Hey people reading this: Drunk Cyclist invited me aboard. Since I respect their mission so deeply I am trying to pitch in on a party over there when I have something relevant to share. Please go check it out and stuff.
It was quite cold when I set out on my way to work aboard the fixed gear bicycle. As I climbed, it became warm enough for me to take off my pants. So I did. When I know I'm riding, and I am not wearing some fancy pants (which, pretty much, I only do if it's to be a longish road ride) I wear the wool boxers. You can get some from your local bike shop, or you can just cut the legs off some long johns. Either works fine. And then, when you take off your pants everbody just assumes you have on cycling shorts.
But it feels like you are getting away with something.
If I can hassle my children in the bargain, why then it's a bargain well struck.
No electronics in the woods...makes them appreciate each others' company and America. Also, hopefully, the extensive infrastructure that is our base camp...
We spent the better part of the day hauling ourselves and various masks, snorkels, and floaties up the river to the Narrows. L___ had never been. The kids have been up several times, though N___ had never been up past the waterfall. This day the water level (low...August looking levels) was such that we could get up it just fine. We spent some time up there, and did several slide runs. The ladies claimed they smelled "weed", and sure enough. While working our way down the ropes on the side of the falls, who should we see lurking in the pool beneath but R_man and his nameless partner. We continued past them to a spot more conducive to a lazy snorkel and some mildly entertaining cliff jumping.
By the time we returned to camp, it was time to snorkel more enthusiastically and rope swang and:
Some of us has got to. Or else it won't get done.
The bugs seemed mild to most of us, though I will confess to realizing otherwise once back at home and the full itching set in.
D_____ does not suffer bugs gladly in any circumstance.
Nearing the end of the day, while the rest of the group was down at the water's edge just doing things, a couple came walking down the path above camp. The gal said that she liked the spot, then they returned from whence they'd come. Only to return a few minutes later aboard loaded bicycles. I made several snap (and, I feel, astute) judgements regarding their style and capability which I will keep to myself. I will say they looked confused. I called out that the way forward would not suit bikes, but that there were several campsites on the other side of the horse bridge that were very nice. The gal misunderstood me to mean the beach below the bridge (what is it with people and the camping in rotten spots?), so I corrected her with the actual location of actually viable spots to camp. She then piped up with the opinion that they would "just camp right here"; indicating the meadow adjacent to our ground.
I was very surprised.
Some thoughts occurred to me. To wit: why would one come all the way out to the back country (such as it is) and decide that you would camp right next to other people? And, further, expect that they would be stoked with your decision to intrude on their solitude be "neighborly". Finally, what the hell?!? She was pointing at a rolling and quite sloped meadow; a very poor choice of camp site on it's own merit.
I said, "That would be a bummer for everyone." because, simple is best really.
Dude (now speaking) says, "Why is that?"
I said, "Because we are gonna get hella drunk and shoot off fireworks."
Dude, "Oh...well, thanks for letting us know." And he moves to turn around. Meanwhile, lathered up gal begins to whine, "Uh! Are we really going to go back?" as they leave.
After the days, the out-of-town-guest departed, and we spent a night at home. The next morning, however, found us vacationing in our backyard- which is to say we returned to Arroyo Seco for more Good Times...
The Big Dummy was pretty loaded this go round. I was unable to raise it from laid over without help. Gots to have the 4 camp chairs plus the cook stool, though. You know.
4 days 3 nights. 4 kids 2 adults. N___'s friend J____ joined us again! She's come along to Arroyo Seco twice now, and this is after her attendance at the Henry Coe climbathon. She is a welcome trooper. The kids have more fun when they have friends along. D_____ needs to get some tougher bros. At 8.75, J______'s buddies have some time to come along yet.
We are slowly loading the kids heavier and heavier. One of these trips the photos will reveal adults with little to no load and kids hauling it all...
Check the technique. N___ has got it right for the heavy load lifting with the foot on the tyre. If it were me, I'd drop my ash for better leverage, though.
The weekend was real hard on the trash cans. And, I get the impression that the camp hosts are lazy.
We were glad we chose the days we did. Midweek is where it's at. Weekends are for amateurs.
Well, he's been watching a lot of The Karate Kid. It's a phase?
From the trash cans, there is some singletrack to camp.
