come away with a different point of view

I like switching between a bunch of different bicycles. There was a time I tried to pick a bike. I expect there is that time for all of us. I guess for some, it sticks and they ride off happily into the sunset. Me, I have come to some more and less comfortable terms with the undeniable fact that I enjoy the shit out of lots of different rides.



Now I will mention, again: one aspect of the goodness of said fact is that the different rides are not only simply fun, a symbol of my individuality and my belief in personal freedom, but are complexly inter-related. To wit that the riding of one ride influences the sensation, informs the tactic, and contributes to the fitness (in every sense) with which we ride the other(s).

Think about that. Stare at your stem, drag a big heavy wheel up a solid climb, feel the effortless purring of a skinny tyre down a zippy and sustaaaaaaaaaaaained drop, etc. Don't just feel those contrasts, feel the hell out of them.

Relatedly, unless you are willing to stare into that Abyss, it won't be looking back at you at all. It might check it's phone and casually run you over without a meaning or a ripple, but that is dissatisfying to me. Some folks talk about a "meat life"*- sheeeeit. Meat life ain't coming to you, you got to go look for it. You might find it some dark night, backlit by a driving fog in a tight cone of headlight sound-tracked by heavy breathing. Maybe that's too far fetched. But it's true.

Also, I got a buddy who says he figures folks really love a bike for 5 years or so, and then get a yen for something else. That sounds right, more or less.  I figure a great bike is great forever**. Hopefully, you'll get reminders at least every 5 years or so.  If you are lucky, perhaps you will get reminders more frequently.

Finally, as a wise ass in a seedy bar once asked Mysterious B___ S_____ and myself: Do you even ride bikes?



*The term "meat life" scares me and makes me giggle.

** I leave out suspension bikes as individuals, as I consider them throw-away bikes with a finite use window dependent on: material(s) durability, design, the current standards of "useable" travel, planned obsolescence, trends in fashion, your bros' opinions, etc. As a category of bike- they have a place. You may love the shit out of suspension bikes in general, but any particular squishy bike more than mmmmm4.62 years past it's release date seems ridiculous and unenjoyable.

take your thrills unashamed

This is a notice: Summer has snuck right up on Central Collyfornya. What last week was lush and green is, as of this writing, now drying fast and browning quickly. You thought it would last.



Stop fooling around.



Go get some before it is gone. We were riding the trails (#where is Big Sur?) last week, when it was green, and the lupines were so exploded it was all you could do to keep breathing. Every breath a headful of floral. Just so nice. To that end, I'm slipping away tomorrow evening after work to attempt to catch some of the floral glory in Henry Coe. You should put off your busy work for a couple days and meet me at the usual spot. Supposedly in the 90s next week, so that will be the last chance for green in 2014.



Spent some time seeding the party spots out at the Ord yesterday after work. I could get used to this extra daylight. Checked on the beers stash over on 49, and it remains well hidden 4 inches from the singletrack. That trail is busted down the back side, though. All the corners are blown out and brake bumped and sandy/getting sandier. Bummer time sand pits.



To answer your question, it is a "wake". Also, a committee, a venue (?), a kettle, or a volt.




 (It's as though I'm a dangerously balanced eccentric, taking photos of birds while styling, profiling, lounging in my leather seat? )

What else is there to do on a Friday night after boozing it up on the trails? The ShadowBox is on the way home after all. I truly enjoy that bar. The Glen Thompson Band was set up by the shuffleboard table, and the keyboardist was really something else. I received an extensive amount of heckling from the older gentleman to my right for paying for my beer with coins. It was all I had left by then, after high rollering it at the in-the process-of-remodeling Terrace Liquors (no one likes change) to stock all them hidey holes (aside: if you need help finding your flat-backed position on the bike, you should practice by hauling 18packs in a musette. It'll get you there.). After apologizing to the barmaid, I admitted it was ridiculous and he just kept telling me "that's your Life". He is right, and it is a fine one. And after this ribbing he went to hit on the mature ladies with a ring on every finger (yes, thumbs too). He was one of those guys who sits at the bar with all their $1s fanned out in front of them, and I don't get that. Maybe it's just to differentiate him from the lowlifes who scrounge for change. It is also worth noting the 600lb guy in the bowling shirt on my other right, who was surprised and pleased (if an impromptu fist bump is an indicator) when I sincerely thanked him for smoking, like in a real bar. He was one of several. This is California in the 21st century and the ShadowBox has ashtrays on the bar. I hope it never changes.

