Our dinner was pre-made and ready with a simple reheating. After chowing down we headed out to say hello to the group but not before checking in with the club to determine our assignments for the day to come.
They needed us for technical inspection and at Check #4 with Mike Baxter. I've known of him but we've never met in the flesh; suffice to say everything they say about him is true. And it was good to see the familiar face of Farmer John again - he jestured us towards the chow line although we had room for desert only, HUGE apple and peach pies with crust the way I like it: thick. Shorty went back for seconds (he needs to grow).
Working our way back to camp we found Jonala had pulled in, and gave him a hand - or hindered - with his canopy, and was entertained as he scrambled about his set up.
RetSenior and Buddy were busy with the former's campsite so we moved on to what became our evening out, Getmetoca's crowd, where she was surrounded by friends of hers, Tom and John & kids from Half Moon Bay and thereabouts. John had brought some potent firewood (now see Jonala: I got it right, though I was still on sleep alert that night, just to be safe). I stepped up to dig the pit which turned out a bit shallow and more of a working for my likings nonetheless adequate and welcomed; shallow due to the dryness or hardpan some 10" below surface and more of a working with so many small rocks. It turned into a low-maintenance campfire, nonetheless we hung around as the heat was so welcomed and the company pleasant. I make it a point not to enjoy adult beverage in front of my son(s) but without an obvious can or container advertising the contents, the masquerade worked until later when asked for another cocktail in his hearing; perhaps that went over his head but I do remember him asking me months ago just what a cocktail was – earlier when he asked what it was I had in my hand: a soft drink – it’s not polite to refuse!
Following what tuned out to be a memorial time around the campfire talking about everything from a small coastal town where Natalie grew up and I believe John lives to this day, o just what the central valley towns’ remarkable, trademark odors are, we called it quits at midnight.
On our way back to the tents Shorty and I had no small conversation about the numerous stars and which sleeping bag he was going to end up using; by the time the heat of the fire was forgotten it was the zero-degree bag for sure.
I woke up well before sunrise but was surprisingly able to get in additional shuteye. The dew on the tent had frozen, and the grass crunchy, making warm toast and eggs all the more welcome. Linguine? Dang: that’s sounds a lot like chorizo. Milder? I should’ve paid Getmetoca’s site another visit, although my body would remind me to go easy on the spicy stuff.
We checked in again with the course crew leader and he set us up with the tools for the tech. inspection. I had to turn away at least two for lack of registration, and believe none for sound over the prescribed level per Joey Ranger although some were over but he wasn’t looking over our shoulders at the time.
Our two co-inspectors needed to leave and as a consequence became responsible for more tasks than manageable but got by with the patience of those waiting. Then it came to a point when we needed to leave, and with that geared up and went to the start to connect with our check leader, Mike.
It’s amusing to see parents/grand parents with cameras/video recorders in hand, squealing as their little ones approach the start and leave; perhaps they enjoy it much more than the little ones do?
As the rows were moving forward I noticed a fellow on a KDX, and thought I’d do some KDX conversation. Turns out of all things he’s a DRNer, Skipro3.
Mike comes by to lasso us and we’re then off to Checkpoint 3. On the way Shorty does something unbecoming and not only roosts our host but splashes him at the stream crossings. I’ll have to talk to that boy.
Once we arrive at the check we discover Mike has already setup the clock and flags, whilst we now have a 70 minuet wait for the first row. He suggested Shorty and I do some trailing – keeping the pink ribbon and arrows in sight and follow the course. He suggests 2 miles but we did more than seven before turning around. On our way back I see a spur with blue ribbon; wanting to add more spice I lead us on it. Being height-challenged Shorty needed help every so often; I had to pick the bike up twice and he did some bulldogging, but other than that he made it through that section remarkably well considering his skill level and reach, or lack of it, to the ground; turns out this section was part of the Boar.
We got back to the checkpoint with 10 minuets to spare, and halfway through my sandwich the riders stared coming through. There were many, too many who burned our check, some by the tens of minutes. Jonala came in too hot and tried to trials-ride the time off but was too close to use up the 25 seconds needed to zero, so I waved him in the remaining 8 feet and his axle crossed our flags. (Our check was a check-in, after the gas stop, which explains why so many burned it.)
I believe the last row was in the mid-70s; lots of riders. It was surprising how many kids on 65s came through all that stuff. And 60 miles of it? Most folks had a happy face; very few did not.
As we were waiting for the sweep riders Mike instructed Shorty on a thing or two re: riding techniques. I believe it sinks in easier when someone other than dad says it’s so. The master then demonstrated his skill with exceptional trials techniques on his wife’s Pampera. It’s a bit short for Shorty but not towering like the KDX, so Mike swapped rides with him for our jaunt back to the bottom of Indian Hill, where the gas stop was. He then insisted I take it for a spin, and can say it’s one fine little bike. Oh, and Mike got his revenge by splashing him back, more than once.
Back at the campground I took my sweet time to gear down, having been standing in it all for a few hours. We then wandered over to meet with Deano (Plyswfire) and Matt Cassle and spent no small time chatting and talking about the TWMC desert enduros and Ballinger. Our conclusion was the riders from NoCal are of a higher skill. Both he and Matt were doing the Boar and had just come in from a warm-up loop.
As we wandered back to our camp I decided we’d head out after dinner, since they did not need us as workers for tomorrow’s event. They served us workers and club member’s food at 6pm, dessert at 7, and in between went around for goodbyes (Shorty swallowed his overflowing plate of chicken, spaghetti and salad in no time). We then found out they could use us after all as two of the club members had head ons (no bodily damage) and therefore could not ride to their checks, but he let us off since we were packed and already on our way out for the night.
On the drive home, before falling asleep, Shorty said he had such a good time he’s already talking about helping next year.
There were some I didn’t get to say hi to (or did I?): ScottYZ250, LocoCD; Skipro3: I saw your Subaru on our way in but then it disappeared? I looked for you later but had no way of recognize you with or without a helmet, only by your tow vehicle.