My Way

The gang was headed out on a long ride today, and I just couldn't get excited about it.

First, because it would be too much like my bike commute—too much riding on busy roads, though bracketed by a couple of pretty climbs.

Second, because it would be much too hot. At home this afternoon, the thermometer peaked over 95F ... in the shade. I know what it's like to feel the pavement radiating heat from below, while the sun radiates heat from above.

Why fry when I could find a cool place to ride?

Having gotten a head start, I waited for the group to arrive at the summit of the second climb. After a brief chat, my usual ride buddy saw the wisdom of my way and ditched the group to join me.

We were surprised by heavy construction deep along Stevens Canyon Road; on a Saturday, no less! One by one, they seem to be replacing all the bridges over the creek. Which kind of amazes me, for a dead-end road dotted with few homes, given the overall state of road infrastructure in the county. Just one wood-plank-topped bridge left, and probably not for long.

For our return, we had a choice to make. Direct, shaded, and steep? Or roundabout, exposed, and mellow?

Of course, we went up Redwood Gulch. For one reason or another, I haven't tackled that climb in a while. Because one can always find a reason.

My track for the day is incomplete; evidently the electronics in my phone shuddered in fear at the base of Redwood Gulch and shut down. Truth is, I covered 26 miles and climbed 2,265 feet.

As (bad) luck would have it, a motorcycle caught up to me at the first steep hairpin. I couldn't swing as wide as I wanted (oh, the pain!), but I figured he understood why I wasn't hugging the inside of that particular curve.

I paused a couple of times to get my heart rate down; I've got nothing to prove. Getting up that beast is enough. Enough.

Descending Highway 9, an SUV caught up to me. He seemed content to hang back, maybe because passing me would have involved exceeding the posted speed limit. [Seriously.]

The way home involved mixing it up with beach-bound traffic. The road to the coast isn't getting any wider, and there are so many cars. So many cars. Driven by people who believe they can save time by cutting through town, which makes it impossible for residents to get anywhere near town on hot summer weekends. Once, as I walked home from the farmers' market, a frustrated driver making slow progress called out to me. “What's happening, is there a parade?” No, I replied; the freeway is backed up, so people cut through town. Just like you. [Okay, I kept that last part to myself.]

The town is experimenting with methods to discourage this cut-through traffic, and today they closed some roads. They announced it. They posted messages on electronic signs. They made sure the closure was registered in advance with Waze.

And traffic was backed up for miles, on all the main roads heading toward town, and along the cut-through route all those drivers were certain they could still take. Instead, they found themselves parading slowly through town, looping back to the freeway they should not have left, or to the ramp they should have taken in the first place.

I'm not sure this experiment was a success. In addition to clogging all the downtown streets, traffic clogged all the feeder roads. Not that I cared—I was on my bicycle. Even walking was faster.

My way, or the highway.