The sun peeked in the window this morning so I knew it was going to be a better day than yesterday,
which was cold and overcast.
Base layer, old Postal jersey, arm warmers, leg warmers, shorts, and vest. Adjust the cleats, air
the tires, lube the chain and I'm off.
Midweek traffic is a bother, and I itch for the rural roads. A few kilometers dotted with lights and
stop signs and I'm finally out on Freedom Boulevard. A gentle climb for a few kilometers then off to
Hames road and a couple short but steep climbs. One last climb which gets the lungs and heart into
the act and then coast into Corralitos.
A quick stop then across the bridge and left, toward Hazel Dell. The autumn color is a bed of firey
embers scattered along the roads as I approach the groves of redwoods. Enough deciduous trees have
blazed a path into the cold, dark depths of the dell, that I'm accompanied by a contrast of deep
greens and brilliant amber for a ways. Light plays on the road through gaps where leaves have
deserted the summer stations and the road winds dark and upwards.
The northern entry to Hazel Dell is less demanding, so to make a ride of it I pick up my pace
to where sinew sings and climb the patched tarmac. Rythmn establishes itself, breath and
pedals, a smooth tempo, neither labored nor leisurely. A turn, and another. A grade, a turn, a
grade and daylight again. I sail past open pastures and see a picnic pavilion upon a hill I'd
never seen before.
Descending along the well banked, yet mild curves of Mt. Madonna Road, I drop like a stone past a
man clearing mud from a backhoe. A few houses then left on Casserly and past the firehouse. Rows of
plastic covers for the young strawberry plants shimmer around like light playing on the bay. A right
turn on 152 and pick up speed, careening through a couple dips in the road, build momentum and then
push it, fly along with the traffic into Watsonville.
Midday traffic is chaos, and I zig zag through downtown, across Main and back. Approaching the post
office a red Jeep Cherokee cuts across my path and I dart across lanes in a desperate bid to stay
whole. Where's a cop when you need one? Over the bridge and into a crosswind from the west. Lovely.
Turn right onto Trafton and directly into a headwind. Keep in the drops and go moderate, else it's a
battle of attrition the wind wins.
Furrowed fields are seeded and workers hook up sprinklers. Dit. Dit.
Dit. Dit. Dit. Not much water on the road, better than last time, less mud to clean off when I get
home. I cross the Pajaro and meet several riders heading the other way. An exchange of waves,
"Hello!", "Howdy!", "Hi!" At West Beach I see a marker I've passed a dozen times but never
looked at, it proclaims THURWATCHER, 1934. It's been under water a few times, but it's still
there, not bad. Left on West Beach and then right onto San Andreas Road.
On Sunday I swore loudly as I hit a large patch of gravel I didn't see until I was on it. Today I
was ready as I ascended the hill. No worries, all that was left was a thin strip and damp pavement.
I caught up to a street cleaner a kilo or so up the road and wave as I pass. Good job, at least the
clean up after someone dumped that excess for a cheap road patch. The cleaner also takes away some
of the mud tracked from the fields and the going up the grades is fast. I crest the hill with fresh
legs and ambition. 53-11. Man, machine and road all become one. Fly! Curves and rises blur past in
the roar of wind.
The cleaner removed the debris of the eucalyptus trees all the way to Mar Monte Avenue. Clean
pavement is such a joy to ride on, more so when ascending a slight grade with speed. Fewer
eucalyptus nuts, but the front tire still spits one across the road, it ricochets off something
metalic. Left onto Bonita and the pace winds down. The last few hills before the long stretch home.
Something approaches as I'm out of the saddle, climbing the next to last hill. Street sweeper? I
don't know and don't look back. Go to a smaller cog and crank hard. The sound receeds. I crest the
hill and coast down the other side and over the last hill. On the bridge over Highway 1 I look back
and see a tractor. Well, I'm faster than that and move into the turn lane for Soquel Drive at Rob
Roy Junction. The light changes and I'm back in the city.
Catching lights I approach the campus of Cabrillo College. I'm not tired, so take a quick sprint up
though the campus and back down to Soquel. Pretty fresh for the K's the readout says. Through Soquel
Village and left on Wharf Road, I bypass home and drop down into Capitola Village and climb up Opal
Cliffs drive. A decent view, but to much traffic, head down to Pleasure Point and noodle along
their. A surfer catchs a wave, but only holds it for a few seconds. The view is spectacular, no
photo or video could ever capture it.
Head home a left, a right, a left and into the driveway. The readout says 82.00 K. Not bad for three
hours. A warm shower, a bowl of soup with some buttered french bread and a rest. These are the days
that cold and rain prepare me for. However I suffer the bad days, a ride like this makes up for it
with interest.