This is the 1st time this particular issue has arisen for me. That is a particularly slick pair of light-weight dead man's trousers, and they just wouldn't stay rolled up. One thing led to another, and I found myself stopping short.
In this region, so near to the Pacific Ocean, there is a lot of moisture in the air. At night, it settles. You may recall descriptions of heavily dewed camp-outs in blogposts past. This 1st night out we experienced a driving mist. Having an inkling of what would ("maybe", we thought) come, we rigged our waterproofing as best we could. I simply laid my bike on it's side and strapped my tarp to and over it in a low A-frame. T_dd got busy(Byzantine) lashing together a series of downed limbs to each other and his bike and secured his midget pancho over the top.
I find that every time I head out, there is some crucial piece of gear that is forgotten or fails. Aside from the tents, they were left out...intentionally. This round, I had forgotten that my sleeping bag's top zipper slider had gotten ripped off over Xmas, leaving only the bottom slider- which mean that I could only fasten the zipper by "opening" (pulling the slider all the way to the top) the bag, safety pinning that point, and then crawling in and zipping the bag closed on the way down. It took a couple tries to get it right. I maintained my cool collectedness.
Shortly, soon after conversation faded hazily into drowsing, the 1st drops hit. There was the usual mad scramble to assess and re-rig. I ended up stuffing my sleeping bag swaddled lower legs and feet into my pack and calling it waterproof. My sad companion curled up like a little bug and called that waterproof. His sad sack was too tiny to accommodate.
We dozed and awoke. There were intermittent and constant noises.
Upon awakening, I discovered that T_dd had gotten up in the middle of the 2nd (and sustained) shower and abandoned his tiny shelter for the trees...
We got our act together. Coffee 1st. Breakfast 2nd. Poo 3rd. The Kelly Kettle performed well. I think I will get the larger size. The small model I have is bulky enough that the weight difference (never that big a deal for me, truthfully) is negligible. It already takes up the space, I may as well have the extra hot water. The small boils 19fl oz (eh, I'd call that optimistic- more like 15fl oz) in 5 minutes the 1st go-round, and as little as 1 minute by the 3rd, when the coals are really going. Anyhow, it is a good product if you mainly need hot water, which is my style if it ain't cooking on a grill over the fire.
Ash-laden stalactite.
Just down the hill from camp was a spring, and we used T_dd's "Freedom" SteriPEN to kill the nasties. I carry the Potable Aqua tablets (ready in 30 minutes) if I'm feeling pinched on weight or space, versus a filter, cuz I'm low tech like that. The SteriPENs I have been associated with in the past have proved extremely temperamental, though the USB rechargeable "Freedom" was more friendly. The iodine tabs do not protect against cryptosporidium, but that's a fairly benign gut bomb. Words you never thought you'd say...
We rolled North, up the Narrows, looking for Bear Mountain Rd for some exploring. This HardCOEre 100 route listing Bear Mtn inspired us to head up and see if it was cool.
It is NOT cool.
I became very upset that someone would
recommend it. T_dd attempted to devishly advocate it on the basis that
it could be required so as to not duplicate any sections in such a long
event, to which I replied and reply: fuuuuuuuuck that. Only the most
pedanticated, mindlessly adherent judge-head would pick that ridgeline fire-break to hike with your bicycle.
I don't even know how steep it is. Steep enough to make you holler. I enjoy suffering on my bike, but this was just not...fun. At all.
After the hellish climbs and the substantial bushwack of Bear Mountain Spring Trail, we reached Mississippi Lake and were stoked. We felt we were back on track for fun and heading in the right direction to reach the (needed) whiskey cached at Pachec further South.
Having dealt with Willow Ridge Road's vicious ups and downs before, we felt we could outsmart ourselfs and take Heritage Trail down to sweet Pacheco Creek Trail for the win.
This was not to be. I think we blew the turn shortly after dropping like stones to a knob at which the "trail" could be perceived as equally possibly West or South. We checked the map. The vegetation is capable of closing trails up like in the Ventana, and we were guessing South as it looked more established. It ended definitively about 40ft above the creek bed. Being very reluctant to hike back up and then to face the vicious ups and downs of Willow Ridge Rd, we figured we could bull our way through, around that knob, and we'd be at the Pacheco Creek drainage and golden. We checked the map.
Nope.
That creek bed was the 2nd most hateful experience aboard a bicycle I have ever had. We were a drainage further East than we'd reckoned. The poison oak closed in, the manzanita closed in, the walls closed in. I felt like I was in an ant lion trap, the sides were so steep and ready to slip. At times, it was preferable to haul our loaded bikes up the rotten sides to get over particularly thick thickets of poison oak. We traded leads. Procedure became: curse, lean your bike, break (literally- smash branches, most of which were rotted and thankfully easy) trail, curse, return for your bike, curse, move forward until the next impasse, repeat. Really tough.
