an old school man-of-the-world

Close your eyes and dream you up a camp-out.



See the lights of town dwindling and get all tingly...





What with the daughter all grownish and driving, it's pretty easy to arrange a pick up these days. That'll extend your range. I'm not above receiving a helping handout. So, it was ride out the valley and turn right. All by meself, and just after dark I slithered through the gates, paid no fees, and rolled on through that dark, around the corner to dirt, and on up the hill. Climbing and breathing for a little more than an hour gets you to the camp spot. It's just a little up the hill from the spring, flat and clear.



You'd think I'd have some skills at this by now, but nope. It's always something*. Setting up in the dark, sure- 1/2 in the bag (flask of Michter's rye, though that is subject to change)- you might make some rookie moves with your tarpage. You might. So, sure, the rain (40%) came up and sat. What with the coastal range holding it up from progressing inland, it sat for several hours. I dozed fitfully as a result. All night with an ear to the storm, ready for quick action should it be required. Sunrise brought a settling in the weather, and I slept in because I could. Camping by your lonesome is nice that way. Nobody's business but your own.




So that there is the set-up sans tarp. You can see how the bike is the center support. The front wheel is propped up with rocks and the guy-line (absent in the photo) to further support the tarp. It is a real clever system, as it requires no poles or trees and keeps the bike out of the weather too! There is plenty of room under there. Another person, were there one in this rider-forsaken locale who enjoys this type of hott action, could easily fit. Even 2 more people. The Crazy Creek tarp is a real fine piece of kit, and your local bike shop can get you one.




The next day saw me sweating my way along, down, through, across and up to finish with a ripping down...to the sunset over the Pacific.








 Hasn't gotten old yet.



When I reached the bottom, I set up my waiting room on the shoulder. My daughter wasn't due for a couple hours, so I reckoned I'd catch up on sleep. The party lights (eno, and your local bike shop can get them...) are to keep people from driving over me.



This is one way to do it.




*Hey R__k, I learned the taut line! Now it's all gonna be cake.

strike from the shadows and slip away unseen

Some bike trips are bigger than others. 6 days on the road...




Some bike trips' mothers are bigger than other bike trips' mothers. True fact. It makes a twisted kind of sense if you really think about it; the kind of thinking one can really only settle into whilst sitting around on your saddle with several other wasted and weather blasted hobos in the middle of nowhere deep in the heart of an 11 hour pedal. Drifting in and out of the here and now as weather, clothing, road/trail conditions, hunger, exhaustion, hilarity, helpful teammates, the availability of water (or tallboys), etc conspire to effect change.

Such weather! Sleeping in a luxurious campground shitter. Sleeping under a jury rigged $4 blue tarp as the storm raged and the thunder crashed about 18" overhead, and the hail fell hard and loud. Sleeping roofless under clear skies. Etc.

I enjoyed the ____ out of the Condor Tour 2014, and all of y'all who rode along were solid and even-tempered hard men of a type seldom seen in this modern and pussified world. Thanks, bros, I never had a better time. The wall rides down the penultimate downhill? Watching a paceline of dirty yahoos loaded with bags and racks hit them in formation? Words.

It was as though we were on a secret locals' tour everywhere we went. Super well routed. Several folks referenced the currently ubiquitous finely-documented bike touring epics sponsored by X, Y, and Z and laughingly compared our rag-tag band-of-brothers shoot-from-the-hip rough-and-tumble aggregate to that kind of slicksterism. Each time, we all laughed. Well, looking around at the other dirtbags, you had to. There was not the matching kit, nor the matching bikes, no support car, and the guy at the liquor store in Santa M_______ was so convinced I was just another homeless DUI on a bike he tried to deny me a plastic bag (which I needed in order to tear in half and line my disgustingly wet, cold and smelly shoes)...you know, regular assholes on whatever they brung.



