Santa Margarita Express

I've come to believe that there are two varieties of hillsides in this area: those that are covered with grapevines, and those that will be covered with grapevines in the future.

With today's route, we left the vineyards behind and passed through ranch lands. Horses and cattle, mostly. A few goats.

We paused to admire an impressive private narrow-gauge railway along the way, complete with a trestle and working signals. Not surprisingly, this being a weekday, the train wasn't running.

We stopped for a snack (freshly baked cookies!) at the Creston General Store.

Over the years, I've developed something of an affinity for Aermotor windmills. I just have to stop and take a picture. It's a thing, I guess. A harmless thing. Today was a four-Aermotor day (though I skipped photographing the fourth one, which was planted in the parking lot of a farm supply business).

This little eccentricity of mine paid an unexpected dividend. Just as I climbed back on the bike after admiring my third Aermotor, a bald eagle glided just overhead. A few moments earlier and I would have had my camera at the ready. I kept my eye on the soaring bird as I pedaled on, hoping for another chance but expecting it to fly out of sight.

Then I got lucky.

The bird circled back. I stopped and pulled out my camera, just in case it would pass nearby. I pointed and shot, hoping for the best: one shot in flight, the second with tail feathers fanned out as it prepared to land in a tree. For much of my life, these birds were nearly extinct; seeing one in the wild will always make my heart race. I've never been closer to one than I was today.

We rode into Santa Margarita looking for lunch at the Mercantile, but it's apparently out of business. We invaded the Southern Station instead, where they accommodated our crowd with grace and good humor. Their outdoor seating was perfect for our small herd of cyclists.

The general profile of our return route was downhill, but along the way we gained 600 feet in elevation as the hills rolled up (and down).

The locals were mostly tolerant, though I wondered at two signs along one rural road: a picture of bicycle, with the words “PASS 3 FT MIN.” It is the law, but it left me curious about what led to those signs [which I'd never seen before] being posted on this road. Then there was the pea-brained troglodyte in an oversized pickup truck, backed up in traffic in some small town, who deliberately belched a huge cloud of black exhaust as he passed the core of our group. I'll bet he doesn't give bicycles three feet on any backroad.

At the end of the day, we'd covered 53 miles and climbed some 2,230 feet along some beautiful back roads. It was the bald eagle, though, that made my day.