Goin' Down to Strawberry Fields

After a two-year pause we returned to the strawberry fields, riding to benefit Cyclists for Cultural Exchange.

Fifty-five years later, Lennon's lyrics still resonate. But then, hasn't it ever been thus?

Living is easy with eyes closed

Misunderstanding all you see

The ride's organizers, I expect, were in a bind this year. They honored our registrations for 2020, many of which were locked in at early-bird prices far short of 2022's reality, but warned us that there would be no post-ride meal this year.

Without any advance planning, I ran into several cycling friends at the start. That sort of thing often happens at this ride. They got a head start, but I would later wave as I passed them on the course.

Disoriented in the morning fog, it took me a moment to register that I'd turned onto the road leading to the first rest stop—not some new tweak to the course. [That would come later.]

I paused, as usual, at the Elkhorn Slough—just then, a flock of pelicans swooped in and put on quite a show.

The course had been changed, a bit. Focused on following on a bunch of riders ahead of me, I consequently missed one unfamiliar left turn; I was puzzled that my GPS directions seemed off and I wondered why the organizers would route us to turn left onto a busy road with fast-moving traffic. [Highway 1, actually.] It was easy enough to recover by exiting immediately, joining the riders who had made the correct turn and crossed above the highway. [Whew.]

I needed a stream of self-talk to get up the steep hill to Royal Oaks Park. You've done this before. You've done this every time. You can do it today.

The eponymous berries were plentiful, at every rest stop (not just at the finish). I sympathized with the volunteers doing their best to appease the swarm of hungry cyclists during the lunch rush—they were sorely understaffed.

At Gizdich Ranch, I perched at one end of a bench to enjoy my slice of apple pie and chatted with a couple of cyclists who were new to the ride (and, loving it). One had traveled all the way from Davis!

Hazel Dell, Corralitos ... I haven't been riding enough to prepare for this event. Thankfully the last 12 miles are basically downhill.

After 64 miles and some 3,500 feet of climbing I was delighted by an unexpected half-sandwich and a crêpe at the finish. And strawberries. More strawberries. [With chocolate sauce.]