We crossed the San Francisco Bay from Fremont to the range of mountains and glided along in high gear down to the coast highway. We passed a highway sign that read, "Hills, Curves - next 20 Miles". Just what motorists are supposed to make of this information I'm not sure ("Well, it looks like we're gonna need brakes and a steering wheel").

With the mild temperature, we came into five-stars visibility. As we climbed off the mountain range and came into the panoramas of the serrated coast to the south looked like those cheap postcards that have colors more vivid than real life.

Along the highway at some points, it was narrow, a single lane in each direction, leaving us a shoulder that was a shoulder blade at best to negotiate with. A ten-inch wobble to either side at the wrong moment could have consequence. All the way it was not for faint of heart. It was an act of faith grounded on the assumption that of the scores of cars and RVs that whiz past your left and send you soaring into the abyss to your immediate right.

Winds on the Pacific Coast nearly always blow in from the northwest, a welcome assist for riders going south, but for those going north an exercise in drudgery like rowing upstream. The ones going north are usually Europeans who do not know about the winds. I think they look at the map and decide to fly in to Los Angeles, figuring if they ride north the scenery will keep getting better and they can finish with a stay in San Francisco.

The seventy-six miles from Fremont to Santa Cruz could be ridden casually in fours and little plus. We did it in eight. It is not that we were slow, just curious about the beautiful scenery. At the some points on our right, the white sand and reflected sea in full sun was painfully bright, like the glare of a welder's torch.

By late afternoon we reached the pizza parlor by the city limit of Santa Cruz where we met the sags waiting for us. Again, we were blinded by the strobes of cameras celebrating us like when Princess Di getting out of the limo. We exchanged our adventurous tales at the dining table. We concluded that we will have a long ride once a month to offset the routine ride on Sundays to the Coyote Hills Regional Park. One's turn to plan is a bike trip on the basis of rotation.

Thank to the support group who were there to meet were Francine Lauer, Judith Lamberton, Hedy Stern and Barbi Morrison. They were unprecedented valuable for getting us dog-tired energized up for the next-day functions.

~ Bobby Skedsmo ~