You know what to do. Do it.

hand-reared jungle cat

Local roadies all want to ride out 68 and go "over the grade". They say it with a gleam in their eye, like it's something. Pardon me while I snicker. Cloacal roadies, get real! Carmel Valley is where it's at. Sure, there're the wine-drunk tourists sometimes, but over all the experience is much more good. You can talk about how 68 has such nice pavement after the winter's redo, and how it has the wide shoulder...and get blue in your face as you ignore the issue- commuter traffic and buses and trucks and the grade sucks, homie. It is hot, it is exposed, and it backs up with assholes driving way too fast teaching you a lesson by passing within a foot of you. And, then, you're up and over and down and you have CV to ride anyhow. (buzzer sound.)

On the other hand, shifting into your big ring and smoothly pedaling circles out the valley gets you past the village in practically no time and from there it's no-traffic one-lane goodness. To wit, Cachagua:

where you can get your hot exposed climb on with minimal cars, nice grades, and fantastic descending on the backside. Scary twisty and quick.

So I did that. But the ride was too short, even though my lily-white, coastal-fog-softened pins were talking. As I was headed West, I opted for a further climb up the South side past all those steep false summits. Hopped a gate that wouldn't open, and rolled through some more:

oak land goodness. Summer is here and the time is right, for riding in the streets. ~70ish miles of street biking.

At home afterwards, I stretched hamstrings and adductors and foam-rollered the legs. It helps. Don't sleep.


Finally, in the interest of Summertime and more info than you deserve or desire, I made the BBQbaked black-eyed peas from the Vegan Soul Kitchen cookbook by Bryant Terry.  Fucking delicious.

can't help but do a little Evil

It is easy to take _____ for granted. I know it. You know it. It is so evident that it's...taken for granted.

Trouble is, people forget. I personally forget, most relevantly to this arena, that there is some more riding around these local parts than what I already know. I tell myself that I am bored of the handful of legitimately interesting road loops to be had from my door. I kid myself I look real smooth on my sneaky sneaks, known only to me. I say to myself that if I have to ride another dirt loop through ___, that I may as well pay to know what I really think, because I already know it all.

I forget about those (and they are plural) trails I saw and disregarded as I pursued what I thought would be the Good Line. And, as a further aside, I know a guy who specializes in tricking the rest of us away from his Good (sneaky) Lines by routing their entrances in unappealing spots, so. Remembering to remember is tricky and it is the ticket.

This morning I awoke with a plan. Usually, given a ride from home as opposed to a ride afar, I find the ride sorts itself without conscious planning. As I mentioned, I have some excellent sneaky sneaks. Most days my wheels just end up on one or more of them and that's that; perhaps a reverse in direction or something, if I am too terribly tired of the same old. I had planned to do some more in depth investigation of an area I'd found to have some thrilling sections, but which are too short to be worth doing on their own merit. And plus there's complications.

Just let me say this: if you are riding your bike somewhere(s) from which you might need to make a quick get-away then you had best pay attention. Pay attention to the contours of the land, keeping in mind where you can see and be seen. Consider what natural features are most likely given those contours, and how they might affect you (e.g. are you going to hit a creek in that gully?). A keen eye to possible entrances (gates, roads, trails) is an eye to the good. It should go without saying that you must keep your ears open. And, finally and most importantly to my mind, know your exits.

