The morning is tough. The fire has died, the chill has increased. We’re up early, maybe 8AM. The creek tinkles beside us in the gathering morning light. It’s going to be a hot one today. The hammock is uncomfortable. Sleeping, you don’t lie flat but lay like a banana poised over the ground. Now that …
As they say, good things come in fives. OK, maybe they don’t say exactly that, but you get the idea. We arrived. We got off our bikes, our butt muscles turning, our taints complaining from the long ride. We didn’t bring tents; instead we had hammocks, and sleeping bags and sleeping pads. It’s difficult to …
As we head deeper into the forest the trees grow taller. Pumping the pedals. Everything is sweaty. After the blazing sun the cool forest. Almost chilly. The sweat makes me cold. The light is diminishing. It’s afternoon now. Sun on its way down. Gotta get to camp before it’s too dark. We keep going. There …
There are other cyclists on the bridge, of course. Many are tourists, and many are serious guys trying to beat their time and or training and they have all the pro gear and are super fast and their usually dicks. “Single file!” one of them yells at us because we’re riding parallel to each other, …
The crowds thinned further. Funny thing about Fisherman’s Wharf at that time: no matter the day of the week, it was always crowded and bustling with tourists. We left the crowds behind, riding along the Embarcadero. Passing tourists in bike-drawn chariots. It wasn’t so bad. After the rest on the ferry, it felt like the …
