Rainy Day Women

My friends had mapped out an 80-mile route for the first day of our biking vacation. After plotting the course on a map, I saw a straightforward way to reduce it to 60 and suggested considering that option when we reached the turning point. But the more I thought about it, the more certain I was to follow the shorter route—especially since we were not staying another night in the area, but would face a post-ride two-hour drive to our next home base in Nevada City.

Our loop started with a sweet downhill, passing through the town of Graeagle. I was glad that I'd tossed a vest into my bag, almost as an afterthought, “just in case.”

The morning was chilly, with a slight chance of rain (rain?!) in the forecast.

Uncharacteristically, Ms. C (who normally stacks on multiple layers), brought none. Here she is snapping a photo of me snapping a photo of her.

There were flowers and boulders and evergreens a-plenty.

At one point I looked up just in time to see two fawns trailing their mom across the road and up the hillside.

“Did you feel that?” Sprinkles.

Which turned to rain.

Enough rain for vehicles to flick on their windshield wipers and spray water up from the roadway and bring patches of oil to the surface.

We have neither windshields, nor wipers.

But I've weathered far worse.

I met the Boyfriend (Ms. C's) climbing back up. “She wasn't far back when I started descending, but she must be cold.” He'd offer her the option to turn back. “I'm going to continue,” expecting that I would ride out of the rain. [I was right.]

I paused now and then for a snack, and to admire the scenery.

If they hadn't turned back, they'd surely catch up to me.

Continuing was the right choice (but then, with my vest and arm warmers, I wasn't really cold). I dried out soon enough.

I realized that my internal soundtrack had started playing a tune ... Gershwin. The mind works in mysterious ways.

I lingered a while at the Sattley Cash Store, by now convinced that my friends had turned back.

I had earned these photo-worthy views.

A barn dating back to 1895.

Vehicles traveled fast, but there weren't many. Visibility was excellent, so I wasn't worried about sharing the road.

A flock of white pelicans rose up from the field, swirled overhead and vanished.

In addition to the views, I was rewarded with a smokin' tailwind.

Puffs of cloud dotted the sky above massive rock formations.

Bright flowers were a welcome sight after the morning's gloom.

I was glad I had stayed the course: 4,025 feet of climbing over 61 miles (some wet, some dry). For my friends, who turned back, more wet than dry.

The afternoon drive gave us the views we missed this morning. Maybe I'll come back, one day.

A Walk in the Woods

With most people celebrating Independence Day, traffic was light and I made it to Auburn yesterday without growing exhausted in the process. That left today for the rest of the long drive to Graeagle, where I would rendezvous with two biking buddies for a mini getaway.

Graeagle? Where the heck is Graeagle? Until they'd suggested it, I had never heard of it. Entering the town, I think the sign claimed a population of 737.

We visited the town when my friends arrived, and later I went exploring on my own as they relaxed before dinner. Our lodge provided a map that showed the start of a path leading to “the river.”

The path wasn't marked, and I had no sense of the distance to the river. The bouncing blue GPS dot on my phone kept me on the main route (Clareville Flat Road, according to Google Maps).

I was rewarded with the sound of the wind in the trees and the occasional song of a bird.

And, of course, flowers. It may be late in the season, but the altitude is higher (and the nights cooler).

I wondered about bears ... but didn't see telltale signs of large mammals.

I wondered whether I would, in fact, find the river. The Middle Fork Feather River, as it turned out.

I didn't expect railroad tracks, and a bridge.

I didn't expect to find the river flanked by cliffs, dotted with granite boulders.

A most satisfying walk in the woods.