What is the answer to everything?

42.

I am so happy about several stories involving this number, on account of they are funny. My favorite involves Cary _______, and includes the phrase "How old are you?" being uttered by the father of a 21 year old girl. Classy. Not least because Cary's standard ending to any question involving his employment was "...and I do body work."

So, you see.




In any event, this eponymous cache, was the 1st effort by Criffer (I imagine a cane, and a blue bandana, and some intricate hand signals), and it was a good one. I was worried due to all the testicle references in the deployment post that this would be some freaky porno cache.


You wouldn't have loved it on account of there was climbing.




A fair amount of climbing.



Extra points for being sealed with scotch tape.




Some of the booty. I promptly lost these on the climb up through Pebble via some trails. Think how stoked some random pedestrian who doesn't deserve them will be! At least I didn't lose the beer.

This is a BIG TIME haunt of bums and hobos. Just down the street was a hobo bike junkyard a few years ago. Dude was camping amongst at least 9 different bum bikes.

Today as I ate my tasty snacks in the shade, that white sedan pulled up to disgorge a stocking capped bundle of angst. The guy popped out of the passenger seat and dramatically dropped his head into his arms on the roof of the adjacent beater hatchback. After 15 seconds or so, he showily came around and pulled a battery out of the sedan trunk and set to work. His car eventually started, and he pulled out behind the sedan laying on his horn. He honked at that gal for a solid minute and a half while waiting to enter traffic. Minute and a half at least. Wow.

I couldn't have asked for a better show.

#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.