After 2 weeks expectorating on the couch, your cheerful correspondent made his way up to the highway that divides Monterey Bay's really rich people from the only kind of rich people.
Despite the warnings, no punk-ass bitches were located. Just a not much worse for the wear cache. Inquiring minds want to know how many people drove past this treasure without knowing what valuable goods were within arm's reach from their car window.
Ready to cough all of the way down the hill
Do as The Man says
Treasures abound, some (used?) bib shorts, various bits and stickers, fine literature, HAMMer gel, and the most godawful smelling mini-stove I've ever smelled. I think the stove may have been aged in the bowels of Monterey.
