Scorched Earth

After two weeks of poor air quality, I was excited to get out on the bike. The fog, I knew, would burn off.

And so it did, just as I approached The Wall on Calaveras. (Which is not as daunting as it once was.) It was a glorious fall day, warm and sunny.

Along the way I'd chided a bunch of wild turkeys that were spilling out onto the road, into the path of an oncoming car. Despite their apparent cluelessness, however, I've never seen one as roadkill.

It seemed that there was more litter than usual on our beautiful twisting road above the reservoir; the usual bottles and cans, but also fast-food wrappers and many empty packs of cigarettes (Marlboro Lights, in particular). Why don't people keep their trash inside their vehicles?

I was surprised to pass a disposable lighter. (Disposable doesn't mean dispose of it wherever you please.) Only later did I wonder whether it had been tossed by the arsonist who set a bunch of fires there in late September.

Some of the rolling hills to the west of the reservoir were blackened; the road, and what remained of the golden grasses, had a pinkish tinge from the chemical retardant that had been dropped to contain the flames.

My ride buddy and I turned off to enjoy our snacks in the Sunol-Ohlone Regional Park. As in the past, the rangers were welcoming—offering us water and impressed that we'd taken the steep route from Milpitas.

Visiting the park entails more climbing (in, as well as out), but it's worth it. Another 29 miles and 2,675 feet of climbing for the year.

I regret not picking up that lighter to dispose of it properly.