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| Bridge View Above Fort Point |
Riding over the Golden Gate Bridge on a beautiful morning yesterday was a breeze, with hardly any cyclists coming the other way, and virtually no pedestrians. I could even afford to enjoy the view without concern. About mid-span, though, I reached what must have been a busload of tourists, soon accompanied by an increase in cyclists coming the other way. No more time for reverie. Near the end of the bridge there's a short narrow section that I'm always grateful to be able to get through alone, but on this morning a cyclist coming the other way appeared to actually speed up in order to make sure that wouldn't happen. I'd be curious to know how much space was actually between us as we sped past each other. It seemed like about an inch.
Down in Sausalito, the waterfront was gorgeous, bathed in the same clear morning light that made me stop to take a picture at the Golden Gate Bridge. Richardson Bay was calm, and the tide was still heading to its low, though it hardly seemed like it. The low was going to be +3 feet, down only about a foot-and-a-half from its high. Riding my bike next to traffic on Bridgeway was about the same as usual, with cars and work trucks maybe a bit more than an arm's length away at times. I found myself grumbling in my mind about smog-belching deathmobiles passing too close for comfort until I thought, "Wait, isn't this ride supposed to be fun? Isn't this supposed to be enjoyable?"
I was only able to let the air out of my angst and revenge fantasies when I reached the bike path that starts at Mike's Bikes. I could finally direct my attention to the enjoyable parts of the ride, the lovely morning, pelicans diving into the bay, shorebirds working the tide line, but eventually I'd need to share the road again and live with the subtle stress of knowing I could be ground into roadkill by just one distracted driver.
During the ride up Shoreline Highway, I savored the breaks between bouts of vehicle traffic. Some drivers will cut it very close in order to pass me, and others will be so timid about passing that I hope they aren't letting traffic pile up behind them, thereby setting the stage for drivers to heat up with rage against cyclists.
When I finally reach Panoramic Highway I finally feel in the clear enough to relax and enjoy my surroundings once and for all, and it gets even better when I round the bend past Mountain Home Inn. Then I'm riding among the Doug fir and redwood forest, with weekday morning traffic being mercifully light--the cars, trucks, and buses coming few and far between. And then I reach Pantoll Road and head up to Rock Spring with an even lighter heart, scouting the grasslands for wildlife, being mesmerized by fog feeling its way through the forest below, taking note of the seasonal change marked by fallen acorns in the road.
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| Greater Yellowlegs Foraging Along Coyote Creek |
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| If the coyote hadn't moved, I might not have seen her. Even though I was nowhere near her, she ambled into the woods to get away from a human's prying eyes. |
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| A female California darner clung to a thistle branch along the Cataract Trail and obligingly stayed put long enough for me to snap a picture. She blended in so well with her perch and background that it was a little tricky even to find her in the tiny FZ-80 electronic viewfinder. |
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| Howdy, Skipper! |
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| Poison Oak Turning Color |
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| This Buckeye Butterfly allowed me to get close as long as my shadow didn't interfere with its sun bath on the Cataract Trail. |
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| The goldfinches are still around, and still gathering to drink at the Rock Spring water tank. I'd seen a red-shouldered hawk not too far away, and the goldfinches kept nearly constant look-out, ready to peel away from the tank and into nearby cover at the slightest provocation. |
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| I almost didn't see the white-breasted nuthatch several feet away from the goldfinches. They were drinking from a spot that water actually dripped from, but the nuthatch was satisfied with a merely damp seep. |
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