Snow Days

Stoked

Much to my delight, my weekend brought with it a solid eight inches of early season snow and all the absurd activities it entails: a stroll through the wonderland; spontaneous and heated friendly fire; a polar bear plunge; a pedal boat redneck yacht club in sub-freezing temps, complete with bloody marys.

Stupid? Fantastic

Redneck yacht club

The next morning the Adventure Team headed out for a challenging snowshoe into Desolation. After we crested the brutal climb of Cathedral Bowl, the novelty wore off and we trudged through deep glades to Gilmore Lake. I sometimes forgot to look around at the crazy beauty because I was distracted by the heavy-breathing monotony of pushing through a foot of powder. The trees on top of the ridge were rimed with ice and the sky cast a somber light on the half-obscured Crystal range. Duffy and I were dressed in a lightweight athletic manner that felt great and fleet-footed on the move but did not permit a pause of any more than a minute. I'm still figuring out winter wear, which is essential when I want to be able to go uphill and downhill in comfort.

The flingage factor is high with snowshoes

!!!!!

Today it was back to shorts and a t-shirt as I ran a quick out-and-back in the disappearing slush. The only sounds were the plash of snow melting and the distant buzz of sawyers amassing their winter reserves. Along with the smell of baking pine needles and the crunch of bike tires on decomposed granite, the ethereal combination of snow and warm sunshine is a California feeling that will linger long after I leave.

Broken Record

Do I have to say this ad nauseam? Sammie insists that I blog again but I have nothing new to report: I live in an amazing, beautiful place with a bunch of incredible people. As excited as I am about the upcoming transition to a more "grown-up" life of partnership and stability (and permanence?), at the same time I want the passage of days to slow so I can exist in this little space for as long as possible.

Fitness has fallen by the wayside because I'm too busy carpe-ing the diem. It doesn't result purely from laziness; escaping the tyranny of nonstop exercise fixation means spending time with a wider array of people, doing things that don't necessarily burn calories or leave me joyfully exhausted and sore, but still satiate some hunger within, the hunger for lingering experiences and a sense of togetherness. Sure, railing tacky berms before work is still the rush it always has been. And the other day we set out for a run on a rainy cold morning and were rewarded after only 500 feet of elevation gain by soft snowfall on autumn foliage, and we luxuriated in the western cliche of radiant yellow aspens in a white-dusted landscape.

Twelve miles of heartbreaking beauty

But piling out of a caravan of cars and behaving typically touristy with a huge gang of coworkers in an old mining town in Nevada, or in the apple orchards of the Sierra foothills? 

Camp escapees, Apple Hill tourists

Taking a casual bike ride down the road to see the kokanee salmon spawn and die by the thousands? 

Poking dead salmon with sticks (I never outgrew it)

Watching the sun sink over a shelf of rolling granite from our campsite next to the cascading pools of the American River? These are feelings I won't relinquish any time soon. What did I do to deserve this lush technicolor life?

Comings and Goings

So the folks came to town, and Tyler left town.

Tyler got a job at Grand Teton Brewing Company, the most ideal of situations but rather more abrupt than I'd hoped, so he packed up and hightailed it to Victor, ID. I have two months of his absence to contend with before I too make the trek. He is already in love with the place. 

Meanwhile Mom and Dad spent a week at camp and embraced wholeheartedly all the best parts. Faculty lectures, kayaking, wine on the deck at sunset, Bill merrily identifying each exciting new kind of flora and fauna he encountered, Deb announcing she wanted to hike Tallac ASAP and accomplishing the feat with aplomb. Their presence and bright-eyed enjoyment of this lovely little place renewed some of my own wonderment, in remission for the past months and slightly soured. It was great having them here, and when I left them to their own devices and they traipsed around seeking adventures and playing outside, it was quite apparent where I get it from.

Taking on Tallac

Environmental Factors

Western fires are no joke

A chunk of land northwest of Yosemite is ablaze and in the past week the conflagration has crept into the record books--right now it's the 6th largest CA wildfire in recorded history.

