What a day, what a day! Yesterday morning I got up to go to work and expected the usual chilly temp and wet, heavy fog, but instead I was treated to the blast furnace heat and wind of fall Santa Anas. I've always loved the Santa Anas, but they rarely happen up in the NoCal. It was about 75 degrees at 7:30 AM. That's my kind of weather.

I knew weather like this wouldn't last too long, but I hoped it would hold at least through tonight so I could enjoy a nice night ride without having to do it without my glasses, shivering and soaked. It held.

I left the house just at dusk and it was still about 70 degrees with nary a cloud or wisp of fog in the sky. I decided to take advantage of the conditions to make a run up to San Pedro summit. I did a modified lower EG out to the Cabrillo and busted up through the farm to Etheldore. Cruised through Moss Beach on Etheldore to Carlos and up and over into Montara where I ducked into McNee, hopped on Old San Pedro, and started pedaling for the top.

I will admit, in the past, doing this ride alone in the dark has unnerved me. Again, damn pampas grass looks human in the Xenon, especially in your peripheral vision. The wind creates myriad noises in the brush, you're completely alone (you hope) and it's very, very dark. But tonight there was not even a moment of hesitation. Part of it was the weather. It was so warm and comfortable that I felt really relaxed and into the ride.

Another reason was that I let my mind wander all over the map as I labored upward towards my goal. That lack of focus cost me a little time at first. In fact, at one point, I was going so slow up one section that a couple of moths were circling around my helmet and flinging themselves at my headlamp.

After the first half-mile of climbing, I got into a groove mentally and physically. I preoccupied my mind with angry and subversive rants against a litany of subjects and that allowed my legs to do their business unfettered.

For example, I've been building a hefty grudge against corporate America lately in the sense that every part of our lives, from work to politics to recreation, EVERYTHING is dictated by the corporations. Freedom, free will, free choice. Keep dreaming. Oh it's definitely part of the marketing plan for the corps to perpetuate the myth of freedom as an American way of life, but it just ain't so. Whether its direct influence through advertising or indirect influence through political access and leverage, the corps control every single aspect of our lives. And not just American lives. Fucking multinationals are like evil weeds that sow their seeds of discordance and greed around the globe in the form of weapons, chemicals, computers, electronics, soda, and all forms of cheap, plastic crap.

I especially hate the way the corps present cultural gluttony as a legitimate, respected display of our freedom, when in fact, it is just this lazy, selfish, and prideful excess that is at the root of our major social problems. To wit, this treatise printed on a 64-ounce plastic Burger King soda cup:

". . . it's your cup's way of telling you to get a refill. So the next time you hear it, listen up and top that puppy off. Because it's good to have it filled to the edge. It shows you're really having it your way."

You're out Burger King. You can go join KFC on my personal boycott list along with International Market in IV, the Red Lobster and the Olive Garden, and many, many other offenders of my sensibilities.

But back to the bike. I was moving at a pretty good clip, although I can't quantify that because I wasn't running my headlamp on the climb, so I couldn't see the cyclometer. I was moving though, that much I can tell.

It was such a beautiful climb. The air was warm and dry, and a zephyr lifted my spirits and carried me up towards the summit. Coming around one of the final turns, I could see the summit bathed in a halo of metropolitan orange glow, which confirmed that the Greater Bay Area was still on the grid. I soaked up the view from the top, thanked the gods for their generosity, and bombed back down to McNee. Blue and I are starting to get in synch again and the downhill was pretty fun.

While stopped to take notes at the summit, I heard some rustling in the bushes about 15 feet away from me. I waited, and after a little more rustling, the ears, eyes, and noses of two deer became visible in the tall brush just like a couple of weeks ago on Lobitos (See October 2, 2004: Who was that guy?). Later, I saw two more deer on the McNee singletrack connector. Tonight I also saw a barn owl in the POST, a skunk and two raccoons in Moss Beach, and eight burrowing owls in the Fitz.

What a night, what a ride.