Anyhow, ask me about lying full length behind a shrubbery to escape detection. Inquire as to whether I have broken this losing streak on the porcini front to the tune of 9 (nine!) lbs. I will answer to the effect that we all get stuck in our ruts, that- hell, they are our ruts because they are so good we've ridden them enough times to really set them in. And I will say that lifting the front wheel up out of that rut for a dedicated session of exploration can be sub-par or sublime, but it is worth doing.

squares don't roll well

A ____'s love is very different from that of a square. This has never been more apparent to me than Right Now.



Today started out so familiarly, with the fixed cross bike and the new/used chain required by the last minute inspection/lube (as the old/used chain was so worn it rode the tooth tips of the 46). Well used routes of pavement to dirt to pavement to dirt to pavement...found me at Alfredo's just after sunset.

Some of y'all will recall how they let us put the bikes in the bar, and some of y'all will recall when they've refused us. I thanked the barman for allowing me to put my bike in the corner of the bar. After I'd asked for a shot of Wild Turkey and a cold Coors I told the barman, J__, that I had an odd request and began the process of explaining Velocache. Hopefully this all works out, because no sooner had I finished that arrangement I opened my mouth real wide and put my foot right in there.

I asked the owner, D___, just how many bikes we could bring in, hypothetically, and then pressed it one more rejoinder when told "no more than 3". Wow, was that the wrong approach. I pointed out that practically speaking, 7 bikes could physically occupy that space (if the table were scooted slightly towards the bar) and then he'd have 7 folks spending at least $10 each. This would in no way affect the rest of the bar- it's never filled, and no one sits at that table anyhow as it is directly below the TV. Both the gentlemen were deeply offended. I apologized. I thought I had it saved when I got a laugh about turning it into a "biker bar."

Then I asked about the possibility of a 6er of canned beer for the ordering. Wowow.
"This is not a canned beer bar." I was not aware there was that distinction.
"Strike 2, Dick! What's the 3rd gonna be?!" I guess folks don't want to associate with the type of lowlife (viz. me) who would order a canned beer inside. There were questions as to my age, and how long I had been in the bar business. I was invited to name bars wherein I had successfully ordered a canned beer.

I apologized again and said no more. I don't need any 3rd strikes, whoa.



35ish mixed miles. The old school singlespeed loops aren't all there, but there are (again) some real nice swoopy connectors between Parker Flats Cut-off and Happy Trails.

...what do you do?

I took M___ out for a ride. He's a father/soccer coach guy, who moved here recentlyish and expressed interest in learning local trails. Mostly, I find myself with little to say to my "peer" group. I started in talking to him, initially, on account of his sweet Duluth pack (so don't kid yourself: your gear says things about you and your choices) and came to find out he's an inneresting guy. Used to work for the State D_________, and the United N_____s building armies (of all things to build) in A____a. So. Yes, I'm innerested in hearing his perspectives. That's not what I lik to build, but you get the point.

Last week we met at the elementary school, having dropped off our respective chirrens, and wandered up the hill to some close, above-board trails which are very easy to access and pretty tame. I thought it would be most useful to him, and I could get an idea of his competence/attitude/compatibility. Hey. The guy built armies. Who knows which way he jumps.

He jumps pretty sensibly, I think. Being a self-professored student of history meself, his views seem level-headed, if a little sharp-edged. This is not a place I care to engage in heated discussion of anything other than bikes, but I do feel it worth mentioning that this country seems to be heading (quickly) toward the edges, and I wish my children to have the skills needed to thrive. Less will be more.

Anyhow, today was Intro to Fort Ord. Mountain biking 101. It was a little dull. M___ is not a fast guy, or a techy guy, and has a crap bike. But (the most important but) he is willing. It was very like riding with the kids; a lot of slowing, waiting, calling turns, and picking smoother trails. I'll do it again. The conversation was worthwhile. Hopefully he picks up the hammer and starts swinging it himself, though, because I only have so much daylight to burn.

Sussing out new people is weird. Mostly, there's some filters already passed before you ride together; i.e. other folks' introductions, meetings on hard trails, etc.

