cause celebre

Day 3: in which the wanderers both return and set out anew.

You see I'm further mixing it up there than just the naturally ever-changing load configuration. That will happen as your food dwindles, and your cans are crushed, and your tastes change in perfect sync with the demands of the environment, season, and mayhaps even specific day. That's a normal, healthy deal.

Throw in my increasing dependence on the Kelly Kettle- please, learn from my mistake and get the large dang kettle. If you are willing to carry the small, you are willing to carry the large. Trust me. The added water capacity is worth it. If you balk at the small who could blame you? You are absolutely correct; it takes up a ridiculous amount of space, to say nothing of it's weight. On trips like these, I really should carry some Esbit variation as they are so light and compact. I notice none of my traveling companions ever complain about the bulk or weight of the kettle, though, so...perhaps I am to sensitive?

To return. You see the plump front end up there. It was some real camping world testing happening. Like I say, I've tried it a couple times on my locals and that's enough to form a permanent impression, certainly. It feels like a bison. I know that might sound odd, but I keep getting bison sensations when I ride it. 

It gets up and goes pretty good, even with the added slack from the longer Krampus fork on top of the taller wheel. I don't love it for the road bits, but it isn't for them. It does remind me how fun a svelte and shmoove cross bike is (while I'm riding it even), but it doesn't make the comparison a sour one. It's a fun ride. Real confidence inspiring loaded, I can tell you. Having (reasonable) weight on the front was no issue. Charging was definite. Ruling it was a given.

The benefit of having climbed so much the day before... 

We had rallied pretty well and made it to the p-lot by 9ish. A mile or so out we began encountering runners wearing number plates...

and when we rolled over to the truck we'd left the day before as the only vehicle in the lot, at least 4 parking attendants watched our every move. Well, because we'd parked sideways in the shady spot and were occupying at least 4 spots.

 They watched us drop our bikes and sit on the tail-gate to drink a beer. Yep.



BREAK.



 When we returned to Carmel, we resupplied our food bags, etc., and I again switched bikes. We picked up my youngest (J______) and frequent camping partner J____ too. Then it was on to Arroyo Seco to test a theory.

Folks' rigs:

J's.
  

 j's
 

mine. Again with the load fiddling. You can't tell, but I moved the red/orange bundle (tarp and pad) to underneath the rear rack, cinched tight away from the tyre. It was better that way.

 Out of town guest, Mysterious B___ S_____, again ran what he brang.

 My silly wide 800mm Syntace bars. On receipt of these, one of the FNGs at the shop attempted to both bond with and one up me by talking about his new 808orsomethingmm bars. I believe I sneered. The point is not wider is better. It is nothing so geometric, it is wanting more leverage to handle weight- a fat, loaded bike at minimum. They work pretty good for that. This is not a good choice for ripping tight singletrack.

 But the bars and the boy did well on this singletrack leading to the spot about which we'd heard. I have it on Good Authority (and, now, so do you) that the waterfall campsites are quiet and peaceful.

Though it is not the time of year for the falls to be more than a trickle, especially in this dry year, it is a worthwhile spot. We hiked up there and checked out the creek.

Dinner was again a ready-made affair. I felt we were doing OK anyhow.

never know where I'll be

Day 2: In which our intrepid adventurers make further adjustments to fine tune a Good Time.

 ...swapped out our empties. I opted to bring a bike "more suited" to the terrain. The out-of-town-guest continued in his same vein.

 Climb Henry Coe- the easy way to Kelly Lake.

 It is a nice place to swim around and then drink cheap inexpensive cans of beer.

 Shortly after lying on a log in the shade, I realized I was only waiting for bedtime. We had arisen in the woods, having gotten there by bike, and spent the day working towards this other spot in the woods (by bike) to lay down. It was tiring. Luckily, we had stopped per usual at El Frijolito and did not have to cook; just eat our burritos and drink our beers until we laid down in the dirt.

beauty and decay blend and contrast

Friend B___ (yes, as in "Imaginary Friend B___") slithered out from under his rock in the SW Utah desert for some West Coastal type ill shit. On bikes.




Day 1: In which an out-of town-guest arrives and plans fall apart. The lesson, already etched on our black hearts yet learned anew, is: adapt and overcome.

When Life delivers a series of knocks, the best course is to load up whatever bike you happen to have running and head for the hills. Undisclosed locations are key. Wilderness is where you find it. Etc.

The next morning found us up the ridge, in the haar. The coastal thick of it, the "sea fret". Like it does, that fog settles so thick on the pines that they drip as though it were actively raining and your improvised hobo bivy is for naught...

but it doesn't bother us chickens. Neither did the forgetting (and thus, lack) of utensils and bowls. We eat our oatmeal watery- out of the bottle and with gulps.

