Four Goats

Waiting for my ride buddy after sailing down Soquel-San Jose Road, I had a prime curbside view for a parade of vintage Thunderbirds. The one that pulled off into the park, I believe, dates back to the first model year (1955). Monterey Car Week is less than two weeks away.

The Pacific Coast fog machine was running full blast. We had climbed through the marine layer along the ridge, ducking patches of downpour from the redwoods, before descending into the summer coastal gloom below it. The shade was so dense in the redwood canyons that it seemed more like evening than early afternoon. Today's ride would be long, so we opted to climb four of the five designated hills (avoiding the steepest one). Having climbed up and over the Santa Cruz Mountains toward the coast, we would need our legs to carry us up and over to return home.

We stopped to check out some playful goats, and they returned the favor. Even though we were not there to feed them, they did not spurn us. Like many other animals, they seemed happy to have their ears rubbed. We kept our fingers away from mouths and horns. [They will chomp on anything. Anything.] They are smart enough not to catch their horns on the fence—they turned their heads sideways when they backed away.

There is something about the view near the top of Eureka Canyon that always takes my breath away. Looking back on the forest, and seeing all the visible hillsides covered with trees, makes the whole trip worthwhile. For the day, some 70 miles and 5,205 feet of climbing. I expected to feel exhausted, but it seems that my commuting regimen has begun to pay off.

Maybe I should have climbed that fifth (steep) hill ... [Nah.]