Eventually, we broke out into the Pacheco drainage, but there was no celebration. We were tired and concerned about the amount of oak we'd come through. That stuff is really uncomfortable. It's now been 4 days with no symptoms, so I'm hopeful. We were covered pretty well- I had gaps between my socks and knickers (the American kind, thank you) and sometimes my sleeves rode up from my wrists, but it was my face I was worried about. The brush was so tight I was very glad to have large French sunglasses for style and protection.
We rode (how novel!) down the creekside singletrack and, after a bit, it lifted our spirits. Sadly, my spirits were broken when we reached Pacheco and I found some jackass had discovered and taken the whiskey. I can write no more tonight.
You call up your ____, however works best for you.
Secret Boys hand deliver by bike a shrine of sorts...
We'd discussed possible placement for this, the inaugural shrine, and decided on this spot as both knowable and hidden. Which, if you know where it is, it is. The boys are looking for likely spots in the above.
We settled on this. I'd drilled mount holes at home with power, but here in the woods it is all hand crank. Something like this is always vulnerable to thuggery, though we tried to make it secure with 2" wood screws. I think it would frustrate would-be despoilers to the point of simply wrecking it before it comes loose.
Aha! At last we see who hands off the bidon.
By this point they were done "helping" and were just chasing lizards.
We'll see how this goes. The shrine contains: 1 bottle of the good corn liquor, 1 patch kit, 1 box of matches, 2 tire levers, 1 26" tube, 1 700c tube, loose allen keys (3,4,5,6), 1 box of assorted common to bicycle bolts, 1 chaintool (you can't front on that), 1 short length of 9speed chain, 1 lighter, and some hoodoo.
It isn't exactly hidden, and it isn't obvious either.
And, plus I swapped the Nitto Northroad bars (which have been on the fixed Crosscheck for years) for On One's Mary Bar and it felt fantastic! So dialed. I was loving the feel of my cockpit. You would love the feel, too.
Then I banged my wrist on some wood while we were making some adjustments to the New Stairs and the fun was over. I burst that vein and my wrist started stinging and swelling. It was time for an immediate one-handed ride to the race van and home.
Jury-rigged ice pack. I can't be having wrecked hands. In fact, this post has been entered on the left. It is time to rest the right.
Every interbike has it's seamy side. There're lots of quality photos and words on the computer screens regarding the new bikes/parts/etc. I will add these words: beers, fat tired bikes, bourbon, brownies, go-karts, lost wallets.
Lost my wallet. Several hundred in cash, my credit cards, ID...In the parking lot of a casino. In Vegas.
Thank goodness for kungfu bicycles and Priscilla Presley. In large part, their influence enabled me to gladhandle my friends into enough cash to drive home.
Friends- THANK YOU!
You will see your dollars come back to you.Whatever version of the story you heard is the Truth, and anyone who says different is...misinformed.
I will further say that Surly employs the worst kind of trash. The squirt guns, the ring tossed tires, the insults, the lowbrow conversations. It's almost enough to put me off the cold beer and the Pugsley I will be purchasing.
3 simple rules in the English language. Words to live by, folks.
Night rides? yes. Leaving your lights off to save power? you might be seeing more than you'd like of the peelers. We'd taken the bike path out to the Ord (why?) and so were cornering our way back to the Parker Flats cutoff entrance, when upon making a fast right, we popped out in front of the popo. All lit up from behind, and a fuzzy amplified voice telling us "You 3, pull over NOW." Oops. "Why didn't you pull over when I told you the 1st time?" We had the wind in our ears. "I'll take that. What are you doing riding with no lights?" We thought our blinkies were on. We were trying to save the headlights' power. We're turning them on right now. Shuffle and scrape, my sons. Smile and nod. Bow and whimper. "It's for your safety. What are you doing riding out here?" Training for a 24 hour event. (ha!) "That's admirable. Let me see your licenses. Not riding the trails out here are you?" No! I won't go into everthing surrounding this, suffice it to say I began sweating for a whole new host of reasons. My backpack full of beer and camping supplies wasn't helping. Neither was that other thing. Or that other other thing. And I didn't have my ID. He was a block from his HQ, and too eager to end his shift to run the IDs, and we had pulled off seeming sober respectful citizens, so...it went as well as possible.
I am inspired to cast these pearls, so, when dealing with the one time, attempt to control the situation in the following ways... 1. Don't panic. 2. Be respectful. This really should go without saying, but I have been in similar situations in which companions have copped an attitude and/or been surly. This never works. Johnny Law will never let this slide. Shut the hell up and take it, or they will make it worse. Believe me. 3. Steer the encounter in the direction of you needing help, not enforcement... You're injured. You have mechanical problems and need tools or are waiting for a ride home with your broken machine.It's a winning strategy! This switches the scene from administering justice to administering aid; a shift in your favor.
You're welcome.
After all this, what was left was to immediately hop on those trails, pop some tops and drop some hammers. We stowed our packs in the bushes, and rode around real fast. Then I piled up inside a loose corner on downhill 50 and cracked some ribs on my left side.
OMG, this hurts. It is the hurt that keeps on hurting. I never realized how much movement depends on oblique abdominals bracing. You know what they brace off? Ribs.