The only thing that can rightfully follow is the ripping singletrack...

A few on-course gear shuffles later, and it is time for a break. Pop the top, drain the can, plink away at the empties.

Tough cans!

Then we rode home and

restore your health for good

Breathe in.



After days on this bike and days on that bike, it was the Black Cat SS for 2 days running. Back to back rides on the rocket ship. We been working on dismantling the 1/2 pipe down the road to reassemble it here at HQ (for the eldest son) and it has been some time constraint style, get in and get out, pack the most fun in the smallest time, guerrilla single speeding. Dress all in green, get on the drab brown bike and GO!

Super jumpy. That bike is so quick (REspeck, but- especially compared to the piggy rigs I been pushing) I forget. People forget. Summertime? A nimble SS? Uh hunh.


So and also, switcherooing will highlight the differences in fit from one bike to another. Now, we all allow for the built in differences- even celebrate them- but some stuff is given; take seat height/angle. The OG Moots post on that bike holds the BRooks right where I want it, but this or that has put that saddle slightly nose down and low, too. The pinch bolts are a shitty design

which has been changed between the then and the now. Wonder if I could get them to put a new head on that post for less than lots of dollars...





And, my wife is getting a birfday surprise...

It's for my wife!!

It will be perfect for nervy, flexy cruising. It needs some work (duh), but it is OG 1972. The Schwinn Twinn. Double mixte?!?! Hell yes, hell yes. Came with the original paperwork, which Schwinn propaganda is worth posting on it's lonesome, and receipt for $148.11 (in 1972 monies) out the door. In 2013, it was worth $350. Inflation. Look for it parked outside some of our classlessiest bars soon.





Breathe out.

this fits in with my priorities

What about you? Road bikes are fun.

After rolling (hard) out the valley, it is the climb. I am an unlikely climber- long, ungainly, terribly good-looking. Despite the tradition of small riders dancing punchily up slopes of unusual height, in my heart I know the true climbers are simply those who love the suffering. I may not be able to suffer as quickly as those boys, but I can suffer as much.

False summits, increasing gradients, cambered switchbacks, sweat in the eye...yes. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy the sweeping descent as well.

It was at the point of the 1st real drop that I noticed my fancy cycling jacket was no longer in my jersey pocket. That saddened me. It is a nice jacket. A vest, too- the sleeves zip off. So I turned around. I retraced the route. I did not see it on the road there. I felt it was likely the jacket had been pulled out of my pocket when I hopped that one fence on account of the gate was closed. It wasn't at the gate. It wasn't on the climb as I descended, and the gal I stopped had not seen it on her way up. It wasn't on the valley road, though I kept my eyes on the road side opposite. There was enough wind it could be anywhere. It could be in some unscrupulous rider's own pocket by that time. I saw a black billow in the weeds, but it was a trash bag. I began to imagine what alternatives I have at home with which to replace it. My orange jacket is fine for road riding, but a bit bright for the type of trails I frequent. My green windbreaker is too traditional, with it's coach vibe and it's sweat retaining cotton lining. These are boring thoughts even to type (much less read) but they are what circulates in a mind facing a headwind with no jacket while the loss is fresh.

I did find it. When the hope was all but gone, there it was in the opposite gutter. Story of my life. I crossed 4 lanes, scooped it up, put it on, and rode home.



...as I cast my eye back, I see the thread of Loss running through these last few posts. It is not as prevalent as you might infer- there is more to Life than what gets posted here. But I do seem to be letting things get away an awful lot. What to do? Tighten my grip or loosen up...

so you're the gringo that's come to challenge His Majesty, uh?

Wah! I sorry for you, my friend. Now seal your fate...

 Bikes. Riding bikes places. Trying to stay on dirt as much as possible.

I stopped on that one trail and looked up (at random) to see someone has built several (specifically 3) platforms quite high up. I climbed up to check them out, but lost motivation when it became obvious that a musette full of tallboys was not an asset when trying to ascend to rickety structures 18' up a rotten limbed Monterey Pine. Anyhow.

So I'd taken some 299mm spokes home from the shop for a project, and after the musette was holding empty tallboys, I decided to take it offa my back to allow it to drip not on me. Of course it dropped off somewheres on the descent. I found that out upon arriving home. It was not a surprise.

The following day was the Full Get Offa Your Ass Moon, so in observance of same I rolled out backtracking my previous trip, hunting the bag. Happy face! It was just inside the gate and not up the hill at all. That opened the door of possible alternate routes slash exploration; a door I stepped through. Well, sort of lifted the bike over and then slithered under meself on account of the barbs, but you understand.

