Dirty Thirty

I hate famous quotes. But I love Mark Twain and the thing about Mark Twain is that he might be the most undeniably quotable sonofabitch that ever lived. I am pretty sure damn near everything the man wrote, said or belched is archived in Bartlett’s or at least in some obscure corner of the internet. So, without further apology or explanation:

Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company. – Mark Twain

I can’t think of a finer marriage than all of our friends, rough around the edges and thirsty for adventure and a beautiful slice of this gold and green landscape we love. And I can’t think of a better reason to bring them altogether than the thirtieth birthday of one Michael Hernandez. For years, Mike has been the hub of a riding scene around which we all spin and we owed him a damn good time.

The way in.

The way in.

A broom and a shovel would have been nice, but chunks of quickcrete and scotchbroom branches were decent stand-ins.

A broom and a shovel would have been nice, but chunks of quickcrete and scotchbroom branches were decent stand-ins.

Birthday boy himself, Mike Hernandez, footplant.

Birthday boy himself, Mike Hernandez, footplant.

Dusty with a can-jam on an errant bag of petrified quickcrete.

Dusty with a can-jam on an errant bag of petrified quickcrete.

Guy French. One footer.

Guy French. One footer.

Birds of a feather.

Birds of a feather.

Earlier in the day we rode the Morgan Hill Skatepark. Too used to the cool coastal air we boiled over quickly in the moderate heat, although having the place to ourselves felt like a birthday gift.

Mike Hernandez.

Mike Hernandez.

Jordan Murdock.

Jordan Murdock.

Andy Maguire. Vertical ice pick to fakie.

Andy Maguire. Vertical ice pick to fakie.

Jackson Allen. Tiny pyramid tabletop.

Jackson Allen. Tiny pyramid tabletop.

After a day in the blazing valley heat the cool comfort of the redwood crowned Mount Madonna was welcome.

Trees.

Trees.

Some of us camped...and some of us glamped. Colby, Justine and Cru Jones and their bedroom.

Some of us camped…and some of us glamped. Colby, Justine and Cru Jones and their bedroom.

The youngest crew member. Jaxon Quiroz. Handsome devil.

The youngest crew member. Jaxon Quiroz. Handsome devil.

Not exactly sure what is going on here...beyond the shirt Mike got from Colby. Who's next?

Not exactly sure what is going on here…beyond the shirt Mike got from Colby. Who’s next?

Tacos.

Tacos.

Mike.

Mike.

Chris Riesner made the trip down to camp. When he doesn't have a set of handlebars or a camera in his hands he often looks like this.

Chris Riesner made the trip down to camp. When he doesn’t have a set of handlebars or a camera in his hands he often looks like this.

Friendship, brotherhood, memories.

Friendship, brotherhood, memories.

Like Mark Twain, Mike is man of words, words shared among friends in the form of stories. And here I am again compelled to share another quote, this time from our friend Mike himself:

It’s not what you ride, but who you ride it with that matters. – Mike Hernandez

Jackson Allen

Dirt mound enthusiast. Amateur blogger. Professional hot mess.