After stickin’ a fork in the Moo Goo on Friday, Mitch and I set our eyes on the Potato for Saturday. We peeled out of Mike's place after breakfast, a delicious egg and tater casserole, by the way, and spud down the 101. I was careful not to attract any CHiPs. Don't wanna get grilled with no spuddin’ ticket.
If I was bein’ honest, I'd admit we actually took the 101 to the 210 toward the San Gabriel Mountains to waffle up a little mountain called Glendora. But when we encountered some knee-high brush goin’ up it, I got a case of the rattlesnake queezies and decided that rather than get bit while gettin’ my skin peeled, I'd be happier doin’ Potato Mountain.
The mash-up we cooked up would be an easy one, and we certainly weren't gonna get bit, boiled, baked or fried doin’ it. Temps was cool on the shady fire road approach, then after we mustard the gumption to go on up the steep part, it was warm and flat as a potato pancake on top, presumin’ said pancake's been sittin’ on the plate a while.
Somebody even left some whole taters up there. We didn't bring any cheese or ketchup so we let ‘em be. I think them taters had seen better days. But it's the thought that counts, I guess. Anyway, eatin’ ‘em mighta given me the chives.
So we did a little mash potato dance at summit #51 and hashbrowned it back to the car.
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Looks like you scalloped up another one without getting fryed!👍