I wish I had photos of all of it, but- alas!- I left my phone on the 1st day, and it died. I would show you the different set-ups, because that sort of thing is interesting to me. I was surprised and impressed at the packing skills some of these fools evidenced, as in "how does he keep pulling more warm clothes out of there?" and "I wish he had shopped for me instead of my own lousy choices", or "I'd like some of your beer", etc. As for me, I was running the well-used and trusted Surly Ogre, as it had served me well on the Death Valley Ramble and other bike campouts. I ran the Big Wheel front end because there were to be multiple dirt sections (local singletracks, oh yeah!) and I like the float without the complexity and I understand Murphy's Law. I was ridiculed and envied in turn...there were also lots of road sections. Overall, I am satisfied with my choice. I do wish I had run lighter racks and not assumed that my packed-to-go sleeping bag was the synthetic model I thought it was in stead of the susceptible-to-soaking down version that it actually was (check your gear, meathead). My choice in rain wear was the controversial waxed cotton poncho/chaps, and it worked as well as anything does in a full-on gale but it was slow to stow, requiring stopping and strapping. I feel like it was 6s, even given the headwinds (many and mighty). I did miss a wind-proof layer, and will remember it next time. My Jiffy-Pop surprise failed when sorely needed- the aluminum pan had taken too much abuse and sprung a leak, dropping ugly red geasewax all over the stove. I want a bigger tiTAINium cook pot. Using the future stove instead of my cave-tech Kelly Kettle not only saved bulk (we split the load) but worked in all the soaking wet conditions that would have really stymied the wood burner (thanks, To_d!).

Riding a paceline is a skill, and it is worth having. Those fellows all knew what they were doing, and it showed. Hand signals, laying off the brakes, etc. We moved along at a good clip, which felt great sometimes and was all I could do to hang on at the back other times. I will say- when you come to the front, do NOT surge, but keep the pace even. It hurts the yoyo at the rear.

I am left with Good Feelings. Mostly, I am deeply impressed with the routing- it was SO good. But also, I respect and admire the spirit of brotherhood (without getting mystical- it's just riding bikes) shown so casually.

If you go...just go. You don't need anything fancy. The gear you have is the best gear of all. Use it.

automatic detection

Day 3 of the Last Camping Trip of the Summer 2012 followed, as mornings will, the night before. My lovely wife is the menu planner, and she had wisely, deliciously, planned the more involved dinner on the 1st night. I say that because she would be there to chef whilst I would be there to have hauled heavy stuff and be drunk around the campstove twig fire. Point being, the 2nd night was tofu dogs. Easy enough for a 1/2 in the bag Papa to feed his boys after Mama and daughter had left and gone back to town. But, as we had picked up an extra and retained an extra, there were still 5 children to 3 adults. 3 men who'd been lazing about in the river in the sun with beer in hand. E made all the mac and cheese in his arsenal, and every child stepped up with a plate. I made each tofu dog, ran out of buns even, and every child was back. We dug out the (cans!) of black beans, an onion, some chili powder, oregano, cumin, and salt and kept after it until every child and every adult was full and the clamoring for s'mores had begun. Oh! those Summer nights.

The afternoon before that night, we'd all headed up Indians Rd to see off those of our crew as were bailing. We parted at the trailhead to the Gorge, where those of us who remained headed down for some serious cliff jumping. There were some folks camped (?!?) right at the foot of the trail. J asked them why they were camped there. He then told them there were better spots, and when asked where said "Not telling." He is 7. I love him so much. I couldn't help but burst out laughing. The campers were sour, but they are idiots too- that place is a well known day trip for nearly everyone who goes out there. It is not a camping spot.