NSFW audio, and poor video, but it's the only copy of this relevant recording of Louis CK (super comic- you should watch his show) I could pull up...



P.S. Astute readers who really pay attention have noticed the Paul's Thumbies I run (on 2 bikes) and have inquired as to their badassness. I reply: they are pretty bad ass. BUT (the 2nd most important but) you have to keep your housing clean if you expect them to index well with 9 speed. Haven't tried a 10 set-up. Yet. And, if you are too lazy to do this (keeping it clean) then don't expect real crisp friction shifts, either. Since the 9 (and presumably more so, the 10. Eff the 11) speed cassette cogs are so closely spaced, it is easy to misshift. Full stop.

sacrificial bonfires

Burn up the old. Ring in the new.


Velocache is a true Tournament of Champions. You- yes, you- can have your Giro, your Tour day France, and your Vuelta. Fancy stage racing puts type-A dopers on their saddles, but what puts your butt on your saddle?

Velocache could be that motivation.

It gave me a reason to ride the stiffness out of my tired legs today. Instead of sitting around inside, I braved the gathering rain clouds and sat around outside.


My sweet ride was the Black Cat cyclocross, with it's fancy new fork (for which I still owe $78.33 to Rick...), and it's fancy new brass fenders, and it's fancy new mudflaps.



I realize this is sub-prime fender season...but all these ducks have just aligned, so I'm making hay while the rain threatens.


This is the 2nd ride with these. The flaps are well proportioned and have a simple/clever stiffener in the horizontal strip which forms a curve, allowing thin flaps (and so, light flaps) to be as stiff as much thicker (and so, heavier) flaps.

I lik them. They appeal to my low brow, yet snooty, bicycle aesthetic.


I have a single nit to pick. They performed flawlessly on pave, but immediately upon hitting the singletrack downhill, the rear flap sucked up into the fender. After the 3rd suck up, I strapped the flap:


When I returned to the relative sanity of riding my drop barred skinny bike on pavement, I unstrapped the flap and it was smooooooth music. Fenders and off-road riding are a poor mix; this has been proven. Sticks, twigs, pebbles, matter- these are things that can stick between the fender and tyre and cause a axeident. So I am happy to ride these flaps with my shiny brass fenders on road rides.

Check out Tom's work. It's Good Stuff: This colored text is a link, which- if clicked upon- will take you to the Tauro site.

I TOLD you cha cha heels!

Lay off me! I hate you! ____ you, ____ you both, you awful people! You're not my parents! I hate you I hate this house I hate the interweb!






My favorite part is the mother lying under the tree crying. John Waters is a genius and he's captured just how I feel about you people.

In unrelated developments, you know that one thing I was talking about? Well I went out there, under cover of darkness, and climbed up on my bike and used a wrench and my height to my advantage. It was at least 30 solid minutes of standing on my saddle on one leg and then the other, switching hands and grunting...but I got it. Problem was, I had no means of carrying it so I did how we do and hid it in the bushes.

This was Friday evening, you understand, the day none of y'all could be bothered to ride under some moonlight. Yeah, I heard what you said. Whatever. 75% full is 100% full enough for FUN. Full stop.

Anyhow, and so, I had a go back up there today to fetch it. This is because a) the bushes are only so secure, and 2) I had a big pack into which I could stuff it. I had a big pack because it was necessary to carry all my junk for a s240 (that's computer/bike dork code for Sub24hourOvernight, where you ride out and camp real quick).



Why, yes, it did rain like hell for what seemed like all night.



Mr.S and Mr.Y went along. Because Mr. Y is a giant weenie, and hasn't ridden in a month, his "hematoma" was giving him the business to the tune of get off our bikes right in the middle of the climb and camp right then and there. This turned out to be such a disguised blessing on account of how the rain began in earnest just as we were finishing putting up tents. Really, for real, it was frantic attaching of guy lines to bikes and Manzanita in the wet. This proved to be such an undisguised bitch for me, as I dragged my tent right into a slight dip in order to anchor it.



