I like running in the rain. Not at first, but after I get going and warm up, it’s exhilarating. Plus the smell of the air and the negative ions.

   So I set out last night around 6PM, heading south along the coastal cliffs from Muir Beach. I had on my one layer of Maxit tights and a rain parka tied around my waist. The storm was just starting.

    By the time I got up to my lookout spot (a point of land projecting out into the ocean that feels very much like the bow of a ship), the wind in front of the storm was blowing at maybe 30-40 mph, and I put on the parka and faced into it, taking in the wind energy and the sweet smell of fresh storm air, leaning into the storm and it holding me up. The lights of San Francisco across the water.

   As I headed up on a fire road inland, the rain started. It got foggy and pretty soon it was like being in a tunnel, darkness all around and a six-foot circle of misty light in front of me. These small owls (actually, I’ve been told they’re not owls, but related to whippoorwills) fluttered up from the sides of the road as I ascended; I think they wait for mice to cross the road.

   It was getting darker and rainier. I got to the top and started back down. I could hardly see. I was sending good thoughts to my Black Diamond headlamp, because I hadn’t brought any backup light, and if I lost my light in this gloom, I’d be out there all night.

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It may have occurred to readers of my post on backpacking that I was on federal parkland, and I didn’t say anything about getting camping permits. Here’s my attitude and policy about the National Park Service, its regulations, its stewardship, and its rangers:

  I have never got a permit for camping in the national park and I have never camped in one of the designated park camping sites, which are scorched-earth and military looking. I and my natural-world-loving friends camp in places that are not visible to hikers or rangers, and we are immaculate about camp sites, leaving everything as originally found.

   A couple of years ago, scoping out the territory for this hike, I was talking to a ranger in the North Beach parking lot; he was in his SUV, I was in my Tacoma, and we were parked driver side-to-driver side, windows rolled down. He was the best type ranger—one who has the job because of a love of plants and animals and seashore and mountains. We were on the same page, so I told him about my forthcoming trip circumambulating the park, and then I said, “And I’m not getting any stinking permits.” He looked at me for a minute, then put his hand over the park service badge on his sleeve, and said, “You didn’t hear this from me, but you’ll be fine as long as you stay far from where a ranger can drive a vehicle.”

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Well, not exactly. The skateboarders (see below) told me they’d been going mat-surfing by moonlight (like the Hook in Santa Cruz w. no one else out). They were going out last night, so I and suited up and got into the water at 8, about 15 minutes after sunset. The guys were out, two mats and a board. You could see OK for maybe 45 minutes, until you couldn’t make out the horizon. Moon not up yet. Small waves, kind of sloppy rides, but it was kind of exquisite and unique, being in the ocean as light faded, paddling the quarter-mile back to the take-out point guided by the beach house lights. In all these years, I never thought of going out at sunset.

   It made me think of swimming one night in the cove at aquatic Park in San Francisco. In the ’90s, I belonged to the the South End Rowing Club and would swim in the cove about once a week. I decided to try swimming one night. As soon as I got into the water, I felt this exhilaration, maybe it was a feeling of independence. This was unique. No one knew I was there; I was on my own and I was comfortable. The lights of Ghirardelli Square sparkled on the water. I could see the Buena Vista Café, all lit up. Yesss!

    Got back to the club, took a sauna, and was I wired! Natural high.

“Here is one of the better autophotos Degfrip has to offer, Ryan Worcester is the man, in this series of photos he shares some of the moments that bicycle riding, and the off beaten path have taken him.”

For my first encounter with Ratman and his naughty-named website, see:

Yesterday around 4, Louie and I rode the cable over the river (https://bit.ly/A9mmMd) to his cabin to have dinner. We opened the medium size Hog Island oysters and had them raw with a lime juice sauce. We split a wild duck (Sprig), had it with salad greens and red wine, listened to ’40s big band music, and I rode back before it got dark. Every time I go on this journey I can’t believe I’m doing it — or that Louie is doing it at age 84. Good on ya mate!

   Drove up the coast to Mendocino in the rain this morning — glorious– no one on the roads. Mendo pretty deserted, storm blowing in.

(No one knew about this lovely town in the ’60s, when I first came here.)

   Used my recently-developed Feng Shui/intuitive/divvy (a la Lovejoy) sense to find great coffee/wi-fi at Moody’s Organic Coffee Bar, then a nice room in an old house for $100 (off season) at the Sweetwater Spa, which has a great hot sauna and a robust wooden hot tub, all free with the room.

   Geared up with parka, rain pants, Muck Boots, and walked on the beach with wind howling and rain pelting. Good to be alive.

The slide show, at the Gallery Bookshop, one of those great and brave independent bookstores that is surviving the Amazon onslaught, went well. Everybody was with me, great to see people nodding and smiling. Rapport. My people. Signed a lot of books. One guy brought a tattered 30-year-old copy of Shelter for me to sign.

   Nice dinner at The Moose Cafe. Tomorrow heading for Arcata to do a signing at Northtown Books. Maybe some music somewhere in this cool little town afterwards and back home Sunday.