The Horus-Whisperer

tube-whisperer

Horus gone

Ach, Horus is no more.

My friends in the business (of protecting public land from the public) helpfully suggested where I might find the knoll where the statue stood.

“You mean stands” I corrected.

“Stood”.

I refused to believe it wouldn’t still be there.

B-b-ut..iIt had only been ‘discovered’ two weeks ago!
So that was today’s mission.

I did all the cool ridge-top rollercoasters, tiptoed thru the blackened prescribed burn zone, and there it wasn’t.. a little sign stood in the lovely statue’s stead.

DAMN.

I came too late.

A bit of a defeat.
Years ago, the other agency (MMWD, many men working drunk) dismantled a hundred year old redwood tank that had all the cool carved-in grafitti of the klunker period.

“Morrow Majority”, “Inhuman Mad Bomber”, plus his impressive tally of around 341 rides up to the tank from Larkspur. “One speed is all you need”. Nobody ever took pictures of that, did they? Hint, hint.

A hundred twenty year old barn (with secret still under flooring) was also similarly dispatched without public comment.Very, very sad for history-minded Marinites. The legacies have been dismantled and/or absconded by thieving rangers who dug everything up after the archeo’s re-buried assorted troves over the years.

But I digress.

Lovely ride, shame about Horus at the hands of Marin County’s Open Space Public Relations Outreach Dept.

Now twas time to face that flaccid tube I’d proficiently patched last night. Insufficiently, it turned out, but how deft the filthy fingers!

Passed the tube under my fuzzstache, double-checked in the underwater tank, marked a fat cross on the hole so it would still be easy to find after sandpaper scrubbage.

And slapped on a mini patch. Without a second thought, I put away my supplies. Something haunted me, the word “hubris” evaporated over my head.

Nah..I did it just right.
Check under water. Another stream of bubbles an inch away (could I have been that far off?).

Mark that infintessimal hole (more like the absence of water, since the surface tension makes a sort of shiny blubber effect and the belly-button–no water– is where the hole is located). Scrub and patch with mini-patch.

Put away (this requires a bit of a contorted reach-shove, definitely something that I’d rather not have to do three , er..3 X2 times.
Check in the tub, er…aqueous lab one more time.

Pull patch supplies out of the cabinet (yoga stance so as not to reach, twist, torque, tumble to the ground…isn’t this how everyone ruins their back?).

Repeat ritual, check in tub. No bubbles.
Crack open a bottle of “Ace” pear cider and think about having the whole thing.
More tiny bubbles (cue Lawrence Welk). DAMMMMMMMMNNNNNN