You can guess how that went.





So, yes, I did get soaked but the bright side is that it was only on the bottom of my bag and so just that and the seat of my pants/underwear were truly sopping. And, plus, I had managed to leave my sleeping pad right on the floor at home so I saved weight and effort and got to use my jacket and empty pack for "padding"!



Literally. Right in the trail.


Orange.



Mr Y. Mr Highanddry. Mr 7lbthickashellsleepingpad. Mr. We'recampinghere.

We had been gonna ride out here:

and camp. So after parting ways with Mr. Allthosethingswhohadtogettowork, Mr S and I completed that portion of the schedule.


8:30 AM.




These are the trips that make everything worthwhile. I use them to refine gear selection, to really drive home what it is important to not forget, and to study (at length and in depth) how a solid 6 hours of torrential rain will affect my drive train. On this last, I can definitively say: it's not a good idea to rinse your chain overnight in driving rain and then to further ride it around sandy trails. Who knew? Also, a bottle of lube is a fine and potentially very necessary addition to your kit when going out for the team. Finally, a chain tool is a tool which cannot be improvised. Pack it. Every time. Dummy.


Nice girls don't wear cha cha heels. I noticed the clicking and chalked it up to a bone dry chain. At the bottom of that sweet singletrack I looked closely and saw a link coming apart. I decided to post up at the intersection and make some more coffee and see if anyone showed who was not a fool and who did have a chain tool. While waiting, I used the pocket knife/wrench combo to punch the pin back in place. This worked, but was never going to hold.

The 1st guy who blew through the turn without even glancing my way (yep. Standing there waving, next to a bike minus it's rear wheel and all.) was a road guy I recognized. This behavior seems in keeping with what I have seen from him in the past. He had headphones on, and did not hear me hollering until I upped the volume significantly. No chain tool. Then his buddy rolled up, also wearing headphones, and also without a chain tool. The guy in third was devoid as well.

The next crew to come by was some guys in Yellow Jackets of Authority; one of whom had a bar bag full of empty candy wrappers, one guy had his helmet at a jaunty angle, but the 3rd had a chain tool! He swung off his mighty hybrid, lowered the kickstand with a firm snap, and came to my rescue. Sweet, sweet chain tool.

Done. More riding up and up and then back and across. I thought about taking the road back in and babying the chain, but the trails were just too inviting. Ran into Old T___, and rolled around with him, back through CSide(!), got some lube from Joselyn's (what a difference) and then back to part ways at Huckleberry. What a glorious day.

Little trips like this are The Way. To be prepared for larger adventures when they come calling. To get some little adventures in your day to day.


Not on Christmas. Not on Christmas.

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower

So the sharp eyed among you have noticed "all the clapped out dually bike love lately?"


Life does indeed go in cycles (new is old , no I ain't no psycho) though a more honest reason would be: recovery.

This video has made the rounds, but in case you missed it (or Love it) check it out...


Paris Roubaix 2011.

See those quivering biceps? That's a whole lotta shaking going on. That amount of shaking is hard on the recovery. Full suspension takes most of that right out the equation. Last week's Henry Coe expedition left my left hip flexors and psoas in some serious distress. You can't teach me, but I can learn anew what I relearn every time I spend some time riding full squish- that I feel so unexpectedly (to me) fresh the next day. Spending most of your time riding around completely rigid, you tend to forget the difference as you take that shaking for given.

No wonder I feels so great. Of course, there's all this Spring welling up and blooming around and that helps too.



On the one hand, I need to get my act together vis a vis the taking of Public Transit to Santa Cruz or Big Sur to ride. It would extend my range so much.

