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.

tactical rehabilitation

Are you taking for granted X, Y and even Z? Does your morning coffee without that hint of woodsmoke fail to satisfy? Are your clean, crisp sheets not a luxury to be savored and regarded?

You have grown soft and your outlook is dim. You need some suffering in your life. Get on that.

2 days off. 65 miles of pavement down the Big Sur Coastline. Hot. Calm. Pleasant mindless spin- so much so that the only thing that stays in my mind is the shirtless weirdo who'd parked his stickered up 80s vintage VW van at one pullout and was cruising the pullouts in his way-too-short cutoffs aboard his 29"wheeled Rockhopper toting his Yorkshire Terrier in a home-made dishrack/basket. I played leap frog with the tourists in rental RVs- Fun Finder X?

Lucia at sunset and climbing Nacimiento Ferguson in the dark. I dropped the backside in the dark, too- passed the 1st campground and stopped at the 2nd. I misremembered there having been a spigot there. The fee was $15. The camp host was still there (this late in the season? at that out of the way spot?) so I put $10 in the envelope because it was $5 over or $5 under, and I opened with under. I figured I could bluff if it came to it. Settling in for the night was quick, and I will tell y'all this: the instant garlic mashed potatoes from Trader Joe's are conveniently packaged in 2 2person servings and are super easy/great camping food! I was tired enough (that Nacimiento Ferguson is a hard climb!) that I really appreciated the ease.

That picture there is from breakfast, when I was done cooking and just wanted a cheery twig fire. The Kelly Kettle boils some water like no other. It requires far less time spent gathering/snapping/sorting twigs than I am used to, and uses way less fuel to bring a given amount of water (say, a large water bottle's worth) to a rolling boiling in about 5minutes. It is worth looking into if you like that sort of thing. It is very bulky (it took up the entire front rack) in comparison to the Esbit, more in line with your gas powered JetBoil. Everything is a trade-off. It is of little use to actually cook on, because the water inside boils and spits out the spout (some of it dribbling into your fire pan base) and you either have to keep refilling the reservoir as you cannot use it dry, or figure out what you want to do with your boiled water and then refill, etc. So- cooking not so much. Boiling? Hell yes.

I liked it quite a bit for making coffee happen so fast.  But, I will likely not be taking it on solo outings in the future. For that application, the trade-off is not worth it. Now I know.

Anyhow, after breakfast I had to leave as quickly as possible. I didn't want that camp host coming over for his $5. All the long and hot way through Fort Hunter Ligget I distracted myself with scenarios involving disgruntled camp hosts seeking retribution. And it was a long long and hot way. Every ride through there it seems like they add a section. By the time I had taken a wrong turn and ridden several long and hot miles out of and then back into my way, my shirt was stiff and salty.

 That's my crowded handlebars. No pack, so the water bladder was in the frame bag and it's hose you see. The white cable is the USB cord to recharge the iPhone via the Plug (worked like a charm). I listened to Ry Cooder's I, Flathead on repeat.

I have, now, in my possession, a plastic spoon which is the spiritual equivalent of a Golden Eagle feather. That's what you get, on your vision quest, when you hassle a wild Golden Eagle. Right? When you actually make the effort to get offa your bike and walk over to underneath where said magnificent bird perched. Right? If a feather from your (ahem) totem is unavailable, then you must avail yourself of the spiritual equivalent in situ. Probably, there is more personal magic in that sun hardened plastic spoon on account of giving a hoot and stopping pollution and all. Anyways, I have my mojo working.

 By the time I stopped for lunch, at Escondido Campground, I had made several bad choices regarding water. I had a hard time focusing. It took a while to sort out the order of doing things to make food. The new cook system wasn't helping. Coffee and space packaged Indian food.

 I had enough water to last to the spring past Hanging Valley, so I just decided to keep pushing. Once there, I laid in the shady spot in the dirt for 20 minutes while sweet, cold water trickled into my bottle. Dripped down from the very finest ferns and muck, that water is the best in the whole world. It is sweet and cold. The best.

