Sunday, November 11, 2012

Things that don't get lost

For some reason this morning a ride sounds  appealing. It's been a while. I love fall on these roads. Cold clear days can be nice on the coast provided you have wool everything, which I do.

The route is the route to Pescadero. Same roads, different every time. Everything else changes: fitness level, how I'm feeling that day, weather, whatever else is going on. Today the weather is clear and cold and fine; the rest is marginal.

Heading up Old La Honda, 30 seconds later whatever I was thinking about is gone.

The driver of the car in the accident 4 years ago now, walking a dog along the road. The cop car usually hiding right here. Two racer chicks that keep leapfrogging past. The sad, excruciating waltz of negotiations with HR. What the lawyer said. The Twilight Zone of doctor visits. Another insurance denial, forcing a visit to Dr. H. on Tuesday...

Just plain gone. Dreams without any meaning.

It's good to be forced to put your head down and push as hard as possible. The effort catapults you back into the moment. The moment is something I can do.

At the top they've laid chipseal on Skyline and the gravel is loose around the edges.

That's about the last complete thought I remember. Time start to flow, with bumps of stillness now and then.

On Stage in sight of the ocean a hawk circles. Tilting its body and tail this way and that, using the air currents. Gazing downward at the earth as I stand there gazing upward. Lifted again from the hillside toward the sky. Evolved for this.

Next to the road to Neil Young's ranch the utility poles glint in the sunlight. Think about his songs, what the music does and what the words tend to say. Not simple, not trickery either.

The base of West Alpine, next to the creek. Dark, mysterious, ridiculously narrow. Communing with redwoods. Layers and layers of yellow leaves along the quiet water.

Cresting the ridge as the day is ending, the sun still hanging above the ocean at my back. A view of tall forested hills. Down there in the middle of it, it looked totally different to me.

Into the valley, half shrouded in a blue twilight. A thick layer of rose-colored air above that. The tall buildings, serene. The way light separates into all these colors all by itself.

Going down. Into Moody Canyon, accelerating as the light fades everywhere.

The driveway, the very last fringes of dusk.

1 comment :

  1. This was beautiful. It makes me want to do Tunitas Creek again, or try climbing West Alpine (the descent was glorious, but I haven't tried it the other way). :)