Yesterday my friend Kent and I rode our bikes up the mountain and down an old fire road. I stopped to pick some mushrooms and Kent went on ahead. When I caught up, his bike was parked and he was in the woods by this gigantic tree. Maybe it was spared by the loggers because it was so distorted. A mighty and awesome presence.
About a month ago I wimped out on running with my friends in a rainstorm. (We run every Tuesday night.) So last night I was determined to get out into it. The boys went up Frank’s Valley, and I headed south along the coastal cliff trail. The storm was lurking just of shore and boy was I excited. Had on windbreaker, gloves, and warm wool tuque (home-knit cap). The wind was blasting and when I got up to our lookout spot, it must have been 50-60 mph. The few drops of rain falling stung my face, felt like bullets. I had to lean into the wind to avoid being blown over. The wind whipping my jacket sounded like a Harley, or like cards in bike wheel spokes. The raw power of the Pacific Ocean! The storm was pouring energy into me as I breathed. I’m still amped.
After a pint of Guinness with the boys in the pub, I drove north along the coast to get home. The rain was kicking in, wind howling, and on the radio, the bluegrass band The Steeldrivers was playing Good Corn Liquor and I pulled the truck over to an ocean overlook spot and got out and danced a jig in the storm. Seemed like the thing to do.
I tell ya, when I get on my new bike, it feels like I’m on a motorcycle. Each time I take the first couple of cranks going down the road, I can’t believe how good it feels. Here we go! Yesterday I headed up the coast off-road. The bike with its air shocks takes potholes and rocks with ease. Surf was up, tide low, air filled with sweet negative-ion-charged sea air.
Then I rode out to a secret pond in the hills, where swimming is great in the Spring:
On the way home as sun was setting, here was a herd of 14 deer. Never seen a flock like this.
Each day of my life right now seems so filled with interesting stuff I can only get a fraction of it down.
Panorama of lagoon with wisps of fog shot on a bike ride Friday.
As I rode back home, the water had a pink sheen from the sunset. By the time I got camera out and positioned, the pink had faded. Still…
I’m using my bike to get out in the woods, then parking it and searching for mushrooms (and animal bones). Yesterday found these candy caps. When dried they smell like maple syrup. Also got more of the bobcat bones I’d discovered last week. The bike is so great, with its disc brakes and air shocks.
I worked until 4 today on the tiny houses book (which is humming along), and took off on my new bike for the hills. I haven’t been on a bike in the hills for many years, and this was like opening familiar synapses. Plus a bike that rides uphill like you practically have a motor, and absorbs shocks like one of the old Citroens, is a pleasure, to be sure. Hey, this was fun being able to cover so much more ground than running.
I ran across a couple out in the woods, he with a canvas bag on his shoulder, “Good hunting?” I asked. “No.”
Yeah, right, like your bag isn’t full of mushrooms, dude. Well, I’d do the same thing. So I rode out to beyond where I figured walkers would go and looked in the woods. Found some mushrooms, not sure about them, but the prize was a bobcat skull and other bones. Since I haven’t quite got my bike act together yet, I didn’t have a backpack, so I took off my shirt and rolled up and tied the mushrooms and bones in a hobo package (which meant riding home in the cold without a shirt). However, not only was I warmed up by the exertion, but on the way home the sky turned vivid pink, with clouds running horizontally, and a red band running vertically. When I got back on the pavement, cars were stopped on the road. Hallelujah to the solar system.
I’m going to bleach the skull bone white.
When I see a red sky at either dawn (as above, last Tuesday) or dusk, I always think of this saying, which I originally heard from Lionel, the fisherman. So I looked it up on Google and found the below on the Library of Congress website:
Question: Is the old adage “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning” true, or is it just an old wives’ tale?
Answer: Within limits, there is truth in this saying.…
Shakespeare…said something similar in his play, Venus and Adonis. “Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.”
In the Bible, (Matthew XVI: 2-3,) Jesus said, “When in evening, ye say, it will be fair weather: For the sky is red. And in the morning, it will be foul weather today; for the sky is red and lowering.”
Weather lore has been around since people needed to predict the weather and plan their activities. Sailors and farmers relied on it to navigate ships and plant crops.
But can weather lore truly predict the weather or seasons?
Traditional uses of the plant include collecting the berries, drying them, and grinding them up into a coarse meal. Fresh berries and branch tips were also soaked in water to make a refreshing cider. When the bark curls off, it can be used as a tea for nausea and upset stomach. The younger leaves are sometimes plucked and chewed by hikers to deter thirst. Native Americans used Manzanita leaves as toothbrushes. (Wikipedia)
This morning I left home at 7, headed along the coast on a trip to Berkeley. Louie had given me a bunch of tapes, and the first one I grabbed was a Vivaldi concert — one I’m pretty familiar with.
I adore Vivaldi. What he does resonates with my soul. As I was driving up a winding stretch of the coastal highway, a soaring section gave me a jolt. I felt an electrical charge come up the back of my neck. In another movement, which starts with an organ, then joined by a violin, I got tears in my eyes — not spilling, but there.
It’s the Winter Solstice, bless our planet and the life forms upon it. The sky was orange this morning. When I got out to Hwy 101, our Indian Princess Tamalpa in repose, Mt. Tamalpais, was shrouded in mist.
