Tater-tots Smothered in Blue Sky Sauce

Has the climb always done this to me? The Palmer-Evey, I mean; Burbank Canyon is one thing, but the P-E is where I start to feel the toll creeping up from behind. I tell you one thing, I did not need any heart rate monitor today (not that I have ever used one) to tell me when and where I was spiking, those spots were marked indelibly with a foot on the ground. Somehow I didn't mind stopping every fifty feet, or twice that if I allowed myself to encroached past the red-line; two hawks rose on waves from the canyons, their red tail feathers splashing in the depths of the sky, and stopping allowed me to watch their silent, ascending spirals. Apparently spotting something tempting on the ground the near one folded in its wings, diving, briefly, before pulling up and beginning its climb again. Before that it was an oak that had caught my eye; it was a big one, aged, yet apparently healthy. Growing on the uphill side of the Palmer-Evey, but right on the edge of the cut slope, and already leaning precariously, roots struggling against its top-heavy weight, I had to wonder if the next big storm would bring about its demise. Then there were the bees; their buzzing was massive, agitated, concerned. The sound swarmed from the upslope oak, carried down to my rest.

Has this climb always done this to me? Probably, but the rain and cold of the past two weeks have not helped. Cold? When it is necessary to brace yourself for that initial shock that comes when you sit yourself down on the old porcelain throne - it is cold. When you wonder if the dog has somehow escaped - but no, she has just buried herself in that pile of blanket under the piano all day - it is cold. (We tend not to turn the heater on very often). It has been cold. Well, not North Dakota cold perhaps, but for this neck of the world it has been cold. Before today, I had been presented with two opportunities to ride since the last storm passed through. But... cold, especially after the dropping sun ushers in the weekday ride hour. Both those opportunities evaporated in the warmth of home. Yesterday afternoon was a life-saver, a sanity-preserver, something like that, and hopefully, the start of a good weekend.

the leaning tree, no the learning tree,

although maybe there is something we could learn from it as well

years ago this road cut would get severely eroded after a storm - not so much anymore

hard to see here, but all those white white rounded forms are ceanothus in bloom, the mountain slopes are mad with it right now

less daunting that it looks, in fact one of the easiest stretches of the entire route. And a little bit of snow covered peak in the notch

junction

can't beat the view

stretching

steel barbs

considering all the rain, the mountains have washed across the road in only one spot

Saturday morning update: Oops, those look like raindrops to me. Oh well.