San Francisco to Pacific Grove - May 2003
Day One
Starting later than originally expected, I got geared up and packed with plenty of extra socks and my raingear. It had been raining for a week and I was lucky to be getting this break in the weather. Anticipation reaches a fever pitch, as I have been looking forward to this trip for a long time. I fill Sonja's tank on the corner, and I am ready to ride. She and I are to become old friends, like Che and La Poderosa crossing the Andes, starting with this trip. Out to Great Highway, which delivers a good omen; every other light is either green or flashing yellow. Before I realize it, I am making a short stop in El Granada before I'm cruising past Devil's Slide into Half Moon Bay. I recall almost being trapped here last fall during the Pumpkin Festival, lane-splitting up Highway 92 over to 280. That will ont be my fate today, puching further South along the coast to my turn at Tunitas Creek Road. A one-lane road represented by a thick black line on the map startles me, as I can't imagine what the thinner lines must look like... Past some bashful farmhouses over this narrow crazy patchwork of asphalt repairs, the speeds here aer definitel restricted to sub-warp. Sonja gears down, but without waking the neighbors. Intermittent smooth patches of pavement section the road compliemnting the abrupt phases of shifting foliage to my flanks. Tunitas Creek lies just to my right, over a small berm but hidden from view by various dense thickets. I have the same strange feeling you get when you walk on a beach with no other footprints, like I have been transported somewhere unique and untouched. I dismount and realize just how astoundingly quiet it is here.
Remounting, we round two curves and plunge into a riparian habitat, with solemn redwoods surrounding us. Elegant lacey ferns soothe my eyes and crisp air bites at my face. The temperature in the trees has dropped considerably from the open canyon. Sunlight showers onto Sonja and I stop to admire her radiance. I realize I would not be here if not for her. A little whispered thank you Haiku escapes my mind and rolls down the ripple of water threading through the narrow gorge, over logs, around rocks, splashing its thankful message down towards the Pacific.
We crest the ridge, weaving along, pouncing on shadows and diving into the warm pools of sunlight. A long stretch of wet eastern traverse without sun chills through the leather towards bone. When at last we reach the junction to Skyline Blvd, my icy skeleton creaks in tune with Sonja's suspension after all the road's imperfections.
...July 2004: This was one of my very first and most memorable trips. I have taken many since and hope to chronicle them in the Travels portion of the website.
©2003 James Zucchi