I was on the fat bike, having some personal clown fun and looking for the Good Stuff. Eh. I did find a section of niceness, but the bust factor is high. Then the trail took a turn for the steep and loose. But- how else do you find what you don't already know, right? The fat tyres are a nice bit of equipment for trundling along on questionable surfaces. I hunted and snooped for a ways. When one is solo, there is no fuss; false starts, backtracking, lots of poison oak, fainter and fainter trails that just have to go through, etc. Damned if it didn't get darker the whole while. Darker and fainter and more oak.

Just when despair was nigh- a recognized fence! All of a sudden I knew exactly where I was, and there were open trails ahead of me. That's a sweet relief, I can tell you. On the one hand, it is magical to have such nearby access to remotitude, and on the same hand faint oaky trails in the dark blow. The friendly open trails led me right back home eventually. That section of the peninsula is not comfortable solo in the dark; it's super forested and creepy.


The spokes? They were for the newly gotten Surly Rabbit Hole rim that goes in the Krampus fork to be slung on the Ogre in the interest of trying new things...

What's the 1st thing you do when you get a new fork? You fnord drill holes in the middle!

Well, because there weren't any.

And I wanted a spot to cleanly mount the rack. On account of it is for camping. So I did that, with the riv-nut nut-setter.

Dyno Alfine with the "2 cool 4 drugs" hub shiner. Camo tape rim strip. (thanks, Mr. P!) Silver rim because I have class.

We tested it's capabilities last night. For a wheel born of such circumstance, whose very structural components were literally soaked in cheap beer well prior to actually use...it performed like you'd expect.

Rides like a bike. I'll keep you posted. It's not like it's anything legit. It's only clown fun.

enough is enough

Wednesday Night Rides are a (spotty at best so far) GO! Santa Cruz has had their rich (and by rich I mean PARTY) tradition of Wednesday Night Rides, but it is 50 miles from home. The Monterey Peninsula is lacking in this regard, but it is home. Wherever home is, this midweek ride/party is a winner.

After last week's debacle, in which everyone cancelled, yesterday really happened. I knew the fellas from our shop were all going to ride their (or a demo) squishy bike, but the demos from our location are reserved for today so I did not want to take one. I opted instead to ride my top of the line Specialized bike- the StumpJumper. It was tits in 1989. It is tits in 2013, only now it has baskets.

As I rolled up and over the hill to meet at the shop, I heard a PING, and thought I'd hit some small metal bit. Turns out it was a 15/16 pinner spoke breaking on the well-used wheel my coach had gifted me at the bike swap. Good thing I's on my way to a bike shop...

So I got to be that guy for a bit.

Then we climbed up the pave at a very brisk pace. I was a little concerned at the briskness. I don't often ride with a group these days, so I forget how it is. As we settled into the climb, though, I came to the front and gave the youngsters what for- baskets and all. I admit to liking that part. Those guys are mostly the fucking new guy, and their inexperience and youthful naivete are frankly a little tiring. Witness, FNG from last week who, on a borrowed full carbon/suspension bike, did not have any tools/tube/levers/pump show up again this week not having learned anything from last week's walk out from trail's end due to the same lack. Yes, he had no tools/tube/levers/pump. And he is a bike shop employee! My efforts to point out the flat-out lack where met with a furrowed brow and the statement "somebody has something." That is disappointing. Last week I loaned him my pump (several times), and would have loaned him my spare tube, if he had brought levers (my shit comes off by hand, yo) to get the tire offa the carbon rims. You think he would learn. He obviously can't be taught. It is exasperating having to "parent" grown-ups. I am reminded of my scout master, who would turn his college ring around the 1st time you did something super wrong/stupid, and the 2nd time hit you upside the head with it. He made good and sure you had the opportunity to see him turn it around, but woe to the boy who did not pay attention.

The conversation was witless, too. I pulled beers out of my baskets and we had a short break. I did not expect the FNGs to have come prepared.

But, riding was fun. I slotted in last place on all the downs, which was most assuredly where I should be, full-squish or no. Those guys did a lap. Then they rode home. I laughed, and rode through the trails on my lonesome at a slower but still totally ripping pace. As I reached the spot at which I expected to open my last beer, I saw that my pack had bounced out of the rear basket...somewhere. Then it was a much higher pace back to the split, looking for my pack containing beer, jacket,tools, phone,etc. When I found it, I was glad. I had just begun to despair and there it was.

So, that was where I drank a beer instead. On the way out, I stopped to document the new section of trail just above the Carmel entrance to Pebble Beach:

it is a worthwhile add-on, up and down. The road crossing is sort of shitty, but worth it.

Hey yo, Full Moon coming up and I gots the baskets...who likes to party?