dirty #50! velocachemonterey remains shifty

So called Gentlemen and Ladies,




Cemetery benches are not just for creeps or mourners. You can loiter there, too!



If you were sitting there, quietly, enjoying the rarefied atmosphere, your eye might be drawn to the shrubbery across the street below and between the 2 Eucalyptus. If that were the case, I wouldn't blame you.





I suppose you're going to have to play it by ear. Right here and now.

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.

#40? crow black chicken

Uh, good evening. I left my phone at home for this one. That is always/never a fine idea. It hurt because, as ever, I glanced at the ID photos and thought "yeah yeah yeah. I know generally where that is. I can find it, no problem."

In the words of someone even more well versed in making a ass of himself via a bicycle than myself: "what could possibly go wrong?"

So. My last text message to FNG, and hopefully potential player, C____ had said to meet on the bike path at the seahorse. But not having a phone, I wasn't sure if he knew where that is, or had even received said text.

{aside: people nowadays use cell phones as a way to hold every planned event hostage up to the last minute. I'm speaking generally, but of course I mean YOU. It's true, though, and you know it. People will text (cuz there's no immediate hassling back talk) at 12 minutes to launch to say they aren't coming. No one wants to be the bad guy by just declining in the 1st place? I'm so over it. All y'all can take a lesson from Horton the Elephant; a true blue brother who said what he meant.}

And I'm sitting under the tree drinking a tall boy and looking at the Cside seahorse, when C____ rolls up. Nice.



I have not been riding, so I was hoping for a mellow roll to the locale in which I was dead certain we'd find the traysure. It was cool. But can you imagine Doobie in your funk? HO! W-E-F-U-N-K.



The missing photo here would depict a run down WWII era dump with top-hatted figures artlessly scrawled upon it.




But...there is no Goods?

Apparently the nazi zombies made it there 1st. Or maybe it was the shambling homeless. Could have been some sex crazed druggy co-eds.



Nazi zombies?



The threat of zombies, bums, and decay notwithstanding we proceeded to boozily suppose that the pictures had been misleading and adventure further up the path looking for more dangerous and creepy shacks into which we might break. Now, this is not so easily dismissible a drunken notion as some- it is a known fact that the hider of this cache is free with his associations and puts, like, math in the clues, and just plain gets the names/locations of trails wrong...

We followed EMO into that shack. A piece of steel window strip was erratically banging in the breeze. Such a perfect bit of staging to really up the goosebumps. Other than that it was the standard rat turds, mildew, old beer cans, vague threat of bats, plastic sheeting and hot pink blouse which had been cut in half and left on the floor.




Finally, we did what any self-respecting hard core bad-asses would do. We climbed up the rickety fire tower out back and drank more beer.