A haze has inhabited Tahoe for a week, obscuring mountains, sprinkling ash on windshields, infusing the evening breeze with the smell of campfire, turning the sun neon pink and the moon blood red. At the end of the busy season, the fire has summarily staunched the flow of tourist dollars and left the service industry to wallow in the slowdown of autumn. My parents are arriving on Saturday, hopefully to more ideal circumstances, although the Heavenly trail run was just canceled, to our dismay.

Ignoring respiratory warnings, I've continued as usual, mountain biking, hiking Mt Ralston, climbing Tallac under the full moon and sleeping up there. (The magnificent sunrise made up for the bitter cold, blustery night.) These exertions did cause noticeable discomfort--burning eyes, lingering cough, and a weird feeling of excessive fatigue. I can only imagine how people with asthma, people coming from sea level, toddlers, and old people feel. And more pressingly, how the people whose homes and histories are threatened feel. Our dining room assistant manager is from that part of the state and her parents' house is sitting two miles from the fire in the territory of her tribe. Her family and home is safe so far but her fear is palpable. Sobering stuff. When guests are complaining that they can't see Cathedral Peak while waterskiing on the lake, we remind them that there are worse things.

Dispatches from the Western Front

Monday was Tyler's birthday and he pulled some strings at work and got us a party boat. Ten of us piled on and doused ourselves in sunscreen and blasted "Blurred Lines" on repeat and set to work on the mimosas and Torpedoes in the cooler. When it got really hot we jumped in and climbed up to the Tea House, the quaintly named rock edifice in the middle of Emerald Bay. Paul drove donuts at the mouth of the marina before we headed back in with the setting sun. It was the most fun I've had in a long, long time. Clearly the best place to enjoy Tahoe is from the middle of it.

The Tea House

Too. Damn. Good.
(Pic from Katie)

After a surprisingly successful return to "competitive" running (a firecracker 5k barely merits the title), the bug has bitten. Again. Sigh. In September I will have the great pleasure of running up the mountain I skied down all winter, and with my padre nonetheless! Riding in the Graeagle area last week got me thinking about the Lost Sierra Endurance Run and I've actually managed to get my ducks in a row for that as well. I even did a long run yesterday, a long, hot, flattish run that ended as usual with a plunge in Fallen Leaf, and that made me feel pretty good about a 30k* in two months.

*Not 50k because I'm not insane

Office run
(Pic from Merril)

And I got a new pair of fatty fat skis for my powder-centric future plans.

So sexy

Every Friday night at camp the musically endowed counselors set up on the deck and perform for an hour, and every Friday night I stand at the huge window overlooking the lake, in my palatial office, and watch the show, and every Friday night the musicians finish with a rousing rendition of "American Pie", and every Friday night everyone dances and sings along, staff and toddlers and grandfathers and surly teenagers and tipsy soccer moms, and every Friday night, despite the disturbing sense of deja vu, the communal happiness and wistfulness at the week's end is palpable, even from the second floor. And then the sun sets and every Friday night, it's the most beautiful thing ever.

The view from work
(Pic from Nichole)

Pavement Time

The other day Deutschbike and I went out riding. The fella was out of town so on my day off I had the luxury of pummeling myself into oblivion at my leisure. My knees, ass, and hands may beg to differ but my heart said, best road ride ever.

Better than riding around the lake even, because of the incredibly diverse scenery. Soft pedal out of camp along my own little lake, cut through picturesque neighborhoods, climb up out of Christmas Valley, a glade of the sharpest greens and most bountiful wildflowers with the tranquil Upper Truckee River running through it, over Luther Pass and down into Hope Valley where the craggy glory of the Sierras swallows me. Then a long and windy stretch through cow-town, the flats of Nevada with the Sierras on one side and the Pinenuts on the other. When I stop to eat a Pop Tart a big hawk peers down at me with disgruntlement and then moves down to the next telephone pole. Then a long, exposed climb through the sandstone canyons above Gardnerville, nothing to protect me from the sun and seemingly nothing holding the sand to the cliffs. Finally I made it to Daggett Pass and took the shortest route back to camp, through South Lake Trashhole, land of never ending road construction, and yet...generous shoulders, glorious weather, drivers who notice bikes. The final stretch was the hardest of the day, with a little baby climb up Tahoe Mountain and then the bone chattering road around the lake in all its pot-holed, pavement-rippled glory.

