Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Lava: two and three.

For the next few days we had heaps of good, solid beach to ride. Dark, coarse sands of volcanic origin prevailed, with very few stretches of cobbles to schlep through, and more beach booty than a sane man could ever know what to do with.

The sun was *gone*, departed for fairer climes. In its' place we got mostly overcast or light drizzle. Precip is never hoped for when sleeping multiple nights out, but I dare say the amount we got these days was just about right.

Midway through our second day out we'd not yet crossed any sweet water, so we humped it up over the dune line in search of a lake or pond.

Didn't take long to find what we needed. Throughout the trip Dave and Pete treated most of their water. I rolled the dice and drank it straight from the source.




Lobo, departing.

My everyday environs are most often clear, sunny, and (for many months of the year) downright hot. The somber light, laden air, and olfactory intensity (even if the smell was usually tidal mank) were a welcome change.

At some point in the depths of the afternoon I dare say I felt a bit of boredom, maybe even despair. The riding was easy. Too easy. We were covering ground at a ferocious clip, effortlessly, even with many breaks to snack, photogeek, and explore beach booty. Fearing the trip would end too soon, I suggested we stop. Just stop. Maybe build a fire, take a nap? To my surprise all were in agreement.

We sussed out this neat little cubby, protected from wind, then proceeded to lounge.

Dave discusses (then dismisses) the merits of various small instruments. You had to be there.

The break broke the back of the afternoon.

Once back riding it was easy to enjoy the pace and not worry too much about going too fast--we could simply take more breaks. And that we did. Dave was always happy to get the Angry Midget® off his back for a spell, and Pete usually welcomed a nap.

Camps were simple but seemed luxurious. Given the drizzle, humidity, and lack of sun, all that was needed was a dry spot under a mid and maybe a few minutes hovering over a fire. Anything beyond that--like the hot meals we ate twice a day--was gravy.

A sub-optimal discovery. Note to self: Commence salivating only after verifying.

Pete felt the tent needed 'a little something' to feel more homey. Plenty of glass balls around to do the job.