Often when I'm riding at night, I worry about unseen ropes, cables, or even trip lines extended across the trail. These things can be very difficult to see with the riding lights and by the time they become visible it's too late to stop. I was worrying about just such things at the start of tonight's ride when -- poof -- like magic, I was almost entangled in a 15-foot dog leash that extended from the owner on one side of the bikepath to a wayward daschund on the other side of the path. As I rolled up on them, I thought it odd that a weiner dog would be leash-free out on the coastal plains, and this little voice caused me to slow to the point where I could actually avoid the leash when it finally did become visible.

Can't fight it	Johnston House	HMB jail

My mind was working overtime tonight with very vivid, wild, and reckless thoughts. I made a conscious effort to quash such mental ramblings after seeing them actualized in the dog-leash incident. The bike is therapy for working out all kinds of mental and physical toxins, but I'm not sure I want to exorcise the psychological toxins while riding a narrow strip of singletrack perched on the edge of cliffs 200 feet above the crashing surf.

Had to take a leak out on the coastal bikepath, and with no real cover except that of darkness, I decided to pull a Tour de Whiz. I pulled just off the path, and while still straddling the bike, held open three layers of tight spandex with the ring and pinky fingers of my right hand, leaving the other three fingers available for dong duty. This one-handed approach allowed me to portray a reasonably unsuspicious silhouette to anyone watching, should such an alibi have been needed (which it was not).

After getting a little relief, I continued on the to the Seymour bridge without using any lights. There was a full moon tonight and with the mid-level cloud cover reflecting the HMB city lights downward as well as trapping the moonlight, it was a good night for stealth riding.

I was chafing badly out there tonight. I know it's more than you probably want to know, but there it is, sack rash and all. I think I'm going to have to get some Bag Balm (actual product name) and lather my saddle area with it for longer rides.

Paranoia had control of me tonight for some reason. Everybody I encountered seemed to have bad intentions, or at least seemed suspicious. Twice I had stopped to take some notes when I heard people coming towards me in the dark. Both times I got spooked and bolted, and both times my suspicions were moderately justified.

The first time, I heard three guys coming up on me from behind and something about the tone of their voices made me jumpy, so I quickly moved up the trail. Within a hundred yards, I passed a Park Ranger coming fast the other way with his spotlight out and searching. The second time, I again heard some dudes coming up behind me in the dark. This time I fought the urge to flee for a few seconds, but ultimately decided to quickly ride away. I had not moved more than five feet when I heard a loud thump of something hitting the tree right behind me, the tree next to which I had just been standing. Coincidence?

Ah, but it was the third time that completely freaked me out, but it freaked me out because it so freaked me out. I had just rode up Kelly Street from the Cabrillo and was turning north on Main Street. As I made the corner, there was suddenly a lot of angry shouting from someone back down on Kelly. I passed a guy on the corner who seemed to be listening for instructions in the yelling. I rolled halfway up the next block of Main and took up residence directly under a streetlight so that I could take a few notes in safety. I had my back to the man on the corner, but I heard him loudly respond to the man further down on Kelly. Then I heard him start to move rapidly in my direction. I didn't want to make it obvious, but I tried to watch his approach out of the corner of my eye. He was about 10 feet away when he passed into my blind spot. Suddenly, I was filled with a surge of panic that I was about to get knifed, so as he passed me, I executed a perfectly timed elbow jab that would have blocked any attempt to knife me in the back or side, had such an attack been attempted (which it was not). The dude gave me kind of a funny look and a I felt a little silly, yet still my little voice was telling me that my actions had been justified. Whatever, better safe than sorry, I guess.

From Main Street, I went out to Johnston House to get a picture of it all lit up at night. I wound up the dirt road to the back parking lot and sitting there in the shadows was a San Mateo County Sheriff's car. Instinctively, my heart fluttered, and as I approached, he started the motor and flashed his parking lights at me. I nodded and continued right past him, even though I was probably technically trespassing. I dismounted and slowly walked around to the front of the building for some photos from a few different angles. Then, I slowly walked back to the bike, picked it up, and was rode away- oh, oh, nope, I turned my back to him, flicked on the headlamp, and spent a long five minutes writing in my notebook. All the while the motor was running and I could feel his irritation behind me. Finally, he drove off. I'm not sure what he was doing up there, but I certainly felt that my presence wasn't appreciated.

This reminded me of a couple of other odd scenes I had come across tonight. Back in the Pillar Point parking lot, up in the southern end under the big tree, I had come across two other San Mateo County Sheriff's cars cozied up real close to each other in the 69 position for several minutes. What's going on there? Don't they have radios in the cars? And down at one of the beach parking areas at the ocean end of Kelly Street, I came across a knot of skulking teenage boys headed to the beach with large paper bags filled with something. They seemed to have mischief on their minds.

Coming back to EG along the coastal bike path, I got off a super snot rocket, the kind about which the elves of Rivendell sing songs. The snot ball was huge, with a mass larger than my nostril hole. When I blasted it out with the ole farmer's hankie move, it was so big that I felt it stretching out on the rim of my nostril. It almost got stuck there, but it had so much mass behind it that it not only got out of the nostril rim, it catapulted a good five feet into the air and landed with an audible "splat." Oh, that felt great!

When I put the Hoo-E back in the rack after the ride, I noticed that the tip of the rear derallier cable was frayed and that two strands of the cable had actually been severed. I guess I'll have to get around to replacing that before too many more rides. Then again, I rode with a similarly frayed cable on the Hoo-E front derallier for about a year before I fixed it.