Not as long as my last big ride, but way harder: http://app.strava.com/activities/55419760
The ride resembles the Assault in a lot of ways. Big climbs at the start and finish, flatlands in the middle (in a different state, even!) Crazy beautiful, crazy tough, definitely want to do it again.

Meanwhile, In the Here and Now

My favorite pre-work run, out the door of the cabin:

The dusty trail, a lung-busting climb up granite ledges and switchbacks, through snowmelt and bark debris

The views emerge quickly on the ascent

To one side of Angora Ridge, lush lakefront;
to the other side, lingering skeletons of the '09 burn

I dawdle at the fire lookout every time

The fleeing storm parks itself over Desolation

In the other direction Freel and company loom above
the Meyers valley

This time of year sees more blooming than I'd expected

Fast downhill, each footfall threatened by loose surface

or manzanita bottleneck

And back home (upstairs)

Sweet digs, perfect size 

My own little nook 

New Season

Angora Peak

spring in tahoe is pretty sweet. toasty warm days bookended by the occasional chilly drizzle that sharpens and clarifies all the new greens, so different from the darker everpresent pine green. a neon dust of pollen covers every surface and the birdsong is incessant. when the warmth returns the smell of baking pine needles floats in all the sunny spots; it has already made a permanent home in my olfactory memory bank.

Hikin (it's like running, just slower)

Just two girls dreaming of the east coast

i feel at home here and all is good in the world, but i can't wait for the smell of loam and the constant shade of canopy. i want to run over root baskets and stream beds again and ride up some gravel road, clinging to the wheel of whoever is in front of me and praying that the climb will end soon. i want to sit in the bakery and greet every single person who walks through the door. i want to hug my family. (is that weird?) in ten days i'll be flying over the blue ridge with my forehead and nose smudging the window, and i can't wait to be back.

Update

I've worked at the coffee shop for a month now and have erased the wretched imprisonment of HR from my memory. I love the coffee shop. More than I expected, even. I had reservations, since we operate under the umbrella of not one but two evil empires. However, the influence of the coffee corporation is barely present, besides the monthly introduction of new cloyingly sweet drinks; Vail's sway is more obvious, between the Byzantine labor laws of California* and relentless rah-rah of the resort. All the employees have past experience in independent coffee shops so we all operate under the pretense that we still work in one, mocking people who order caramel "macchiatos" and ask for grande-sized beverages, and doling out freebies to anyone we like, corporate protocol be damned. I was expecting to serve only tourists, and while the staggering majority of our customers are out-of-towners, there is a solid and loyal contingent of locals, regulars, and year-rounders. Everyone that works in the Village takes excellent care of each other; the us-versus-them mentality is really strong here.

The tourists that pour in are the most cosmopolitan crowd I've ever seen. At least fifty percent of them are wealthy foreigners, skiers and boarders from Perth and Bern and Santiago and Lima and Seoul, decked out in the most expensive snowgear and eyewear imaginable, showing no reaction at being charged upward of four dollars for a single beverage. Everyone is stoked on the sunshine, the scenery, and the snow. Most people that come in are very friendly and not nearly as high maintenance as I had expected, although the entitled Bay brats wielding their parents' plastic can be pretty abrasive. Overall the vibe is great, the tips are generous, and I'm excited to go to work each day. What more could I ask?




*To clarify: California has very pro-employee labor laws, to the point that it's absurd. We the peons benefit, but on the other side of the desk in HR I saw how obnoxious the rules are for employers. 

The Holidays

This Christmas was my first away from the bosom of Brevard, but circumstances convened to make it a very special one. On one snowy night the roommates gathered to decorate the tree and listen to the Nutcracker Suite. My folks sent me a loaf of stollen so I could nibble it and drink tea and miss the frenetic rush of holidays at the bakery. 

East coast love

Just so quaint

The weekend before Christmas brought a mind-blowing quantity of fluffy dry snow and I had three days off to enjoy it. Even better, Thad and Jenna arrived with arms full of Trader Joe's goodies and all manner of skis, and we went out and played hard every day of their visit. Thanks to them I felt like I progressed a lot in a short time, chasing Jenna through the trees and goading Squirrel onto the black runs. We spent the evenings stuffing our faces and drinking Old Chico and hanging out with my favorite people, and Thad proudly did his first shotski. On Christmas after a full powder day at Kirkwood we celebrated by having a taco tequila Tecate Tuesday, as tradition dictates.