On the other hand (and I quote):
A new route for the 2011 Amgen Tour of California Stage 5 from Seaside to Paso Robles has been released in light of the rock slide on Highway 1.This stage was originally supposed to send the cyclists down Highway 1, but the Alder Creek slide near the San Luis Obispo County line necessitated the change.Cyclists will depart Seaside via Canyon del Rey then travel onto Highway 68. They will then turn on Laureles Grade Road and take it over the hill to Carmel Valley Road. The ride will then continue down Arroyo Seco Road.The new route will take the cyclists through Greenfield, then to the east of Highway 101 and south to King City. The riders will then ride on Highway 101 (El Camino Real) to San Lucas, where they will head toward Lockwood and continue past Lake San Antonio and Lake Naciemento into Paso Robles.

Sweet! Now we can head over there, watch them PROS suffer, and get some bike camping in there, too...who's in?

On the otherer hand, people be doing this...

Example:

It's true. The tower is full of swarming bees.


Somebody needs to do something about this.



My kids say that somebody is me.


We can't use a tower full of bees for kickass adventures, after all. Barring a successful convo with a beetrapper/keeper, I will be getting all covered up and sneaking up after dark to tape cardboard over the holes. I realize this is mass murder, and will attempt to avoid it, but I think the bottom line is them or us. I'm choosing us.

Who wants a piece of this? 20 feet in the air, after dark, facing potentially Africanized bees? What could possibly go wrong?



The goal of the day was adventure. Bicycles. New Stairs. Shady oaks. Brown Lunch.


My favorite one liner ever? "Hold my beer and watch this..."


Prior to firing up the Esbit for some doctored split-pea soup, I handed D my beer and shimmied up the oak until my ribs wouldn't allow anymore and tied up the pirate rope we been using at Arroyo Seco. It worked out well enough that this may be it's permanent home.




The rope swang was enough of a thrill ride, that the boys weren't bothered by waiting for the twig fueled cookout.









Then it was my turn.

Graceful!


J is riding SO well!



First ride for D on the new bike.

26" Rockhopper. I think it's over-the-top, he likes the flash. Whatever gets him stoked. Since I'm back in the shop, this is a good use of my resources. He needed a new bike. The 24" is just too small. He likes the paddle shifters. I like the disc brakes. It's too big (17.5"!), but he's got to use it for several years and he juuust fits it. I will shorten the stem and replace the bars with some swept backs; Mary or the like. Then he will be faster than you.


Hey Lord Hayden, we found your stash in the manzanita, and we tucked it up under the caprock where it'll keep cool.

This has been an example of how to trick your children into a longish bike ride.

this blog poses a choking hazard

...so don't swallow the naughty bits.




This shall serve as a reminder to all y'all intuders that the 5th Annual Running Of The Drunks known as the Sleaze Otter is happening this coming Saturday, April 16th. The weather is a GO! If rumors of course routing are true, this year looks to really shake things up compared to years past...75% dirt options? Road available at all times should you be limited by knowledge or bike choice. And, plus the Full Pink Moon has been graciously coordinated for the following night, so you know it will be a good time.

I'll post the flyer as soon as the degenerates "in charge" send me one...

Don't get caught napping with your pants down and miss this.



As an aside, in the interest of medical science, please note: if you have broken (or possibly just dislocated) several ribs and they begin to feel so much better in such a short amount of time (a week? seriously? they can't be broken) DO NOT POKE AT THEM to "see" about them. Honestly. That's a terrible idea. You will hear and feel a click, and then there will be the return of pain. Trust me.

This is water.

These days I'm seeing a bunch of biker down words on the interwebs. People getting hurt sucks. I'm sorry that goes on.

What I'd want? I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike! I want people to remember this, and attempt to act accordingly. I mean breathe in, take some time outs for the Common Good. Cycling is Good. Bikes are good.

I'd be riding regardless, even if it were actively bad for me, if you need the Truth. It's just that kind of party. Knock wood I'm done and holding, but I've been struck by cars 3 times so far. I ride accordingly. I assume you're all furiously texting instead of watching the shoulder much less the road itself, and that's taking as a given that you want to avoid hitting me with your vehicle (to say nothing of the beverage container in your sweaty paw), if only to spare your wax job.

So. Not the weight of Everything, but access to wonder. You know, if you're into that.