That right there is the Good Place. Seems like ever time I'm there, though, I'm too worked to appreciate it fully. The Ventana Wilderness is magic.

Then it was all downhill for a while. Then pavement and dark to home. Somewheres in the neighborhood of 140 hot, hard miles in 2 days. I am relishing the comforts of home today.

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!

feel great ALL the time! ask me how...

I'll tell you.

I been thinking. Friend J__ had mentioned that she would be working in Big Sur on/off throughout the week and would I be innerested in riding down and catching a ride in her truck back home. Or, I could ride down, camp, and catch a ride back the next day...That sounded like a Good Idea, but the requisite meshing of schedules didn't happen.

I had been making plans and revising them for a couple days by that point. It was Monday evening when this all came down. Then my lovely wife suggested I ride down and camp, and she and the kids would drive down to pick me up Wednesday. See why I married her? Thank you, Boba Fet.

The plan was to ride the Condor Tour route, and camp along Indians Road somewheres; wherever dark found me. I drove D to school (no walking right now in the morning for him) and dropped J off at preschool, and returned home to frantically pack. You know how that goes. Rode out at the crack of noon.



Heading out the valley, it was ~60 degrees and overcast. Significant rain the night before, but the forecast called for increasing sun.


The sun shines on all bike touring endeavors...




Carmel Valley Road was cold and dank on the upper reaches. You remember how that gradual climb goes on and on? Well, it's longer than you remember.




Running to beat the timer. Story of my life on top of the incline.





Yes, that is what it looks like. I considered leaving this out of the post, but it makes you feel better about yourself. My story is: while frantically packing and experimenting with rack sets for this bike (which I really wanted to ride because I just put it together in this incarnation, and in spite of the fact that I had a perfectly set-up and tuned Long Haul Trucker with racks mounted, in the same room...), I pulled the Nitto canti-mount rack off the LHT, and attempted to mount it on the KM. No go- suspension corrected fork. But I'd already removed the brake mounting bolts, and even though I put them back on the LHT ( so's not to lose them, you know) I neglected to remount them here. I found this out here, at the top of the incline (6-12% grade), roughly 35 miles into the tour. Just happened to walk away from the bike and the gaping post holes caught my eye...

Yeah. I know.

All's I know is: Thank God for zip ties! and always carry plenty with you on tour... I considered whether to swap the bolts from the rear brakes to the front to avoid possible issue with the front brakes getting pulled off the post by the forward rotation of the wheel, but it was cold and you know how I do. I kept my eye on it. Really.


I saw a huge group of hogs on the way down. Maybe 14? Lots of little football sized babies. They were scared by my incredibly dangerous brake set up and ran off. Lots and lots and lots of deer. Hawks. I noticed in passing the Forest access was closed heading out the end of the valley, but did not think anything of it.




Looking south rounding the turn to G17 for Arroyo Seco you see the evidence of the Indians fire.


Upon arriving at Arroy Seco, I approached the gate to Indians Road only to see dozens of sandwich board signs regarding the closure of the Los Padres National Forest due to the fire damage. They were all dated August, so I pushed on a little. It became very clear this was not a workable plan. Ask me about it in person and I'll tell you the story.

The water in the Arroyo Seco River runs the color of espresso. The ground is black.

Suffice to say here that I was denied and ended up camping in Arroyo Seco. Yeah yeah yeah- you would have checked before heading out and all. The camping cost me $20 of the $21 (total) I had. I spent my other $1 in quarters for the (HOT!) shower.



Camp and cooking dinner. I had: 1 can pinto beans, 1 small can Tomatillo Salsa Verde (with the pop top lid...), 1 avocado, 1 heirloom tomato, 1 ziploc bag of dehydrated corn/peas/carrots/tomatoes+added oregano/cumin/chile powder/salt, 1 bag Have'a corn chips.