Just so dorky

I even found time to see the Bay clan; Tyler and I ventured out of the highlands for long enough to enjoy a holiday meal with the Nichols and Ryans, and go riding for the probably the last time this winter. Now the year is coming to a close in the best way possible. The HR job ended on Saturday and I've already started training at the coffee shop, which has been non-stop inundated with cold tourists desperate for their candy-cane mocha lattes. And I love it.

The In-Between Season



Saw this on the way to work
Pic courtesy of Merrill

South Lake is a weird and not unpleasant place. Despite being (sort of) a resort town, the kitsch is kept very isolated in the actual Heavenly village, and the rest of town isn't at all precious. It's kind of gritty and trashy and low-income, but it's beside the point to focus on the all-night wedding chapels, the conflagration of neon, the proximity to that classiest of states, Nevada, when towering over us on every side are the Sierras in all their craggy majesty, and at every sunrise and sunset the lake is awash in pink. South Lake doesn't feel very "California" in the accepted sense, because even though there's kombucha sold at gas stations and Bay Area Asians flood the town during the holidays, it's still a slow-moving, blue collar kind of place. It keeps growing on me, especially during the most recent mountain and cx bike forays, when I keep finding more pockets of national forest land sandwiched between neighborhoods and honeycombed with trails.

The view from the backyard trails...ignore the bike
Pic courtesy of mtbr

Meanwhile all my friends are stricken with snow fever. I learned how to ski last week at Kirkwood, the nearby resort beloved for killer terrain and crazy snowfall. Weather and time have prohibited more slope action but this weekend heralds snow and most likely the end of my late-season cycling.

I've fallen back into the routine of normal life, so different from camp life: going grocery shopping, forcing myself to ride to work at least once a week despite the cold, going to the library, trail running with a headlamp after work. The inhabitants of LA Ave managed through the power of Craigslist to create a very cozy home on a very limited budget. It's a pretty quiet household but the five of us sometimes convene for movies or card games. My "other house" is a lot more lively, with dogs underfoot and frequent potlucks and a group of really close-knit friends.

Now I just need this late-autumn stasis to end so I can see if I actually like this winter sports thing.

This bodes well.
Pic courtesy of Heavenly

 

Life at Camp

I have been remiss in my duties.

Also I inexplicably broke the camera Dan gave me, so I will now resort to stealing photos from the internet because I'm classy like that. 

So here's my life in a nutshell right now: 

A couple days a week I work a 9-5 in the office. This frightened me at first, because of the sedentary nature of the job and more so because of the hulking, complicated beast of a phone that crouches on my desk, ringing constantly. I am not the best receptionist, but I'm learning, and after overcoming my stage fright I've started to really enjoy the office because it's challenging work, and we function as the hub of the whole operation. I love always knowing what's going on and where everyone is. 

On other days I work a shorter office shift and get some other random shifts too. Sometimes it's housekeeping, or working at the camp store/bar/coffee shop, or serving lunch, or setting up social hours for boozy guests. 

I, along with everyone else, am always alert for the meal bells so that I can scurry to the dining room for fish tacos, beef tenderloin, curry, or whatever else the kitchen chooses to put out. For breakfast I like to read on the deck overlooking the lake, drinking cappuccino and eating yogurt and raspberries. Other meals are a more collegial affair and I set my plate down wherever there's room, and laugh and gossip with whomever is available. 

The boat dock is right outside my cabin

When I'm feeling motivated between shifts, there is time for sunrise yoga, a morning paddleboard outing, some beach volleyball, or a trail run. Sometimes I prefer to just read or paint my nails on my cabin's little porch. After work is over I grab a beer from the Fountain (just put it on my tab) and join the raucous crowd at the smoker's circle or sit on the boat dock with my feet in the water or chat with my roommate and neighbors.

We get two days off a week, which seems downright luxurious. Rebecca and I have the same day off and so have plans of one epic mountain bike ride per week. The first outing was Mr Toad's Wild Ride, a roller coaster of rock gardens and stunning views that earned its reputation as one of the best descents in Tahoe. At some point a day trip to Downieville is on the agenda. 