There had been much rehashing of whats and ifs regarding what to do with the 3rd day. E (wisely, given the 1st timerness of the kids in his crew) decided to head back to town after breakfast. So after breakfast, when the bugs had come out in force, we packed up camp and loaded it all onto bikes to facilitate a quick get-away. Then we loaded out necessarys into dry bags and began the hike upriver.  (I will say that the Sealine lightweight 10L drybags are both lightweight and too damn thin; I wore a hole in one on the Kokopelli trip just from minimal wiggle room twixt bag and strap.) I had the lunch stuff, and J had the booze.The boys each had a floatie (the seasl and the shark), and J and I had commandeered the rafts A_______ had brought.

We have made the trip up to The Narrows 3 or 4 times now. It is worth doing. The walls are 30ish' high and maybe 3' apart at the tightest of spots, forcing the seal's flippers into some serious bending. The waterfall at the end has several ropes fixed at the top, but for us thus far the water level has been too high to climb the falls. This time it was perfect.

As I swam J up the tight bend, we talked about what to do if he fell out of his raft. He is a good swimmer, but. It is important to not panic. Having a plan helps. If he were to tip, he should get to the surface and find the raft, then hang on. Simple. I pushed him, in his raft, to the foot of the falls and we paused there to watch and see. There were some folks having some confidence issues on the crux, whereby one crosses the torrent at the head of the falls via a separate fixed rope. Seeing as how it was easy looking, I sent D up the falls to sus it out. Easy peasy. So he stayed at the head, and I at the foot and J went up the rope between us. The old gal who'd been mildly freaking out must have been spurred by the sight of a 7 year old handling the climb with aplomb, because she finally committed and got  the hell out of the way.

Thus we accessed the natural water slide above the falls. No joke. Though only 10' long, it started right and hooked a strong left that threw you right over and dropped you into a warm, clear pool just above the falls. We ran the slide many times. The pool around the corner had some half-assed cliffs for some half-assed jumping, which suited us just fine at that point. We were tired. And there was the hike/float/hike back to the bikes and the ride out to consider.

When we got back to the race van, it was night. We had 3 lights for 4 people, and it worked just fine. I will not forget the image of my sons riding back, loaded with camping gear, in the full dark. Our feet had suffered (as of this writing my toes and insteps are still scabbed) from the wet hike, and we were bruised, bitten and tired.

What better?

know the joy of dirty living

Perhaps it is joys. Definitely joyous.

 
 Joy us. Joy for us. And I'm jumpin on it. Regular Arroyo Seco route, with a surprisingly expanded cast of characters.  4 adults, 5 kids on Day 1.


 Friend J is a seasoned PRO, as evidenced by his rig:

 Yep.


And we took on loan M____, #2 daughter of a friend/neighbor as well as our own pickneys. Remember that GT I expanded with the Xtracycle kit I had laying around from pre-Big Dummy days? Of course you do. I set it all up (back then, even) with the side-loader bits and the deck we've been using so that E____ could take his son L____ on a Spring Break camping trip that got rained out...well, they made it this time round:

 This was L's first ever bike camping trip. He has been used to the camper and electric conveniences. I believe it was eye-opening for him. He and J have been bros (what can I say? They're from Cali.) since they could walk. J was suuuuuper stoked to finally have a friend his age along.

The loan of the Xtracycle platform necessitated some last minute bike swapping as I tried to distribute all our customary Arroyo Seco gear amongst my family's bikes. A rope swing is a bulkier item than you think. And there are floaties to consider. I ended up running the Fargo and pulling the BOB trailer. It worked OK. That bike is more suited to personal bikecamping than the gypsy wagon set-up required(?) for camping with kids, but we made it work with everyone hauling something. 3 days of backcountry won't haul itself.




 Man, I sure do love turning that corner from the shitty, gangster-strewn lower level camping areas (seriously- spray painted XIV etc. on the rocks in the river, for crying out loud. Salinas needs to chillax.) and opening my eyes to the Ventana.

  Flip the switch.

 It was a stark contrast between the 2 youngest boys' experience levels. We all start where we are. Hopefully the hook is set, and inspiration follows. There was some whining. There were tears.

 E rallied on his 1st ever bike camping trip. Especially when taking into account his non-biking surfer ways. Loaded. On a cargo bike.