You know I don't like to camp without forgetting a utensil. Since there was only one utensil I needed, I forgot that: a spork. That's where the pop top lid came in. I crimped the sides and extended the tab, and that was my tool. It worked ok.

I found the weak spot(s) in my Esbit. The tabs leave a thick and sticky residue on the bottom of the pot which really needs to be scrubbed or it'll make a mess in your mess kit when packed. You really need a lot of water for this, and a scrubby. Luckily, I had both. Also, the tabs don't burn that long- one is not enough to boil 16oz. You need 2. Or twigs, which I've used with good success in the past. But everthing was damp that night, and the twigs took a looong time to catch. I used all my fuel on the dinner and coffee the next morning, which meant that I had none left to make the grits I'd planned for breakfast. Well, the coffee is more important, and I had an "extra" PBJ, so it worked out. Lesson to me: always bring 2x the fuel "needed".




With the sun came coffee and clearer thinking. I realized I didn't have to turn back, but that I could (potentially) access Ft. Hunter Ligget via King city/Jolon Road. This meant a fair detour further inland (to the tune of 20 miles extra) but it meant I could still reach Prewitt Ridge and hopefully ride singletrack down to the coast! And if the point were to arrive, I could have just driven. No, the point is to travel well, and that means the bicycle. All day, the bicycle.

Lloyd, the conspiracy minded camp host, came by to tell me that Obama had won. Works for me. If I needed another reason to despise the Mormon Church, I got it with their funding and pimping of the (lamentably) passed Yes on 8 campaign.

If 2 people love and commit to one another for life, where is the harm?

Shame on us, California.





Yep. The same jury rig as last time down this path...




Lowered center of mass with this arrangement of tarp and pad.





2nd day's load arrangement. Smartened up (a bit) and strapped the tent and poles along side the rack, taking them out of my small pack and off my back. Muuuuch nicer. Loaded the solar powered lantern/water bottle on the seatbag for charging and to keep weight off my back.

I was not sure about the water situation ahead, so I loaded up all I had here. My bladder leaked and I had to toss it. Bummer!that was 100 oz of water. Yay!that was so much less weight on my back.



This is such a perfect little vineyard tucked into the foothills. And I lik their water tower.




Looking at the perfectly spaced oaks along the road into Ft Hunter Ligget. That place should be a park. Instead it's full of tanks. At least they let you through (with an ID-don't forget that) to access the backside of Prewitt Ridge.




Spend more than a day on your tour, and you will look like a hobo. Gear strapped everwhere, dirty clothes in odd arrangement, etc. I was trying to keep the sun off my ears/neck. I had my shirt rolled up to my armpits for cooling, exposing my undershirt along with this getup when I rolled up to the gate at the military base...





Climbing, looking at the remains of the Cone Peak foothills. The stream along the lower sections of the eastern flanks is running clear (even with the rains of this past weekend), but the hillsides are pretty torn up. Not as bad as the Indians fire, I guess...though the smell of wet charcoal was so pervasive it made me a little nauseous on the climb. Not that I feel super on that climb, anyway, but you know.




There will be a terrible problem with slides this winter. Those hills are ruined.





This is looking down a drainage on the Pacific side of the ridge. I see why the mountain lion decided to move into Carmel looking at all this. That is a lot of ruin.




Looking eastward, descending with the last of the light. Time was tight by the time I reached the top, so I took the road instead of the punishing climb to Prewitt and it's always elusive trail...




Cold. Sunflower seeds. Got some grey hairs in my moustache.



West.






This is a truer feel for the light conditions. Looking south down the Nacimiento-Ferguson Road to the Pacific and the finish. Pampas Grass is going crazy right now...





Done. Nothing for it but to eat my remaining PBJ, potato chips, apple, and drink whiskey in the sleeping bag until pick up several hours later...

Thank you L___ for the motivation and support! You are good to me.