45 are PM zoned

In your face!




I's out, you know- riding, enjoying the moooonlight when I won this one. Fort Ord was feeling...off. I headed out to the Caprock via fireroad only(?!?) and back out the same way.

0% trails.

For whatever reason, it was skeery. So I kicked myself on back into town headed home, before (stopped in the graveyard for a, um, breather) remembering the velocache.
Renewed purpose!
I headed towards the wharf for orientation. Kooks on bikes. Figuring this had to be up in the Presidio, I poked my way in that direction...


Stopped here for phone checking, all unawares...

because I wanted to get a photo of the effed up "bike route" that I'd just tried, thinking that A) I could maybe get into the Presidio thataway and B) there's no way it would just be a way to kill off cyclists by routing them directly into traffic on a blind corner. My bads.

On heading up the hill from the parking structure, I spied 2 cyclists (by their blinky lights) whom I then followed to the sneaky bridge/walkway that I'd been on only 1 time before and axed them ?s about statues of Junipero Serras and boats. They weren't innerested in talking to me or having me around at all, and I was left to wonder if I was drunker than I thought or possibly just a creep. But, upon reflection they were simply dicks.

"Just because we both ride bikes doesn't mean we're friends" indeed.

Anyhow, I found the statue opposite the Civil War reenactor camp, and was forced to search the (several) likely trees with out lights due to paranoia. Finally, in the last tree I gave up and used my light (I had become angry and frustrated by this point) only to spy a (some would say purposefully) obscure tube with a familiar word printed on it.



It was a picture of the very walkway over which I'd just ridden. It had some inscrutable words upon it to the effect that I'd been duped. RErouted. Excellently sneaky. Well played. I have had several reasons to doubt this hider's clues/grasp of reality/dedication...but never again. This cache was awesome.


Sure enough, in the likeliest place, there was the actual goods. All in all a very tubular cache. A tallboybottle of Spirit of the Hawk, a steel water bottle (used and still containing the dregs of it's last load- classy!), a long slim box of a chocolate rose, and an autographed! rolled up copy of "Poetry and other crimes...by: SEAMAS(sic?) NAVARRO. (All poems, stories, and tribal art COPYRIGHT 2000-2011, by SEAMAS (sic?) NAVARRO- So don't even THINK of fucking with this shit! All rights reserved)"

Whoa. An example?

GOD IS LOVE
Who can speak of what the wind has heard?
Has snached (sic) away greedly (sic)?
Or the rights and wrongs
the merry brook saw on its (sic) musical journey
to the sea?
Is the cold comforted
by the warmth?
Is that why its (sic) such a thief?
And does the heat heal
from its (sic) sweat,
at the sigh of the suns (sic)
last wink?

If everythings (sic) connected
through threads of LOVE
and yes, even pain,
and from these strands we all mature
then hope is all the same.
It hurts to know that hurt will come, but think, how we hurt GOD too,
when we hate in spite of HIS LOVE
and yet, HE LOVES us true.
If GOD is LOVE and LOVE is patient,
and LOVES us,
for all our faults, then strive to forgive
as HE LOVES
in the face,
of when all go's (sic) wrong: LOVE UNDER FIRE.
COPYRIGHT 2011
SEAMAS (sic?) NAVARRO



I opened the Eye of the Hawk's Spirit of the Hawk 40oz. like a OG on my pedal, and posted up hella hard under the bridge downtown to drink the chewy brew whilst watching traffic roll by and reading bad poetry like a troll. Or maybe SEAMAS NAVARRO.



Whatever. Don't even THINK of fucking with this shit.