Day 1 was really evening 1 by the time all was said and done. Getting there and setting up camp were about all we accomplished. Fire ban= s'mores over the twig burning stove.

superficially attractive but lacking in depth

This photo was taken the night before leaving on yet another Condor lite solo outing. In this photo you can clearlyish see the clever wire bracing added to my trusty clamp on (Quick Release no less) rack; a rack which has been through several trips and which I felt had been proven. Set aside concerns, for now, about how the pins holding the QR jaws in place had sheared off. Those concerns must surely be laid to rest in light of the fact that while re-wiring said rack I had noticed the shearing and, after a hearty self-congratulatory pat on my back, purchased new and shiny brass bolts of the appropriate length and the (let us say) necessary thickness so as to fit.

That is foreshadowing.



See, every year on/near my birfday I must do a long ride. A ride of 100 miles or more, or it's equivalent in fun. This year, L suggested I squeeze in an overnight Indians Road jaunt over to Prewitt/Nascimiento-Ferguson; from which trip she'd pick me up at HWY1. I had to work Wednesday, so I brought the loaded bike to work, and rode out Carmel Valley at quitting time.




This photo, of me holding pieces of wire like a mouse moustache, was taken in the far reaches of CV Road. I had removed the cross brace (specially formulated during the initial trial run) the last time it was used on D's bike because it interfered with his rear tire. Small bike, different placement, etc. So yes, the sides of the rack were flexing inward under the weight, and the wire had broken in one spot. Flexing weight= sleeping bag, camping pillow (I know, believe me), and warm clothes on the one hand and cook set, food, 1L water bottle on the other. The sleeping pad and tarp were tucked below the rack (but above the tyre) and the tent was on the rack top.


No problem, I used my camp knife (thanks J! Indians Road is my camp knife's spiritual home) to quickly whittle up a replacement brace and wired it in place with the broken bits of wire. This all takes time/daylight, but problem solved. Ride on.

A short while later, the flexing returned with a deliberation that would not be ignored. I stopped to curse and see what was the matter. It was at that point I realized the shiny brass bolts had sheared off cleanly at the top pivot of the QR jaws on both sides.
My rack was broken.
I cursed more heartily. Then I cut the excess cord off the length I use to lash things to the top of the panniers, and trussed the rack to the bag loops on my trustworthy Brooks. If I pedalled on the nose of the saddle the flex inherent in my design was mediated enough that I knew I could at least make it to Arroyo Seco and camp, which would beat having to limp home a quitter.


As I rode along, though, my spirits lifted and what a day!


To quote the late night waiter from the Denny's in Durango: "When you're as good looking and talented as I am, it's hard to have a Bad Day." Just so, especially if you are railing down swoopily drawn out back roads with little to no traffic.


Turkeys! I saw several large groups. A suitable totem for this trip...




I ended up feeling so swell that I decided to push into Indians some and camp in the back country. Why not? Things were going well enough, and the camping is always better further out.





I had decided before leaving home that I was going "Light" (OK, as Light as can be for someone who brings a pillow. Yeah, yeah.) so I did not bring a Camelback. Bummer for me. I stopped at this creek crossing to fill the 1L bottle. I was using tablets to purify, and they specify a 4hour wait and further stipulate the bottle be kept out of sunlight. Fair enough (trade-offs and all) since it was evening and I had another bottle still full with the prospect of refilling in the AM, and the spring (which requires no filter) after that.



I stopped at the signs a couple miles past "The Gorge" (for whatever reason, that name galls me. Maybe because it is not a Gorge, it is a small, short canyonlet), and found an acceptable site a little ways down the trail on a burned out shelf. The picture shows the campfire at it's zenith. I keep a much smaller fire; it is high because it is just catching and there is a bundle of grass kindling going up. I am out of Esbit fuel tabs, so I skipped the stove altogether to just cook on a corner of the fire-pit. There is something deeply satisfying about that.



