How Brown Was My Valley

One of the reasons to join a club is to learn the tried-and-true local bike routes. I sorted through my archives to find the route we'd follow today. It brought back memories of the couple who'd introduced me to this route. They've since relocated out of the area, and I do miss riding with them.

The air quality was poor today, but we would be skirting the outer edge of the smog.

It's been over two years since I rode up Clayton; I was not having a good day. Had the road been repaired, back then? I'm stuck remembering the damaged stretch that kept through traffic diverted. The number of passing vehicles today was a hint that the road had indeed been repaired.

A sad and broken Aermotor towered in a field; the ridge of the Santa Cruz Mountains was just barely visible in the distance, above the valley haze.

After climbing 2,180 feet over 23 miles, our legs were feeling it. Our timing had been perfect; the approaching storm front rapidly drew a blanket of gray over our heads as we lingered in the parking lot at the end. Safely distant, my ride buddy and I considred our options for future outings as our county's next (and second) lockdown looms.

To ride, or not to ride? [Stay tuned.]