Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional
Walt Disney
Where has the time gone? The Earth rotates, the moon waxes and wanes, high tides come and go. Wheels keep spinning as summer fades and autumn peaks. There’s sand in my pockets and the bike shoes are paper thin. Gnome boy watched Mother Nature intentionally trip the last day of summer to make it Fall. His current mantra, “learn from yesterday, live for today, look to tomorrow but rest this afternoon.” He shines philosophical at three pm if I give him a wee bit of ale.
It’s Oct 22, 2018 and this old dog has six hundred miles of Highway 1 to trek before father time puts 2018 to rest. Two months of day breaks and night falls remaining for this last autumn adventure. Unless “old man time” interferes, I intend to use every muscle Mother Nature has given me to reach the Mexican border and that “infamous wall”. Winter is coming.
After a great night’s rest, the morning sunshine beckoned, she kept creeping through the window. The sunrise encouraged wandering down the Pacific Coast Trail (pic above) . I’m not lost, and I hope to reach Santa Cruz by sunset. I just need to follow the arrows. The first few miles paralleled Ocean Beach (pic below) with surfers bobbing like black corks in the strong morning light. Joni Mitchell sang “Ticky-Tacky Houses” as the Trail rolled through subdivisions of Daly City on Rt 1’s course to Pacifica (pic below).
At Funston Park, a decommissioned Nike missile station, I enjoyed one last look at San Francisco , the entrance to the Bay, and Stenson’s Beach to its north (pic below). Funston Park harbors the only sand dune in the metro region, and the only park where dogs were allowed off their leash. I ditched the bike and sniffed around.
Spotted sheep dogs herded free ranging hipsters on their morning walk to the sea. The flock of hipsters had that unisex look with skull caps, vintage clothes, and empty coffee mugs dangling with no Starbucks in sight. Gearheads with hand gliders ran into the wind, jumped off the cliffs and soared like Prometheus over the Pacific. Small bands of mountain bikers roamed on fat tires. With the nukes destroyed, the sand dunes evolved into a public place where people shine in the morning sun (pics below).
The terrain slowly transitioned from suburban to rural California. The subdivisions gave way to to a semi-arid, wind swept hillsides (pic above). As I entered the Devil’s Slice Trail, two tectonic plate clashed below the old Rt.1 (pic below). Because of recurrent land slides the DOT rerouted Rt 1 one mile inland through Tom Lantos Tunnel. The abandon road became a multiuse trail. Birders outfitted in kaki from head to toes kept their telescopes pointed at nesting sites. Some day this entire slice of land will slide into the Pacific. Thankfully, there were no tremors below, while I passed. Oh California!
Montara, Moss beach, and El Granada rolled by as the Pacific Coast trail kept the ocean on its right side. Small farms, state parks and low lying brush replaced the redwoods that dominated the coastline one hundred years ago (pic below). The morning ended in Half Moon Bay with a great lunch at San Benito House as recommended by Anthony (Summit Bicycles).
South of Pescadero I detoured for several miles to view Pigeon Point Lighthouse at Pigeon Point State Park. The outcropping was awarded its name from the 1853 ship wreck Carrier Pigeon. Built in 1871, the structure is the tallest lighthouse on the West coast and is in use today. Non native annuals (fat hens) painted the near ground red as blue and white skies accented the backdrop to the light house. The invasive Ice plants that the coast guard had planted to prevent erosion were now being removed by volunteers and replaced with native beach bur, coast buckwheat, seaside daisy, gum plant, beach primrose, sagewort, and yarrow.
Intermittent clouds flowed from the Northwest at eight miles an hour. The ocean would sparkle like diamonds and then dull to gray as clouds blanketed the ocean on their race to Big Sur. Late in the afternoon Wiley Coyote loped along a deserted section of Wilder Ranch State Park (pic below). The sand dune separating us was covered in sagebrush scrub, lobed sea rocket, sand strawberry, and coyote mint ( Monardella villosa). If you look closely he is on the trail in the middle of the pic.
I stopped under the shade of a Monterey Cypress Tree which had been transplanted from a Dr. Seuss book. He called the tree the Lorax. It has a lopsided profile and a windswept mat of evergreen leaves resting atop a twisted trunk. Its branches radiated in all directions, forming a broad umbrella that protected everything below. The shade offered a temporary relief from the glaring sunlight. No cars passed this deserted stretch of wonderland. Gnomeboy explained that Dr. Suess painted the first Lorax tree from a Monterey Cypress living in San Diego (pic below). Mariah swayed the Truffula branches and sang a Dr. Suess lullaby. They call the wind Mariah in Santa Cruz.
“aren’t you lucky 
my little ducky,
to be so unstucky
this far from Kentucky.”
I looked around and cartoon colors surrounded me. The asphalt road appeared grape purple, the ocean banana yellow and the sky apple green. Water mirages the color of blackberries shimmered in the distance. I shook my head, gulped down a bottle of Hawaiian Punch and put polarizing sunglasses back on. Dehydration doesn’t usually cause my hallucinations. What a relief to see the native Deer grasses return to olive green, and to glimpse the sky blue ocean. The Monterey Cyress is threatened in its native California due to development but cultivated around the world. The same is true of Dr. Suess’s Lorax tree.
In autumn annuals and perennials part ways. The perennial plant, such as the Monardella villosa blooms in summer, survives the winter , and returns the next spring to bloom again. The California State flower ( California poppy) germinates and goes to seed in 75 days (pic below). This annual blooms in summer and needs to go to seed to survive winter. The dead roots provide good erosion coverage during Califrnia’s winter, rainy season. With the coming spring, the process repeats itself. So it goes.
Redwoods are my perennial champions, hearty, long lived and create fairy circles with their death. But all living creatures must someday bow to that uber champion, Father Time. With each day break and night fall our hour glass drains sand. Hopefully, even with my sixty-ninth winter closing in, the rootstock will survive till spring .
I arrived in Santa Cruz in mid afternoon and the bloom had faded from the Board walk and beach (pic above). The oceanfront outlasted its prime. Summer solstice had come and gone. The boardwalk remained empty and the rides closed. I had a hard time realizing that Santa Cruz Beach endured as a perennial, a phoenix . Created in 1905 the boardwalk bloomed and has enjoyed one hundred and fourteen summer seasons. I bought a beer and toasted its long life while I googled hotel accommodations at the Comfort Inn and dinner at Shun Feng. The Chinese translation literally means tail wind, and figuratively means Bon Voyage. Hopefully, Mariah will continue to blow her southerly winds and I’ll rest in Monterey tomorrow night.
If that’s not nice I don’t what is.
So on down the road I germinate
