Riding to Paradise on the Road of Destruction

Why the road of destruction? Well, firstly the roadkill. Weird dead things: dead snakes, dead bats, dead toads (seemed like a witch lost part of her load or something.) The grand prize winner, however, were the two vultures sitting on top of the remains of a deer (I think). They really looked like a couple of picnickers sitting down to lunch, while I decided to postpone mine for a long time.

And then there was the walking kind-of-man. I had stopped on the road a few minutes before Highway 101; it was getting hot and I wanted to peel off some layers it got too hot. I had just looked down the road ( I could see for at least a mile) and saw nothing but the road and the field next to it. I took of my jacket and was about to change my shirt when I looked up again to see a figure shambling down the road toward me. The hair on the back of my neck rose to attention immediately ; I swear to god it looked like something out of the movies - arms hanging straight down, uneven pace and listing a little to the left, like a strong breeze might knock this person down. I decided I'd better change somewhere else, so I hopped on my bike and rode about a half mile past this person. I got a good look as I rode past: it was a man, and he was staring straight ahead with a dazed emotionless expression. I don't think he even knew I was there, if he did he showed no sign of it, didn't even look in my direction. I'm not sure he even knew where he was; he had nothing but the clothes he was wearing - ragged, filthy, mud stained pants and a shirt with similar mud stains and what I think were blood stains (that might be my imagination, I'm not sure and I wasn't sticking around to find out.) The walking wounded; as I changed my shirt I watched him stumble up the hill and out of sight, but certainly not out of mind. Where did he come from? Where was he going? I'll remember him for a long time.

Not long after that close encounter I rode onto Highway 101, all the way from Guadalupe to Santa Barbara. About 50 miles of heavy traffic, including way too many tractor trailers, and bugs by the hundreds (I was an agent of destruction myself; I must have killed dozens of critters with my helmet, and my forehead, and my eyes, and nose - I looked like a Jackson Pollack by the end of the day.) I had a feeling at some point that I shouldn't be on the freeway, but I never saw a sign indicating I should get off, and the Pacific Coast Bike Trail sign in Guadalupe indicated specifically that I should get on the freeway.

So I stayed on , mainly because the road was either all downhill or flat, and I was making excellent time - I rode 71 miles today, from San Luis Obispo to Carpenteria, 10 miles east of Santa Barbara. I got thrown off the freeway by the cops in Santa Barbara, so the last 10 -15 miles were on the Pacific Coast Trail (situated on local roads) from Santa Barbara to Carpinteria, but a very good riding day just the same.

Paradise for me is the finding myself at the end of an easy riding day at a nice (oceanview) cheap (5$) campground in a warm (at least 65 degrees) town. I had a beer and a giant carnitas burrito in a good little Mexican place just up the street from the campground, and wrote this blog. Life is good.

Though even paradise is but a small step from destruction. As I finished pitching my tent and setting up camp, I noticed a blue heron eyeballing something just in front of my tent. Then he started walking toward me, which is not normal behaviour, so I suspected he must be stalking a rodent - I've seen them do it in San Francisco, over by Chrissy Field. Sure enough, this one had spotted a mouse rooting around in the grass outside of the entrance to it's underground lodge. I grabbed my camera and had a seat (I admit, I felt a little like a Roman sitting in the Coliseum.) The heron slithered up to the hole (their long necks remind me of snake) and bam! - he plucked the mouse out of its hole, flopped it around, threw it on the ground and speared it through the head with it's beak. I took pictures of the end result - the mouse in the heron's beak and the aftermath - the mouse a lump in the heron's throat. Destruction. But this time I was much too hungry to postpone dinner. At least I don't have to catch mine.