Toad's was all about maneuvering over big rocks and

through a foot of moon dust.

On my other off-day I have a posse of like-minded hiking buddies. We're into really hard hikes with insane views and possible detours for swimming in alpine lakes. On Friday we scrambled and grappled up a moraine chute to Mount Tallac, at 9700 feet. It was by far the best hike I'd ever been on, even though we ended it sunburned and deeply dehydrated. 

You can see Fallen Leaf and all of Tahoe from Tallac.
Desolation Wilderness stretches out endlessly in the other direction.

I keep waiting for the magic to fade but it just gets better as I get to really know my coworkers and feel competent at my job(s). I would recommend this place to anyone--seriously, if you've ever considered temporary work, add this link to your favorites bar and apply for the spring season. 

Idyll

I'm not sure why I waited so long to update on the current situation--I'm probably only a couple of days away from an insistent email from the mother or father.

I think maybe it's because words fail me. I keep having to pinch myself to be sure this is real, that somehow I deserve to be here staying in a free cabin, eating three free (delicious) meals a day, working with friendly, outdoorsy, sometimes hedonistic, perpetually nomadic people.

More than anything, it's just the most beautiful place I've ever been, and the idea that I can wake up every morning to the sun rippling over the cerulean lake and through the spruce pines, and go for a ten minute hike that puts me in a skree field overlooking both Fallen Leaf and Lake Tahoe, seems almost absurd. The other night the staff director took all us newbies on a night cruise in the pontoon boat and pointed out all the intensely illuminated constellations. We're surrounded by sinister 9,000 foot peaks that delineate sky and earth in no uncertain terms. There's enough time in the day to hop in the bracingly cold lake, take out a kayak or paddleboard, or head out for a quick ride. I've even found a riding companion who knows the nearby trails and yesterday she took me up a mountain and back down.

Suffice to say I'm already dreading the end of the work season, only two months away.

3 Days, 3 Rides

as usual just imagine i have images to grace the words.

after too much down time i got back on the bike and went explorin'. the open space minutes from the g-ma's house yielded a really delightful piece of previously undiscovered (and illegal) singletrack. then gaskin brought savannah and the man to walnut creek for some hang out time. i dragged them up mount diablo just cuz, and while it was stupid and painful, it sure wasn't boring. ok, we had to stagger up vertiginous hills, barely able to find footing much less push our bikes, cursing the sheer insanity of the road engineers, but it was so dang beautiful. she has pictures, i do not.

then today i went down to pacifica, south of san fran and perched on the ocean, crowded on all sides by mountains. my riding companion du jour was more of the bro-brah persuasion and laughed at my clipless pedals and short travel, but i did all right. pacifica offers some of the only DH/FR in the bay area and as i swept through the eucalyptus groves, pinballing off berms and dodging doubles, i was reminded a lot of galbraith, in bellingham...if it hadn't rained in six months. we could pretend i was doing this, but in reality i remained within six inches of the ground at all times.

very exciting stuff though. i do love new places. and now onward to where the riding is nearby and by all accounts magnificent. tomorrow i'm heading northeastish, and giving a lift to a young meatneck coworker. this'll be fun.

Killing Time

lodged as i am in the bustling bay area, this massive concrete zone that encircles the city, i'm chafing to get back to mountains, and to work. meanwhile my family provides endless entertainments that, while not outdoorsy or athletic, are still diverting. whether it's dancing in the sketchy part of SF, eating at highly rated restaurants, drinking bubbly at celebratory brunches, or attending giants games, i'm staying busy.

fêting the matriarch

i've been promised several moutain bike outings that have yet to materialize. there are golden hills within running distance of my grandmother's house so i expunge my restlessness with outings into the knee high grass shaded only by the rare oak. at the top of every dizzyingly steep hill is a 360-degree view of my surroundings, which are aesthetically pleasing albeit crowded with houses. i have yet to tackle mount diablo again, that towering plinth i yearn to summit, but i'm running out of time.

but i guess i do live here now, after all.

Roses

Each barrier to the western venture has crumbled in such a timely and convenient fashion that if one were so inclined, one might say it was meant to be.