I am proud of the load configuration this time. Of course, it is always evolving- unlike your "Freedom System" or your just plain "System". As a result, the chairs were cleverly lashed to the tail with a couple toe straps from the bottom of the outside chair to the frame while the other 3 chairs utilized the straps as their floor and the whole lot was then further strapped to the frame on top. If this sounds like so much words, just know it was real ingenious and outdoorsy.
I do have to tip the cycling cap to my in-laws, who schooled me in the fine art of straps through multi-week raft trips. Bikecamping with the Big Dummy shares a lot of features with rafting. It's a whole other level of options for taking more than the bare essentials. Come to think of it, we should start the Fantasy Dinner tradition on these trips. Bring your finery and get ready to party!
While waiting for stragglers at the turn-off, I noticed a tent down by the horse bridge. It was right on the beach, maybe 4' from the water. I thought to myself that it was a very foolish choice of site. Leaving aside the ethics of camping at the "watering hole", the beach is as public as can be. Folks are going to use it, and setting up there is setting up for conflict. Then here comes _oman:
who high-fived me as soon as he reached me. It was his tent. He was stoked to be out in the woods on a bike. Clearly, he's young and dumb. That's a pardonable offense, if you axe me.
His buddy rolled up with a more leery approach. He noticed me taking pictures and thereafter kept his head turned or blocked. I tried suss them without being a buttinsky. Their plan was to ride to Indians (roughly 14 miles with at least 1,000' of vertical) and back the next day on a 20" BMX and a clapped out department store Schwinn hybrid. I was politely skeptical. The buddy (no name given) had been out in the Ventana before, so even though their bikes were crap and in terrible shape I did not think they were going to break down and require assistance (which would significantly dampen my own Good Time, let's be honest) nor crash our party. I reckoned we could deal with the beach as it came up. We were headed further over, to the good spot for our campsite.
I have assembled the ingredients for the Happy Life, and successfully combined these disparate steps into a coherent and translatable recipe. Prepare to receive instruction:
There it is. Simple, no? That is my favorite corner anywhere, by the way.
I have been spending so much time aboard the fat bike because it suits a bunch of the riding I've been doing. It forgives boozy line choices, sucks up poorly routed sneak-throughs, handles roots and pine cones etcetera hidden by shadows, tracks straight through the chunkiest rock sections and more. I am enamored. But...it is a pig. Changing to the Black Cat SS for the commute was a delight. So light, so responsive, so willing to leap forward. That morning commute through singletrack will put a positive spin right on you.
Simple formula: dirt commute = lasting happiness.
The stem drew me in. Bulbous.
Next, a parking brake caught my eye. It's plastic tubing fixed under the grip with a bolt on the free end which inserts into the gap between squeezed lever and body and held in place upon release of lever to keep the brake engaged. It's not my thing, but it's very well executed. When the brake is squeezed again, it springs out and away immediately.
And this? Der Kaiser (as this former airplane mechanic introduced himself) wanted a longer cage, so he made one. He had dumpster dived the frame in Tucson and this is what he's made of it. I called the other mechanic out of the shop and we marveled. You could see it warmed the Kaiser's heart to have his ingenuity recognized and valued. I enjoy my weekly shift in Monterey. There's more kooks over on that side of things.
I saved my lunch money and spent it on tallboys instead. That's that one spot. I was collecting empties and producing new ones. The ride home? Ripping singletrack. I had to walk up a bunch of hill, but it's a SS so I don't feel anything but fine. Up turns to side turns to down hill.
Finally, you can't teach me, but I can learn the hard way. Depending on others to provide for one's own Happiness is a sure road to Failure.
Fact.
Oh. Yeah, tomorrow is the Easter. While I don't believe in magic and I certainly don't believe that my group's magical theory is grounds for moral supremacy and/or resource appropriation, I do know my kids like to hunt for Eater Eggs. Who doesn't? So, tonight will see me rolling the stone away and riding around a certain section of trails drinking beers and hiding eggs...
In response to a phone call from an unnamed "friend", I found myself waking up at 3:15AM and heading North. In a car. And not for a bike ride.
