Ladies, Some Naked

There were an uncommon number of women climbing Tunitas Creek today: women in groups, women alone, me and my ride buddy.

Mere photos can't capture the majesty of riding through a redwood forest. I paused a couple of times—not because I needed to, but because I could.

I could stop in the cool shade of the towering trees.

I could stop and listen to ... utter silence. No motorcycles. No cars. Not even the sound of the wind in my ears or the soft whir of my tires on the pavement. Beautiful, blessed silence.

Of course there were motorcycles, and cars, and other cyclists. But mostly, there were none of those.

We rode close enough to the coast to be touched by its chilly foggy breeze.

Naked Ladies (Amaryllis belladonna) were abundant along Purisima Creek Road. The flowers pop months after the plant's foliage has disappeared (inspiration for the name). Last week I learned that, to children, these blooms mean “Back to school!”

On the way up Kings Mountain this morning, I doubted whether I had the stamina to complete our planned route. (Evidently, I did: 44 miles, 4,975 feet of climbing.)

We did trim a few miles by not heading into town with the rest of the group for lunch.

I usually wear a club jersey on a club ride, but that leaves so many fine specimens hanging in my closet.

“Grüße!” called out a passing rider. (Or at least that's what I think he said, in part.) I suppose it's only natural to expect that I, bedecked in a design featuring the Swiss flag, might speak the language.

Another rider in a full Movistar kit told me he has the same jersey, and almost wore it today. Now, that would have been a sight!

Redwood Rain

I stepped out of the car, just a few miles from home, and was surprised by the chill. [Uh-oh.] I didn't expect to need an extra layer. Micro-climates. I pulled out my arm coolers, which I'd brought for extra sun protection. They would have to do.

I'd caught a glimpse of thick fog in a sheltered valley on the drive up to the start, and hoped we would stay above it. [Nope.]

By the time we reached Summit Road, the fog was thinning but still blowing sideways from the coast. It looks like steam ... but it's cold. And of course, wet. In the forest next to the road, there were pockets that sounded like steady rain as the condensing fog dripped from the branches of the redwood trees.

“If I ever move away from here, it's the redwoods I'll miss most,” one of our riders remarked. How very fortunate we are, to be cycling through the redwood forest just a few miles from home.

The surface of Highland Way continues to deteriorate, battered by last winter's storms. Slides have reduced it to one lane in a couple of places, and some fresh boulders are perched at the road's edge. This is not a place to linger when there is any likelihood of earth movement.

We made our way up to a high point on Loma Prieta Road. The agricultural fields around Watsonville were just barely visible, if you knew where to look; Monterey Bay and the peninsula were obscured by the marine layer.

And as close as we were to their peaks, we had hazy views of Loma Prieta and Mt. Umunhum. Only then did I realize that there was another layer above the fog, a thin layer of smoke. From where, we wondered, as we looked at the hillside scorched by last summer's Loma Prieta blaze.

37 miles, 3,535 feet of climbing. For an out-and-back route, what goes up must also come down. Translation: That's a lot of climbing over a short distance. I suffered.