That giant clucking sound you thought you heard this afternoon was me. After another fishtailing, dirt-eating encounter with a patch of dune sand and a close shave with the rear end of a Waste Management truck, I stopped on the outskirts of Carmel-By-the-Sea to reconsider my vacation plans. What the bleep is going on here?
Shortly after my little talk with myself, I officially chickened out. Bck-bck- buck-CAW!
I have ridden the magnificent, narrow, winding stretch of Highway 1 from Carmel to Ragged Point three times as part of other, longer rides. The risk of getting crumpled by a rented RV or a speeding convertible was, each time, more than balanced by the reward of witnessing one of the world's greatest coastlines up close and personal. Riding a bicycle south on that road is literally and figuratively a breath-taking experience.
This trip, though, I haven't been able to shake the nagging feeling that something is not quite right. For the first time, I am fearful of barrelling around those switchbacks. It might simply be that I am getting too old for these hi-jinx. I mean, that's going to happen sooner or later, right? I've put a lot of miles on these bones.
Physically, I feel okay - not in great condition, certainly - but strong enough. The bigger concern is mental. I'm just not feeling the lure of that road this time. In fact, quite to the contrary, I am being repelled by it. Weird.
So I'm just going to trust my gut, turn around, and ride back home. I'll put some gas in Spugly the Spectacularly Ugly Transporter and buzz down 101 to Santa Barbie Land in a more conventional manner. Not very green, I know. But I'm tired of falling off the Dream Machine. That gets old fast. Plus if I keep it up, I'm surely going to break something.
I stopped for lunch today at the Giant Artichoke Restaurant in Castroville...try The New Vegetarian sandwich sometime...artichoke hearts and avocado and Monterey jack...mighty good.
Peace, Love, and Intuition,