The Ride I Intended to Take...

So, yesterday I took the ride I intended to take last week. It's turned stormy and cold here, and yesterday was the preview of it. It was just on the edge of cold, and they sky was that steely version of a clear sky in fall. It's like the impending cold bleeds the color out. Today it stormed, and the sidewalks were full of brightly colored leaves. Maybe it's a water color, all the paint running toward the ground as the water comes down.

Anyway, I slept late, then spent the morning working up a group of songs for a new music mix around the mood I was getting from this one song by The Mountain Goats, called So Desperate. It's this really beautiful, sad sort of song. You can hear it here. But this was before the ride.

I finished amassing the list of songs without mixing them, and it was already the mid afternoon, so I got my new bike and left the building. It was lovely out and there were lots of people walking in the park at the entrance to the canyon. Soon I reached the entrance to the upper canyon, the part to which I've never been, and I was expecting more of the same. There wasn't nearly as much foot traffic on the road, but there were several bikers that passed me. I wasn't going very fast.

About three miles up the canyon I passed what looked like a water treatment plant, and the road narrowed and became less evenly paved. There were bits where the ground got marshy on the north side and water ran across the path, turning the dead leaves into a ground up sop. There was a stream running on the south side of the path. This path made sharp turns sometimes, and curiously steep jogs. It seemed like the engineers who plotted it didn't want to mess with the nature much. It fit, because not long after that the deciduous trees gave way to tall pines and the air became cooler and far more aromatic.

Among these pines I saw the creek far below to the right, moss covered boulders that are more brightly and darkly colored than the ground around them. These were nice little vistas, opening and closing as I went along. I kept thinking that I should tell the film teachers at school about this place. They'd be great locations that might give the kids films a bit more depth.

The top of the canyon is full of picnic areas established by and dedicated to Rotarians. There are big plaques in each one, and a couple of big gear monuments, then at the very top is this great pavilion with a very sharply pitched roof, covered in pine shakes. It looks vaguely swiss, and the trusses must have been in trouble because it was warped in a very picturesque but dangerous looking way. It was really fantastic.

I've been thinking I'd get rid of the drop bars on my bike and replace them with a homemade pair of bullhorns, but I might have to reconsider after riding down the canyon. I got in the drops and kind of let it go, speeding down the narrow pavement in a way that surely would have frightened anyone going up, (as the people passing me on the way down had frightened me a couple times), but it was late in the afternoon and there wasn't anyone still on the way up. The bike was really quite stable at speed, really a joy to ride. It was exhilarating, but I was careful not to let it get away from me. I realized early on that the brakes need to be tightened up even a little more. On the other hand, they're great brakes; far smoother than on my mountain bike.

From the upper canyon I went up to the east side into the avenues, as I did last week, then on down to my building. The sun was setting, around six, as I came out of the canyon, and it was twilight as I walked my bike up the steps to the building. It was night when I stepped out soon after to go get some dinner. Writing this post I realize that it was a singular kind of evening, as today is the end of daylight savings. I guess every evening is singular. This was just one of the ones that let you know it. It was a beautiful day.