A helicopter ride to the Farallon Islands sounded like a fair use of a day off. I had never been in a helicopter before, nor had I heard of the Farallon Islands (much less been there). Those of y'all who love birds and live in the Bay Area should prolly get on that. The whole place is literally covered in birds' bones. I imagine at the right time of year it is a birder's paradise. At this time of year it is lots of seals and not so many birds. The biologists who man the place are some nice guys who are wealths of information. They were counting attacks by Great White Sharks on seals. I heard the term "blood pool" used twice in passing. It stuck with me. The conversations were going great until the subject of Orcas came up.Y'all are familiar with my anthropomorphization of Killer Whales- I think they are assholes. Really, they are the worst kind of bullying meatheads. They need to grow up and stop abusing their position at the top of the food chain. Did you know that Orcas predate Great White Sharks? Apparently they love the liver. Anyhow, when the biologist started waxing about Killer Whales' superior predator status, I dropped the turd into the punchbowl by voicing my opinion (not the 1st time that's happened, I can tell you). I even included the self-effacing sidenote about realizing it was bullshit and assigning made-up values to nature...but not even a smile. He just looked at me. Quite speechless. It was exquisite.
My buddy asked me if the day was worth the trade (I assisted, briefly, superficially, whingeingly, with some septic system maintenance) and I honestly answered "No." Well, we did see (from afar) a Great White attack on a hapless,
by-standing seal (yeah yeah- everbody's gotta eat) but I could not
discern the blood pool.
If you have seen a helicopter ride on TV, you have as good as ridden in one. Anything more exciting would be terrifying to boot, and I pass.
I did have a spirited discussion with said compadre while we sat in heavy 5PM traffic regarding how bad BB King sucks. Surprisingly, it was not a difference in degree, but of kind. My boy feels that BB King is good while I feel that BB King represents the very worst kind of soulless pandering to boozy white folks sitting in an overly hot and dirty field getting sunburned and drinking Coors Lite. I said he was just like Robert Cray- tired, played out, no soul. I said I like my blues with razors and whiskey:
I am not complaining about the week of rain putting the stops to Spring Break 2012 and all that would have entailed; the camping and the creek cooled beers and the swimming and the rope swangin and the cliff jumping and the loafing and the grilling and the flaming paper airplane target practice. To say nothing of the quiet backcountry reached by bicycle.
I am thankful we are finally getting some portion of the refill that is well overdue.
I am going effing bananas sitting around indoors with my roommates' TV shows.
So when there was a break in the front today, my partner and meself went for the gusto. J______ suggested we have some Brown Lunch like we used to, and I assembled the necessaries; lentil soup, chopped kale, a couple sweet red peppers, a bagel, some pistachios, and apple sauce.
When we pulled up at the trailhead I realized I'd forgotten the stove, the fuel, the utensils, and the pot. J declined to turn around and drive home, saying "That's a waste of time." And he was correct, so we just rolled out figuring we could handle ourselves. It was a gentle loop around to the new Stairs.
There we cleared the (soaking wet from a week of rain) leaf litter in a 4' circle. Spanish moss stays dry under the canopy and catches fire like you'd expect. It's also hella smoky. It took constant fiddling and feeding to catch a twig fire given the conditions. I came very close to bagging it, esp. due to so much smoke, but I'm glad we kept at it. Eventually, our wee blaze was down to coals. Old hobos that we are, we put the soup can directly in the embers. We'd scoured the truck for useable items and turned up a couple take-out sporks. We were golden.
Time out for "cooking" allows other pursuits.
A conveniently located and emptied beer can works for braising kale.
Sweet red peppers and pistachios round out the meal. We split the soup into the empty pistachio bag and the soup can and it was good.
Checked out the hammock. A strap gave way immediately(of course?), and I hit the deck. It seems comfortable enough for lounging and napping. We'll bring it on the next overnight and test it further. After all, REI has the 100% satisfaction guarantee. If it doesn't fit the bill, I'm taking it back.
Alternately, this post could be titled "the Velocache that wasn't". I set out for Point Lobos (no issue keeping it a secret now) with intentions of dropping a package discretely into their environs. Point Lobos was a total bust in terms of bike access (please see me after class for more in depth exploration of this statement) so there was no velocaching, but it was a worthwhile ride. The museum at Whaler's Cove is very interesting, and the docent I bothered was knowledgeable and enthused. She told me Roy Hattori's great story about saving himself from drowning due to a broken faceplate by using the sucking power of his harvested abalone. Roy's whole tale is inneresting, but he gets to it at 14:28:
The well-used "hard hat" (a copper or brass helmet gasketed onto a vulcanized canvas suit and fed with an air hose) abalone diving suit was really neat. And they had patched it multiple times with old denim bits, so you know they were punk. The harpoon section was fascinating, as well. Taking a ride tethered to a pissed off whale capable of diving so fast and deep the lines were in danger of catching fire? No.
