#24 Hours of Bubaline

Saturday found me on the old cross bike from about 8 am until 4 pm, doing random odds, ends, errands, and heroic detail from Huckleberry Hill to Castroville and back. Found time to sneak out to Ord to continue this game of hide the beers, with the sun beating down on a beautiful November day.

I was heading up to the site of #23, but since the small print at the end of the previous post suggested trickery, I thought I'd stop at the caprock on my way to replenish my constitution....and what have we here?

Now, were I a lazier man I would have called it a day, smug in the knowledge that I had tricked the trickster, pranked the prankster, fucked the fuckster (?) who had clearly devised some scheme to make me pedal up that damn hill just to turn around. But a better man than I said it best:

"When I'm paid, I always see the job through"

So with that I soldiered on, down 50 and up 49 to the rock, all the while whimpering for my softie mountain bike gearing. Finally made it up the road that was known as 3 sisters until recently, and settled into the original site of #24.

Oh, but I had already seen through the trick! But then I biked up there anyway...so now I'm confused. Am I smart or dumb?

Now that I had "earned it", I opened up the VC box to find a veritable trove of treats, including 2 cans O Bud, stickers, patches, cowbell, wicking shirt, and a BOB hat.

And, the remains of my previous cache, which snootier folks than myself had left behind:

Wade Garrett Sleeveless Tribute T (only slightly moldy)

Bottle of New Glarus Fat Squirrel Ale
(I was thirsty and very thankful some trifling label mold had been enough to keep lips off of this tasty brew)

Between new trash, old trash, empties, etc. I had to stash a little bit of garbage up there, so I gotta get back soon. I'd hate to see a California condor die due to a Budweiser Silo wrapped around its neck.

In summation, I think that the author really proved his point, that biking around in a former military base hunting for beers is a perfectly reasonable use of one's Saturday, and said wordsmith probably came close to an epiphany when gazing upon the expanse of Ft. Ord and all he had accomplished that day.