I was nervous about driving by myself because I have less than awesome car endurance.

Then wonderful Ella agreed to come along, and immediately bought her plane ticket home to prove that she meant it.

I was weighed down by the inconvenience of home-hunting three thousand miles away, in the land of expensive rent.

Then I got a (temporary) job at a place that provides free meals and housing. Go check it out, it looks BEYOND awesome: http://www.stanfordsierra.com/

I was stumped by the trip itself: how does one spend seven days making a four day trip, without blowing too much money and while optimizing fun? Spontaneity is all well and good but part of me rebels against it.

Then the itinerary fell into place with uncanny ease:
-Nashville, to visit Ella's glamorous friend Alex
-Kansas City, crashing at Alex's folks' house
-Denver, with my grandparents, and day trips to Oskar Blues (and riding with the beer bros!) and Frisco (riding with the Graingers)
-Park City and some good solid time with the Tuttle!
-haul ass to the Bay Area, bid Ella a fond farewell, and spend a week hanging out with my west coast family before starting the job at Fallen Leaf Lake

It's all coming up roses, for real. Now if only Brevard (and the woods, and my friends, and my boy, and his dog) would stop being so wonderful...

Lots of Talking

I think it's safe to say that I'm not entirely honest when I write this blog. Because I'd really prefer that the casual reader envies me, rather than pitying me, I'm never going to air dirty laundry, talk in detail about friendships or relationships, or give too much air time to the negative emotions that we all have to deal with at some point or another.  It's a delicious truism of the blogosphere that no one ever reads what you write until you put your foot in your mouth--and then suddenly everyone is reading. (As a quiet, creepy blog reader I relish it when a distant acquaintance overshares in public...)

All this to say, this post will be a little more "dear diary" than most. Maybe because I haven't raced or traveled in a bit, or maybe because I have some stuff to process.

So I'm leaving in the fall. I'm doing it. I've said it every year since graduation, but now I'm doing it. I've just spent an embarrassing number of hours reading the posts at Geargals and I think Jill is my new favorite person. She steals the thoughts out of my head and writes them down way more articulately than I could ever manage, all while wielding power tools and fearlessly playing in the snow. I aspire to all of these things. She described what I want to do as a walkabout, which is just right; I know where I'll end up, when all is said and done, but I have to put the time in first. I need to run away from the homeland, the cushy place of easy, easy living and glorious trails and awesome people, and just get some damn experience out there in the big scary world.

I'm very envious of my friends that can drop everything and live the nomad's life on a whim. After living in the same apartment for all my adult years, I took an entire month to move into a friend's house four blocks away. I've done some hardcore purging of my possessions and tamed my acquisitive nature (no more buying clothes, ever, but I can't seem to stop spending money on my sexy, demanding bike). In this very slow, very timid little endeavor, I've found that I am not a hoarder, not overly attached to stuff, and that I can force myself to be organized and (almost) tidy when necessary. Good things to know, because if I want to take this party west, I'll need to simplify even more, be even more frugal, and to keep my shit together.

I really hate Brevard sometimes, for all of the same reasons I love it. Everyone freaking knows me. This is not gross egotism speaking, it's just a result of growing up in the bakery, going to school here, and becoming a part of the very large outdoor community. I really, really didn't want everyone to know I was planning to jump ship, but of course it leaked, and now I get the same questions every day. Where in Cali? How long? Why? So you've found a job, right?

It's okay though, because now I'm being held accountable. If I don't skedaddle come leaf season, I'll have to face another six months of conversations about it. It's all in kindness, of course, but I really. Really. Really don't like talking about myself and my plans to all the well-meaning customers and acquaintances in this little town. I'm a hermit at heart, obviously.

So. Watch this space, I guess. Also, some pics might surface eventually of wonderful weddings and picturesque bike rides...but I can't make any promises.

Ride Log

Friday: California One Youth and Beauty Brigade

I wrote up a little cue sheet based off some local knowledge and made my way over to Highway 1. I didn't mind the brutal wind because I was too busy looking out over the water (not taking pictures). I turned around in Davenport and proceeded to skip the best part of the loop, trusting blindly to the poor set of directions affixed to my handlebars. I could only retrace my steps and eventually with some frustration got back to the house. I am cursed with a poor sense of direction and abysmal navigational skills. My only hope when in new towns is to blindly foray into the wilderness until I develop some sense of place. Chrissy's commuter bike was perfect for that.

