One source of entertainment for a slow climber (me) is the occasional snippet of conversation caught as riders pass. Like the group of three guys mentioning a particular actor, murdered some 35 years ago, and the ignominious details that emerged about his private life. How did that subject come up? [It's probably better that I don't know.]
Most of our group was headed for the coast. My ride buddy and I were of a similar mind: keep it short on a windy, chilly day. She graciously insisted that she had only been at the top for a few minutes before I arrived.
I convinced her to drop down the west side, with its expansive views; we were surprised by the wildflowers. After some determined research on Calflora, I can put names to all that I photographed.
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| Cow Parsnip |
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| Crimson Columbine |
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| California Goldenbanner, Winter Vetch, and Indian Paintbrush |
It was just a coincidence that we traveled the same distance today as my regular morning commute, but with a tad more climbing (2,190 feet, vs. 385 feet) and scenery.
Being in the neighborhood, on the drive home I made one extra stop. My red cells did a fine job of getting me up the hill today, and now some of them will go on to do something important.
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