"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive . . . " And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas."

Is that not the best opening to a book ever!?!

Bats over Barstow	I'll take Mr. Pink to block	Adieu

I had the day off for President's Day, and with the trip to Topeka looming at the end of this week, I felt it imperative that I get a solid ride in today. But, it rained off and on all morning, and after Saturday's ride (See February 19, 2005: Frog and Toad's wild ride), my desire to once again go out and be wet and cold was lacking. I knew that I HAD to take advantage of this off day though, so I spent the afternoon motivating for an Adobe Gate (Pacifica) out-and-back (ONB).

Watching some "news" before the ride, I heard that Hunter S. Thompson had committed suicide over the weekend. It must have been Fortuna who inspired me to pen a Thompson-style entry last week (See February 16, 2005: Lorem ipsum pax cyclos), and Saturday's ride was pure Gonzo.

Thompson's manic style was electric -- Fear and Loathing is not only a generational tome, it is one of the finest examples of creative expression ever, on par with Carroll's Jabberwocky. Pure brilliance.

By most accounts Dr. Gonzo was a rather crass person, however I celebrate not the man, but the writing, the creativity, the guts. Like Kerouac and Kesey, Thompson's Americana immortality was assured in one perfect alignment of the inspirational stars. Never mind their other works, if you can even name a couple, their master works are enough.

Oh yeah, took the Hoo-E out again this afternoon, and against my better judgment, I decided to get a little trail. Not my best decision lately (and that's saying something). Out at Maverick's, the trail was so squishy I could feel the tires chewing up the saturated mud. On the other hand, it was kinda fun because rain riders really put pedestrians' chones in a wad. They fear MTBs for some reason to begin with, but throw in the mud factor and they actually start paying attention to what's going on along the trail. They're so worried about getting some mud flecks on their Eddie Bauer's or their Gap leathers that they drawn a bead on you 100 yards out. First the arms start flapping a little, then the Barry Sanders shuffle step towards the edge of the trail, then the "oh my God, they're towing my Range Rover" look of panic as you flash by, followed instinctively by smugly indignant disgust after you're a safe distance away. Good times, good times.

Up in the Fitz, I was treated to a completely exposed reef curling around Moss Beach like stadium seating. Also, I had the enjoyment of watching three teenage boys high-center their 25-year old Mercedes diesel sedan on the berm separating the northern tip of the Fitz from the parking area. Not only had these Einsteins tried to drive over a three-foot tall dirt wall, they were equally inept at extrication.

While two of the yutes sat stuporously in the car, one lone idiot was out pushing against the trunk of the car (yes, they had indeed attempted to back over the berm -- this is what I'm saying here). Because the rear bumper of the car was about half way up the berm, the professor could only stand on the top of the berm, lean out like a human plank, and push down on the edge of the trunk. After a couple of minutes, they had dug two parallel trenches each about a foot deep with the rear tires, in the process peppering Albert with some wayward glop. If they ever did get the car to move forward, genius-boy was going to take a face-first plunge into the mud pit from which they were so hopelessly trying to exit. As I rolled away chuckling, I heard the driver calling for a tow while the passenger got out to offer a second opinion on the pushing process.

Spent some time sightseeing through Montara, looking at the nice houses, exploring some residential back streets, and searching for Montara Grammar School (est. 1915). Nestled among the homes under the pines, the school features a very cool, early Art-Deco design. It and Cunha Middle School in HMB offer nice local book-ends to the era of Art-Deco architecture.

I decided to continue through McNee/POST and do the paved section of the San Pedro Summit climb. Screw it, I stopped when I got to the first junction about a mile up. While munching a snack there, I saw an early 40-something guy on a stock MTB pull the Chute sitting down. I was humbled. Not that I could not also pull this half-mile long, 17-degree plus climb sitting down, but it reminded me that I might not be as good as I think I am. Keep pushing.

Back down through Sunshine Valley, over the Cabrillo to MCB and the Fitz and home. It rained on me for most of the ride. I finished after dark, but I wasn't carrying 20 pounds of lights and batteries around for nothing. The animal drought continues.