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.
