Back to the skeeters. Godddddamn they were relentless, but we nicknamed them the "junior varsity" because they were tiny and were mostly confused by the dirtbikers in their Cordura outfits.
Pegz' hobo camp:
Kinda had a "feeling" about camping in between a mudhole and a creek, but we had cold frosty beer and soaking on our minds:
Even at the tub we were getting hassled. Skeeters everywhere and the cheap spray bottle of Cutter didn't seem to phase them. Kinda like "hey, that stuff's our favorite, can we have some more?"
Whodathunk. Road construction stop in the desert:
And the coffee and constitutional stop, out of skeeterville.
Down the saddle after the rock field. THAT was gnarly. Why I follow directly behind Dave sometimes I do not know.
At the lower saddle we came upon this little critter:
2k4 Wee-Strom, black, farkled, smells like bacon.
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