cell phone rang. It was Kurt sounding really panicked and saying "Edge I need the keys"(yes, even in times of distress Kurt still calls me Edge, not Adam). I threw on some clothes and knocked on his door. When he opened the door he was butt naked. Now suffice it to say, this had me perplexed. What do you say to a naked Olympic gold medal wrestler with panic in his eyes? If you have an answer, let me know.

Finally, I noticed that there was blood all over the room and a nasty gash in Kurt's arm. I managed to ask what happened, and Kurt proceeded to tell me his phone rang and he jumped up out of a dead sleep to get it. His legs were still asleep and he fell face first into the dresser! He managed to get an arm up and punctured it on the handle. From there, he crawled to answer his phone, leaving a trail of blood all over the room. After all of that, he still didn't get there in time. Talk about insult to injury! Now I have to be honest, it sounds cruel, but I was trying not to laugh. I realized he was going to be fine, and I could not get the mental picture of naked Kurt stumbling around his room trying to get his legs working and taking a faceplant into a dresser! I mean that is kind of comical. I reminded Kurt to put on some clothes and helped him clean up the blood. I offered to take him to the hospital, but Kurt being Kurt said no. He got some stitches and wrestled the Godfather that night in Memphis. Of course, the arm opened up every night for about two weeks. For some reason this story always jumps into my mind when I think of Kurt.

Sure I think of some of the classics we've had against each other, some of the fun pre-tapes and poses Team ECK did, but I still can't get the vision of that bottom lip hanging, naked, fumbling, stumbling Kurt out of my head. Here's hoping everything works out, good buddy.

-----------------------------------------------------------

* Ever since the release of the Hardy Boyz book, Exist 2 Inspire (CHEAP PLUG!), people have wanted my version of "the blizzard of the millennium" story. It was in Baltimore. It was cold. It was snowing as much as the Devils win Stanley Cups (I couldn't resist). The storm was bad enough to postpone our taped SmackDown! No one would have made it. It was that bad. So we stuck around Baltimore for two days and went live on Thursday. When we got the news, Jericho, Christian and I decided this was an opportunity to do something we rarely do: drink. Now I'll admit, I'm not much of a drinker, neither is Christian. Chris usually morphs into his alter ego, Drunkacho. We thought we'd grab dinner together at the hotel restaurant. Now, I said I wasn't a drinker, so instead of whiskey or beer, we ordered three bottles of wine! Trust me, that was enough for me. By the end of the meal, you had three drunk, long-blond-haired Canadians on the hunt for mischief.

Earlier, we had talked to the Hardys, so we invaded their room in a different hotel. Somehow, this visit degenerated into a Lita/Drunkacho shoot fight that saw Lita tap out to the ankle lock, but damn she did good! As this was going on, the screen got knocked off the window. I was sitting with Jeff on the windowsill looking down at the snow from our perch on the 2nd story. It was getting really hot in the room with all the scufflin' going on, so I looked at Jeff and said, What do ya think? He said go for it. Now, normally I would have walked down safely through the lobby, but that wine had me feeling frisky, so I jumped. I looked up from my soft landing in three feet of snow and saw Jeff saying, "You crazy bastard. From there, he proceeded to Swanton into the snow. Now everyone else realized what had just happened. All the remaining heads in the room filled up the window. Next was Chris, followed by a jimmy-jumping Matt, and finally Christian. Now we decided to start wrestling in the snowbanks. The Hardys had no shirts on, none of us had shoes on. What can I say? Boys will be boys. Blizzard + bored, drunk, immature wrestlers = snowbank wrestling!

------------------------------------------------------------

* After seeing the Mickster back on RAW these last few weeks, a lot of fans sent reminders of some of the fun E&C had with Mick over the years. Some of the most fun we had never made it to the small screen, and usually happened at the expense of the Snowman. I can't remember the city, but many WWE Superstars, including Christian, Al and myself, all converged on the local gym to get a workout before that night's show. During my workout, I noticed that Al was carrying these "gravity boot" type contraptions, where he would hook upside down from a chin-up bar, and do sit-ups. It was about this time when my evil mind starting conjuring ways to rib Al. You see, for some reason, Christian and I decided to join in on the fun of constantly ribbing Al, a la Mick. I think it may just be the sheer look of desperation and defeat he gets on his face during and after a good rib. Anyway, I was able to buzz Christian on the situation and we waited like two cobras hiding in the bushes about to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. The Crocodile Hunter would have been proud. Finally, Al was finishing up his workout and was making the fateful decision to hook himself upside down, completely helpless. Crikey! What an idiot! We lulled him into a false sense of security for a few sit-ups and then we pounced. The gym shorts came down! Actually, I guess they went up, but you get the point. A packed gym, and an under-packed pair of briefs, turquoise in color, I believe. Of course, we stood nearby, and every time he managed to get his shorts back up, we pulled them down. We also didn't let him unhook, so the blood was seriously rushing to his odd-shaped melon after about five minutes of this torture. Once everyone in the gym got to see that Snowmen have serious shrinkage, we let him off the hook. Suffice it to say Mick was sorry he missed it, and was quite proud of us. Believe it or not, we actually got him one more time with this rib. Talk about a glutton for punishment!

-------------------------------------------------------------

* I received an e-mail this week from Lenny Olson, a good friend who wrestled all over the world as Dr. Luther. The e-mail told me he was retiring. It was sad to hear, but from a physical standpoint, he had to call it a day. Lenny made his mark in Japan, but also wrestled on several of the "winter death trips" in Manitoba. It was during these trips that I got to know Lenny and wrestle him quite often. He helped me a lot in the beginning, probably the most important lesson being to have fun while you're in the ring.

Here's an example: Tony Condello was the promoter on these trips. I've talked about him before, and unless you meet him, you can't understand how unintentionally funny Tony is. Well, on many of these trips we didn't have referees. It usually ended up that one of the boys would have the double duty of wrestling and refereeing all night. Finally, we all said no, and Tony was forced to referee. The show was on a tiny Indian reservation, which I can't recall the name of (I'm punch drunk, OK). Now, knowing that Tony would be reffing later on, Lenny hatched an evil, brilliant scheme along with Don Callis. They were able to nab Tony's red sweatpants which he wore to ref. While we distracted Tony, some Deep Heat ointment was lathered into the crotch of the pants. Now Deep Heat gets pretty warm on your shoulders and back, so you can imagine what it would do to your nether regions, underwear or not. That night was a curtain sell out. From the opening match on, we all surrounded the entranceway and watched Tony fidget and fondle himself. When it came time for my match, I approached Tony in the ring, and, in his one-of-a-kind Italian accent he said, "Ugh, I'm f***** dying in here! My b**** are on fire!" From that point on, I couldn't keep a straight face.

It only got worse. Throughout the match, Lenny and I would "accidentally" bump Tony in the tomatoes. Finally, the match was coming to an end. Tony could see the light of day. Or so he thought. I was up in the corner giving Lenny the dreaded 10 punches from hell. When I finished, Lenny commenced to do the classic Ric Flair face bump right in front of Tony. The only problem was he pulled Tonys pants down on the way. Tony stood there in his little bikini briefs with palm trees on them, in complete shock. By the time he realized what had happened, Lenny had a tight hold and wouldn't let him pull them up. They fought harder then we did in the match. Tony's face was redder than his pants.

That, however, was just the beginning. One of the guys, Jethro Hogg (who Tony always mistakenly called Jericho Hogg) brought a pig to the ring with him. His pig was named Snoots (who Tony mistakenly referred to as Snooze).Well, Tony was scared to death of the pig. So that night Lenny and Don laid a trail of breadcrumbs to Tony's bed, which was a blue gymnastics mat on the floor of the gym, and also laid them all over Tony's cherished hair. They then put yellow food coloring in his hair. All while he was asleep. We all waited to see what would happen, while pretending to sleep. Just like Mr. Burns releasing the hounds, they released the pig. It got on the breadcrumb trail immediately. It sniffed Tony's Deep Heat laden crotch quite a bit and then moved to the bread placed in Tony's tight yellow afro. After about 30 seconds of the pig eating off his head, Tony woke up face to face with the dreaded Snoots. He lost it. He ran to the bathroom. He screamed, and said the pig p***** in his hair. At this point, we all lost it. We were all crying, we were laughing so hard. So at 3 a.m., Tony grabbed a hockey stick and chased us around the gym until he got blown up. He did almost behead Lance (who he mistakenly called Land Storm, I kid you not). Lenny is a ribber that can equal the kings of ribbing, Owen Hart and Davey Boy Smith. It was nights like these that taught me what fun this business can be away from the ring too. They were tough times, but Lenny helped to make them times I will never forget. Thanks, buddy.

---------------------------------------------------------------

* Way back on May 10, 1996, I had my first WWE match in the hallowed halls of the Copps. My opponent was Bob "Hardcore" Holly, although at that point he was still the Spark Plug, checkered flags and all. I know Bob's glad he ditched that gimmick. I arrived to the building three hours before the show, not realizing that for non-televised live events, the guys show about an hour before. This gave me enough time to get good and nervous. The show started at 7:30. Bob showed at 7 p.m., walked up to me, and asked how long I'd been working. I replied with the truth, three and a half years. I realized that might have been the wrong answer when he rolled his eyes, grunted and walked away. Knowing Bob the way I do now, I'd laugh. Back then I said sh**, but vowed to prove that I belonged in the ring with him.

What was my way of proving that, you ask? Dancing. Extremely bad, and extremely Caucasian. You see, at this point I wrestled on the indies as Sexton Hardcastle. Christian had just finished his training and wrestled as Christian Cage. For some unknown reason, we decided that dancing, very badly, would get a reaction from the crowd. So Christian would hit "the Carlton," and moves very reminiscent of his peeparoonie. In the meantime, I would hit the most horrendous version of the running man you will ever see. With all of that being said, I thought that my WWE debut was the perfect opportunity for my Tide-white-like running man. I walked to the ring with the music I always used, Walk by Pantera. I can hear the RVD fans now, but at that point I had no clue he was using it too. I was clueless to ECW. I climbed in the ring and started dancing like a madman. It looked like I was having a seizure.

Our referee (and now one of my best friends in the business), Timmy White, was dumbstruck. My mom, sitting in the front row, snapped a picture of this spectacle her son was making of himself. She caught Timmy's incredulous look perfectly. I still laugh when I see that picture.

Finally, Bob hit the ring, and it was time for him to stare at me in disbelief, and try not to laugh. Now with Bob Holly, that's tough to do, and I think I won him over. The match went great, the people were into it, even though they had no clue who I was. This was the beginning. Which led me, seven years later, to the Copps for a little promo. Just a little howya' doin'.