a long time to hold your breath

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.