If I had taken pictures they would of course have looked like this.

Saturday: The SC Hustle

Ah, a Saturday morning group ride! Legend has it this one has been going on for thirty years. I arrived early and explained to a woman who races for Vanderkitten (yes, I was secretly excited) that I was a noob. She and everyone within earshot seemed very worried for my well-being because there were sprint points along the ride (duh) and I wasn't familiar with the area. "You do have a cell phone, right?" is code for: "When you get dropped, you can find your own way back, right?" Fair enough. Seventy people showed for the ride and I swam along in the sea of roadies listening to their absurd chatter: "I won this sprint last week." "Hold your line!" "So this clown wasn't doing ANY work, so I told him to either get the f@#$ off the front or help us pull in the break." "I've been on the rollers for three months getting ready for the so-and-so race." "I was the third person to buy Di2 and the president of Shimano called me..." (Yeah, really.) Anyhoo, after some tepid sprints (nothing is hard when you're sitting in a paceline the size of an eighteen-wheeler) we rolled into Watsonville. The sixty-milers took off for the mountains, which were wreathed in clouds; they beckoned to me. But I only had one bottle and didn't trust my own fitness, so I took the easy way out. Alas.

A rainbow over San Lorenzo River (or, more accurately, a rainbow over the part of town where the prostitutes live).

Sunday: Arana Gulch

Off-and-on drizzle hindered me from conquering Highway 1 so I returned the road bike to Beth and went for a little run down to the harbor. This was definitely one of those DAMN, NO CAMERA outings. I followed a tiny meandering dirt path behind the harbor and found myself in a wide open meadow ringed with trees. The sky was dramatic as the rain evaporated and the sun fought its way out, and there was no sign that this lush green space was in the middle of a city.

Monday: Wow

I'm up in Walnut Creek now, and I borrowed my aunt's (teeny tiny) Litespeed for some more exploring. I started in Orinda and in barely fifteen minutes I'd escaped the bonds of upper middle class suburbia and was meandering through dank wooded tunnels. Then the road turned up and climbed to Redwood Regional Park. It was a gradual, winding scenic climb like the backside of 215. I was way happy, and the descent down the other side was not bad either. Chastened by my pitiful previous attempts to make loops, I opted for an out and back, which more than quenched my need for scenery.

The reservoir. Fyi, Oakland: I spit in it.
Not really.

Yay uphill!

Tomorrow: Mount Diablo! (Dramatic music)

I'm Never Going Home

In all honesty this trip to Cali was impromptu and I forgot to get excited about it until I was on the plane. I had no expectations and figured even if it was a forgettable week I would at least get in some good face time with the west coast family.

Apparently low expectations beget fabulous trips. Or maybe it's just the combination of A-MAZ-ING weather and incredibly welcoming friends and family. Wandering the streets in shorts and sandals, reading on the beach, and riding bikes in short sleeves has got me dreading the return trip.

My wonderful cousin Chrissy treated me to breakfast at Cafe Brasil, where they serve coffee that's like the nectar of the gods. I had some nummy poached eggs over avocado and baguette.

I asked my friend Beth if I could maybepossiblyperhaps borrow a mountain bike, to save the money and worry of shipping or renting a bike. Um...she came through IN SPADES. Today I got to ride a carbon Trance up and down a mountain. We went out early while it was still chilly (and by that I mean fifty degrees...) and met up with a group of six other awesome, fast women to ride for a couple hours. We pinned it up a long dirt road climb then descended forever on marvelous snaky singletrack through the redwoods. The five inch bike made for some durn good riding.
And as if that wasn't enough, Beth then lent me her titanium road bike for the rest of the week. I don't believe there has ever been a better time and place for some solitary wandering road rides. I think I'll go explore Highway 1 tomorrow.

This might have been called Sand Point. Right before the sick-ass descent of West...ridge? I think.

Plunder from the farmers' market. Last night we made salad with sauteed rainbow chard, kalamata olive croutons, and roasted root veggies.

I don't even like beaches. But I like this one. And it's two blocks from the house.