Fireside whiskey.There is something deeply satisfying about that.



I woke up often, as one is apt when alone in the woods, but overall it was peaceful. There were no screams in the night.



Coffee and campfire. Nice start to the day.






You can see the cord truss here.




Ideas will occur to you as you sit by a fire sipping corn liquor. My advice is to act on them. It came to me there that I could simply ditch the now superfluous camping gear and the cursed rack and ride the remainder of the route unencumbered.



So that is what I did. With my woodrat gnawing experience freshly in mind, the bags are suspended 4ft off the ground by cord.



I still needed water, so I took the trail down to the river and found
a spot worthy of future trips. The kids would love this place. Only a couple miles from their favorite swimming hole, with a flat sandy beach and shade trees and the potential for a rope swing. Most of all, at the base of the heinous climb up to the spring. Kid base camp, for sure. Next week they have "October Break" for the week (!) and I am going to bring them out there. I'm even considering bringing the dutch oven and baking bread in the coals. OLD school- cooking on the fire.Yes.


I had to fill the bottles and cover them for my 4hour water fast. The water rationing took it's bites; no question. From now on, regardless of how I feel about wearing a pack (I don't lik it), I will bring EXTRA water.



A 14mile trail on the other side out to Coast Ridge Road. Worth some exploring.



Of course I went swimming!





Back at camp with the new spartan kit. Every time I stopped, the configuration matured until it was perfect. I especially love that.




Climb+ heat= sure wish I could drink some water. I had a cup left to get me to the spring.




Blessed Assurance. Give Thanks for water. Trips like these give the gift of real perspective.



I wised up and propped the bottle in place. Best not to look too closely at the algae/mineral stalactites down which the water is coursing. Holy Water indeed. The spring water would get me through to Indians. The flow was so slow, I could not justify waiting for more than the one swallow and a full bottle.





Then it was riding. I eventually stopped again at another water crossing and refilled the spring water bottle. Same deal 4hour covered wait. I need a steri-pen purifier, and I need it now!




People have posted on the web about how to polish the rivets on a Brooks. I swear I am not making that up. I wish I was.

Hey Assholes, This is how you polish your damned rivets:



If that does not make sense to you, get the hell out of my church.



Look at the size of that Valley Oak!


And on into Fort Hunter Ligget, where the riding is long and hot and long and hot and there is so much more of it than you remember. I had no issues, aside from the water fast and the increasingly creaky ticking issuing from my slowly dying octalink/M952 crank interface. Think small bright shards and grit. Then I popped out the back gate in time to crawl up the backside of the coastal range in time to see the sun just behind the fog layer. No light on the descent for me.


Particularly since I had to stop and eat and change into warm clothes. I had felt the temperature change when I settled in to the climb beneath the Sycamores, Bays and Tan Oaks. By the top I was cold, even with the climb.



After some time speeding downhill into an indistinct greyness, with only the chalky dust at the edges of the road to guide you ( and that only visible if you look at the sky to monitor the road by watching the tree tops on either side and allowing your peripheral vision to work the road surface) you lose your self. You become just a floating field of vision, and you feel the front end as grabby and weighted funny when you feel anything at all.

That's how it was until I pulled up at the truck where my family was waiting with sandwiches and beer. Thank you, Family, for the ride!

all ratted up like a teenage Jezebel

Boys only, immediate family only trip towards Indians from Arroyo Seco via the bicycle...and it broke me. I spent a lot of time thinking about the various expressions for exhaustion used in the cycling world of my acquaintance while climbing the hateful face above the gorge. (I had a lot of time.) None of these expressions encompassed the depth and sincerity of my condition.



