But the View was in Front of Me

January 25, 2019

But the View was in Front of Me

There was a great breeze blowing up the hill at my back, but the view was in front of me so that the effect of that cool draft was only partial. It shouldn't have mattered, really. I mean it is only January after all, and any other time of year an afternoon high in the mid-70s would be considered a reprieve from more sweat-inducing extremes. With its lack of shade, and the only shelter from the sun provided by one's own back, the Burbank Canyon climb in Claremont Hills Wilderness Park is almost always going to be a warm one. That breeze felt nice.

I was grinding my way around one turn after another when I came upon a rider afoot, an older guy, white beard, heavy bike. All the grinding had rubbed out what little wit my mind possesses at any given moment, but I affirmed some mutual co-misery, "just no let up in the climb, is there?" Used to be I might have laughed at the folly of an old guy attempting the climb, but now I commiserate. Well, at least I was still riding.

After that saddle there I turned to the left for a loop around Johnson's Pasture before returning to finish up the main loop. Revisiting the saddle on the return I must have missed, in my misery, the other rider coming up canyon. Didn't matter, he caught me soon enough. Glancing to my left as he began to pull even I noticed the rider, but not the face, until he said "hey, Mike." Turns out it was Rudi, on a lunch break spin. "How perfect is that," I thought. Rudi was one of the earliest of readers of the old Claremont Cyclist, but I rarely see him on the bike which, today, was a cool steel gravel ride. I was feeling a little leg weary, and could tell he was holding back to finish the climb together. The descent, though, was another matter, and he soon began to pull away; I didn't even get to say "goodbye." The view was in front of me, but I couldn't catch it.