The rowdiness of the evening built from our arrival when Fro deliberately bashed his truck into the Lot recycling dumpster. By the time XT led us out the gate we were raging. Route choice was, once again, rich with hike-a-bike, with the hardest stretch occurring far from any familiar trails. After a little re-orienting we whipped down some steep switchbacks straight into the dry ditch at the eastern extent of FT3 exploration. We immediately encountered a tunnel which, without hesitation, we entered.
The further we rolled, the pool of water got deeper and the ceiling got closer. Big fish flashed in the crystalline water, ours lights shimmered and reflected in all directions, and the echo of our voices ricocheted off the walls. Hub deep, the outlet became visible. A little jump and the buoyancy of the niner tires covered the last couple feet to get out of the pool. We kept rolling the ditch, throwing in wall rides and indifferently splashing puddles, through the slick wooden flume back to familiar territory.
Late, late, late we took the frigid descent on Sly Park pavement to the Knot. First in, I was greeted by an icy "Get the Fuck Out!" "Not even a quick rye shot?" "Get the Fuck Out, its almost 11!" That quickly thawed and we received taco service as per normal.