And, plus while riding today I got the secret handshake authorization at that one gate. No kidding. Supposedly the homeowner will be all chill with me breezing through to the trail. It will be so nice if it pans out. I'll let you know.

maybe my tattoo IS working! ladies, you're welcome.

Whew! You feeling it? I'm feeling it. A high level of stoke just to be riding streets and trails. So much quickness. What passes for it around here anyways; back roads and flowy singletrack and whatever it takes to join the 2. Which today was South Boundary out to 50 and then that loop through the Ord-QUIET! silence. OK, the wind is blowing. Trees whispering in the breeze. Maybe loudly conversing. A bird singing here, there a hawk shrieking as it folds wings in and plummets down then opening full span and soaring quickly back up to do it again. A used GU packet rests in it's natural environs (a trail), whence it has come from some racer too fast/important to put it in his pocket.

And that was before I stopped to look for that pesky #28.

Then it was homeward through Cside(!) to climb the hill through Veteran's and some more trails down the other side to COTSRHQ. What I'm increasingly considering my Local Loop. ~35miles. Pavement, dirt, radical.


Friends, if I should die while riding, I hope you will chain up a Ghost Bike and then ride off to your favorites. Or at least ride off.

everything

Spring Break 2010.






Arroyo Seco to Indians Road. 4 person overnight.


Again.



Turning my favorite corner.





J gets comfortable riding offroad downhills...







J rode his pink bike (12") the whole way. It's about 3.5 miles from the parking lot to the campsite.



This is D, after having his knife carrying privileges revoked for the duration. You can't see his narrow eyed defiance. You can see his empty belt sheath and his 4" bladed camp knife on the rock in the background. He ran down the trail brandishing it and making swooshy battle noises.

No running with knives.




Same site as the ill-fated "greatest camping trip ever".




Right next to the river.










The kids helped unload after some prompting.



Stuffing beers in the boy's coat pockets for the short walk down to the river...





to "hide" them in the cooler.




D giving it 4 thumbs up. It was a little cold for immersion, but nice nonetheless.





After some messing in the creek, it was time to ride down to the bridge and check out the trail on the other side.









We hiked a ways up and conscientiously shot slingshots loaded with local ammo at imperturbable natural targets.


Apparently, that trail goes out to Marble Peak, but more interestingly there is an offshoot that goes up the backside of Tassajara Hot Springs...bummer that it is wilderness area.




Back to camp.



I loaded pretty lightly this go round. Ok, aside from the folding chairs, but c'mon. No spatula, stove or 9,000lb cast iron griddle. We cooked on the coals. Slept under the stars.







I made blueberry pancakes in a frying pan on the coals in the morning. Even remembered the syrup.



We carefully aimed BB guns at precisely placed non-corrosive cylindrical receptacles for some time.

There was no plan.



Then we rode back down to the bridge for some goofing off.


Next time, when the water is lower and slower, it will be rope swing installment. There's our plan.


That water is so cold right now that after getting my whole self in I didn't even try to trick the kids into getting all in. You know that's cold. There was snow on the higher peaks when we arrived.




We had a boat making competition...


That's my entry in the foreground on the left; it is magnificent. I tied it together with saplings. N is holding the piece of driftwood that is the children's entry. They took lots of time to streamline their design. They even went so far as to remove the leaves from the hole they'd augured in; mainly because they wouldn't stay put, but also for reduced drag.

J handled the launch for me.


Both boats went right up the eddy and lodged in some bushes stream side. N and J fetched them with some effort, and we re-launched from the confluence...


You can't see it, but my vessel clearly won.






Pack it in, pack it out:

Mid-hill pause to drink the beer that had burst in the seat bag containing it and and the camera...

Look at me go!



That guy.








Topping out back on the road...









I love this picture, because D has learned well to stop in the shade. This road taught him, not me. It is merciless.



Looking down the gorge.




Climbing out.


That's a great trip. 3.5 miles is nothing, but it feels very remote once you turn that corner. We'll keep refining this one.