I envision the abalone divers and whaling enthusiasts like this:
After the lame scene at the Pacific (the wind), I hunted and pecked a dirt route inland, through Carmel Valley that tacked some actual singletrack onto the patchwork of parking lot, apartment complex, golf course, confusing hodgepodge of Palo Corona (open by permit only AND no bikes?!?). I may or may not have jumped a fence.
"Experience Carmel River where Nature and people meet"
All this to reach a nice sheltered spot to brew some coffee and test my new woodburning stove. It works real well. Better than the venerable Esbit because the added height makes keeping the twig fire fed much easier. And a twig fueled fire is a greedy and fickle blaze.
That stove is in a dug out area floored with damp dirt. When the fire was out, I dumped the char and ash into the divot, wetted it thoroughly, and replaced the duff. Because we don't want any fires (an aside: yay! it's been raining pretty good lately) and we don't want any trace. Secret boys.
It is a nice way to reintroduce meself to bike riding the way Little Richard would want it done. Regardless, this does leave me with a velocache to secrete.
Apparently, the cure for what ails you is to load up a musette with 9 Hamm'ses and a quart of OJ to follow some ladies and their entourage up a fire road and onto some trails. Under a canopy of Redwoods, Bay Laurels, Madrones, and the like you might pop a top or several, slam the top 1/3 and fill with OJ to formulate a "Hammosa". You could share them with your fellows, pass around whatever you pass, and have a small (small) pinch from Christopher St. John's tube of wondrous materiel. That is, if riding loaded is to your taste. You know, on singletrack and such.
Or, not. As you like. Though it was pointed out to (not by) me that it takes a certain bent to ride the bikes and partay.
Monday (that's my Funday) saw a return to my monkish solo fixed road/off-road ramble. Inspired by the ant-like efficiency shown on the girls' birfday party ride, I brung the clippers and used my left hand to clear up a little of that bushy section under the tower. You know the part.
I stopped at Goodwill in Cside! and was sad these fine art pieces were for auction and not for grabs. You _uckers would be finding them in Velocaches for months. I was able to score a sweet bedroll:
Which was the perfect compliment to stopping on the bike path and taking pictures of hobo bikes:
This guy was sour to come back from the beer store and find me there stealing his bike's soul. I tried to mollify him by offering to erase the image, but he would not be assuaged and acted put upon and long-suffering. "(sigh) No. You already took it. It's done." I pointed out the fine technical aspects of his set-up and explained that I was/am genuinely enthused and we had us a conversation about living on bikes. It was worth it.
I didn't tell him I thought his white gas heater (contained in the big black bag on the trailer) was frivolous. Who am I to say?
Finally, it is prime mushroom season here on the Central Coast, so on the way home under the Monterey Pines I kept my eyes peeled...Granulated Slippery Jack ( Suillus granulatus) mushrooms IDed with the handy (pocket sized!) field guide titled All That the Rain Promises and More... and sauteed with onions, rosemary and oregano. Not the finest boletes available, but right there, fresh, and nowhere near unpleasant.
[those links are safe]
A full day.
And, plus there is the plan in place to spend this coming Saturday night riding trails under the Full Cold Moon from a hidden campsite at an undisclosed location nearby. If you are within the sound of my voice and you kick much ass, get at me.
I will bring the sweet bedroll, you bring the hobo trailer full up with beers.
Time out for "cooking" allows other pursuits.
A conveniently located and emptied beer can works for braising kale.
Checked out the hammock. A strap gave way immediately(of course?), and I hit the deck. It seems comfortable enough for lounging and napping. We'll bring it on the next overnight and test it further. After all, REI has the 100% satisfaction guarantee. If it doesn't fit the bill, I'm taking it back.
"Experience Carmel River where Nature and people meet"
That stove is in a dug out area floored with damp dirt. When the fire was out, I dumped the char and ash into the divot, wetted it thoroughly, and replaced the duff. Because we don't want any fires (an aside: yay! it's been raining pretty good lately) and we don't want any trace. Secret boys.
I stopped at Goodwill in Cside! and was sad these fine art pieces were for auction and not for grabs. You _uckers would be finding them in Velocaches for months. I was able to score a sweet bedroll:
