now that I've gathered enough monkey blood

December trails in Monterey
Originally uploaded by Reverend Dick

COTSR World HQ will be closed for non-denominational recreational fun having ritual magicks.

I leave it to you to do the right thing on December 21st, when the Full Cold Moon is bright.

Get some.

Your words of power are as follows:

I can't show you mine, but you can show you yours.



The waxing gibbous moon. Solo night time riding. Backlit as if it were a prison break, what with the arcing search lights and the rushing...I'm telling you.

Those of you who live in snow covered areas- you are blowing it if you are not out in this stuff. Reflective surface like that? Get it together, maaaaaaaan!


I am saddened to say that the end of Mudhen Express is bulldozed like no other. I found this out in the dark last night after climbing 50 from Barloy (which is itself "maintenanced" by being flattened into 7" deep sandy powder) and aiming it straight up the run out to hump it up to the cliff-NOPE. Met the several tiered swath of bulldozed destruction.

Ruined. Full stop.

The Caprock Bar is intact (some small good news), but the dozer operator left his 3 pronged scrawl pointing to it, as if mocking or warning or both. Like the Devil's own signature. It's getting rough out there. Lots of Joy getting the blade. I couldn't see everything on account of it was dark and I was somewhat sideways, but the trail proper has so far escaped the grinding, and it looks like they are concentrating the destruction elsewhere. I fear this is the beginning of a road though.



Saw my spirit animal, the Western Screech Owl, up close and personal. Quiet is kept. Listened to 3 separate strings of yodel dogs singing to one another along the ridge West of the Caprock Bar, while I paused for a refresher. Breathed deeply of the ozone smelling fresh air that sometimes shows up and is welcomed when it does. Pedaled circles without stopping.

I apologize for my own swath of destruction. Punishing myself on the fixed cross bike leaves me achy and spent.

letters to the editor

This in today's Monterey Herald...

Gays began on slow, cloistered naval ships

I have studied the phenomenon of male homosexuality for many years, and have come to the conclusion that it originated from males being in close contact with other males in military operations during long periods of duty at sea.

The British navy, during Captain Hornblower's days, was probably the originator, though the Greeks were undoubtedly not far behind. After three months at sea, hair growth obscures male identity, and emanating nefarious body perfume lures other males, as pollen attracts bumblebees in their quest for life-giving fluids.

There is a difference, as a result of this evolutionary change between the Air Force and the Navy. Air Force flights are quick as lightning. One cannot forget the blaze left behind — and pilots hurry home to savor and rekindle remembrances. The Navy lumbers at 15 knots, rolling somnambulantly on, into the future, forgetting the past and being enticed, progressively, into improbable and difficult-to-explain situations.

This is one of the prevailing facts of life, not normally taken into account by sociologists. At least this is my limited and, perhaps, rudimentary, understanding.

Bob Fett (USAF-ret.)
Carmel

Awesome. It's worthy of the Carmel Pinecone.

as if I wouldn't notice

As a connoisseur of bicycles, I can tell you this: it's fun as hell to ride them. Before you get all lathered up, let me just say: riding up and down trails on your cyclocross bike will make you feel great! Lest anyone poo poo this notion, allow me to add: riding from your door to a trail(s) and then back to your door is good stuff. Maybe the best?


The more bicycles are the Good Life. Go!






Though I must warn you, #50 is (still) so hammered from that stupid Thanksgiving equine trail- ride event that it beat me silly. Silly, I tell you.


And here is today's interaction with the horsey set...

Me(riding around a corner to come upon 2 ladies on their horses): Hello! Do y'all need me to get off?

Them: No, but thank you for asking. Just talk to them so they know you're friendly.

Me: Oh yeah. Hey horses. Hey, hey.

While I hate the horse ruined trail like no other, and while it is painfully evident that the horse folks don't give a flying shit about treading carefully or sensitive trails...it most likely was not those 2 gals that wrecked the trails, plus anyhow- polite interaction goes a long way towards keeping trails open to bikes.


Keep it greasy.

Whyyyyyy?!?

Hey, don't blame me. I've been saddled with some substandard material tonight.



Should appeal to all those who loves the Reid Fleming. So wrong. So right.



Thaaaaat's my life.

little oysters

Riding in the rain is not a probrem for me provided I do not have to start in the rain. Let the drops fall after 5 minutes or a block deep, why then it's no issue.

A house full of jabbering baby-shower goers can overcome that hesitation. I'll start in a downpour to get out of that.

With a willing heart I rolled out, and that's all the guarantee you need to ensure that it stays dry for a while. I had my plastic raincoat (a.ka. personal sauna). I had my fenders. Fully. I had my saddle cover,
which today is a very odd pink due to my red wool pants bleeding all over it. Most of all I had my wool clothes; if you can stay warm, being wet is just an inconvenience.

My mission was to restock the caprock. Carmel to the Ord...GO!


Switch up the route up the hill to include more dirt. Side streets to trails to side streets to traffic to side streets to trails..through the C-side! (where it's too bad I couldn't pry the little oysters from their mooring in Fresno-By-The-Sea)

... and on to the Ord itself.

As dry as it had been until I was on those trails was as wet as it became shortly thereafter. You forget how greasy some of that side hill sandy clay becomes. Then you are reminded. Hey hey! what's a crash or 2 between friends? Who among us does not love holding their cantilever brakes' levers in a death grip as no change in speed occurs? It's exciting!


The boys and I had partially delivered the goods on our after-school ride t'other day. The packages were hidden in the chaparral across from the Mudhen Express entrance.


The waters receded here, and it was a good spot for a dry out and drink up. Shake the jacket vigorously. Turn it inside out, repeat.

The rain began again soon enough, and this time it meant it.

Alfredo's will allow you to bring your bike in on an off night. It occurs to me now- to that crowd the only reason for showing up on a bike is because you've had your license revoked. At least it gives me some street cred. I was a bit disappointed that no one was vomiting outside, but I realize you can't have everthing evertime.

And, speaking of vomiting, having everthing, and pink saddles...

Booyah. I hate myself for wanting one.

In/Out

I told my older son, D, that he isn't a real boy after all. He is actually a rock we found at the beach. He appreciates my honesty, and is marveling at all the ways we have fooled him into thinking he is more than a simple rock. There are several seemingly illogical threads in the fabric of his story, but he is a rock so he can't expect everything to make sense.



I felt the time had come for him to face the Truth today, on an after-school bike ride. It's a nice opportunity for parents to teach their children valuable lessons.

avoiding tradition

Rode around. Checked on Velocache #32. Yep, it's still there.

one of the few authentic mountain racers in the classical tradition

Damn.