I'm allergic to fake bitches

and to all this pollen painting the town yellow. It's as though the backs of my eyes are made of sawdust and my nose is running nonstop. I'm blinking and sneezing my way through Global Warming 2012.

Speaking of, it was a day for trail maintenance on the dirt commute way to work. All those slappy branches on the HWY sneak? Gone. I do need to get a pair of loppers and get after the poison oak while it's leafless and vulnerable, though.


The perfectly sized Revelate Frame Bag (available through your local bike shop!) holds a full size scabbarded pull saw perfectly. Like you'd hope it would.


Recent experience with largeish timber cutting has done changed my outlook on what is/not able to be tackled. It was that one, plus another 2 the same size, and that larger deadfall. I need to get a bigger boat to tackle the 18" snag. Anyhow, the trail is speedier for the work and I enjoy doing it.

Can you spot the difference?



Also, there was a note on the stump at the end of the HWY1 sneak, written in pencil on pink paper, directing Donny to call Walt. The trail had been blocked and the pencil end shattered under what I can only assume was Walt's forceful writing...

Is Donny the creeper who lives (stealthily, I add) off that trail? Who left the note? Surely it was Walt? Was Walt upset? Why? Has Donny blown it? Is something?