I am well familiar with the bad feeling that comes in the early minutes of some rides. This was that and more. Particularly in light of having ridden this same hill recently in similar circumstances. Last time it was the trailer-bike and as ultra-light as I felt we could go as a family in the heat. This time it was the Big Dummy. The Big Dummy was loaded, I was not. Since we had the cargo hauling capacity, we hauled some: to the tune of the 2-burner propane stove, the 9,000lb cast iron griddle, enough bags (3) for everyone, the tiny picnic stool, the heavy Paco pad (7lbs and worth them), and a small cooler. Not so light, but not nearly as heavy as we've gone before.


I'll blame the heat. It's convenient.



So my 9 year old schooled me up the hill.



I eventually asked J to climb off the back of the big Dummy and walk. I only rode at his walking pace, so it was no great loss to him. What a difference- I came to realize how much his pedaling input last time helped offset his 37lbs. When I stopped to allow him back on, I put my foot down on a tippy rock, and fell over the side of the roadbed. Only my grip on the bike prevented me from continuing on down the slope. That would have been bad. I was too fatigued to react quickly. Oops. It has since been decided that I will not take the boys so remote with only one adult.

All I ask of my boys is that they look like old time Australian miners...



Camplife:







At the spring for refills.


Dinner by the campfire.


Night time screaming?

I sleep very lightly in the woods, so in the middle of the night I was awakened by some unknown-to-me and very scary noise. I raised up onto my forearms, and heard it again, seemingly 40-60 feet away. A weird shrieking sound. It did not sound catlike, but that is all I could think about- mountain lion. What else could make such a terrifying and BIG noise? I grabbed the headlamp from the "gear attic", and sweated in the dark without turning it on. I didn't want to give away our position. It sounds ridiculous here (clearly whatever it was knew good and well we were there) but at the time it seemed the best course of action. It repeated 6 or 7 times down the roadbed to the North, and then after a pause (during which I was steady staring at the roadbed towards the noise and scanning in front of the tent as well and seeing nothing moving) it came again just to the South and much closer ( maybe 20 feet) at which point I pressed the light to the mesh (so it wouldn't just reflect back at me) and tried to spotlight what I thought of as "the creature". Immediately it sounded again, 2 more times and each time it was more muffled, as though it were getting farther away. The boys slept through the whole thing; which was good. I did not sleep so well for the remainder of the night. The one night I did not have a knife next to me. I usually keep a knife right to hand and even indulge in such paranoid levels of preparation as to pre-open the blade (because after all, were I to actually need the knife, I'd need it ready), but this night saw me in the tent with a 6" camping knife, and a 16" handled saw just out of reach and outside the tent, and me the only "adult". Scary situation.

Turns out it was a fox. Who knew? You scoff, but I guarantee you that noise would scare you pantless in the dark.

Dawn and breakfast eventually showed. I searched for evidence of "the creature", but found no sign on the hard, stony ground. Blueberry and banana pancakes washed away the taste of fear. I forgot the coffee, which made things hard. D stuffed the sleeping bags (unasked), which was a help. The boys threw rocks while I broke camp.




All downhill to the swimming hole.






The load was lightened (due to the food all being eaten) and was more compact. I also wised up and laid the big canvas bag flat on the snap deck instead of upright, and that made a noticeable difference as well. I lik to forgo the sideload supports, and keep the side cargo as high as possible. This allows better clearance, which is important since the old roadbed is littered with rocks. The full cooler on the front rack makes steering more cumbersome, but it also holds cooled food and a 6 pack. Trade offs.

The steering was much more precise than the Albatross barred Long Haul Trucker and trailerbike. Maneuvering through the rubble was odd at first with the super long wheel base. It quickly became 2nd nature again. J was kind of jammed up against the stem mounted water bottle this time, and did not like all the bumps; he got pretty upset on the constant downhill- even with the thermarest pad. He likes the trailerbike much better. (Times are changing.) We may have to work out some different system in the future.




This section of road bed does not look so impressive here, but the darker section is the remains of a road closing slide that is pretty sketchy.







The big payoff.


You should trick your own kids into doing this before they know any better.