... To Have a Good Look

May 21, 2022

... To Have a Good Look

Rain fell last night. Not a lot, but if I opened the door I could hear a pattering on the roof. It was the kind of rain that only enhances a ride in the hills and I went to bed with visions of endless trails winding away, out in front of me, providing a morning's fill of seeking. Seeking. I thought about that word - seeking - every ride is about seeking, isn't it?

"I asked Bobby Dylan

I asked The Beatles

I asked Timothy Leary

But he couldn't help me either...

Focusing on nowhere

Investigating miles

I'm a seeker

I'm a really desperate man..

They call me The Seeker

I've been searching low and high

I won't get to get what I'm after

Till the day I die..."

(Townshend)

Field of Dreams

And with that as the only basis to start the morning ride - a willingness to seek - I set out on the morning ride; nothing was set in stone, just ride and see where the pedals and wheels carried me. The only thing being sought was the mystery of a few hours in the saddle. Out on the trail most of the plants seemed to shrug off the moisture of the previous night, the buckwheat though was different, the tight clusters of small flowers sucking it up like a balled-up sheet of Brawny paper towel. The first time I brushed against one left a cold streak against my shin. Further along, where the mustard still grew into the trail, unchallenged by few others than the occasional passing pair of wheels, I noticed my shoes had grown slick with the dew and flecked with the tiny yellow petals.

I rode along trails constantly enveloped by one scent after another - the musk of damp earth underlying all, the acrid sage, sweetness of the figgy forest, but all paled in comparison to the scent of freshly mowed hemlock that filled the basin. This was aimless seeking, as there was no ultimate goal, no ultimate route - I rode along the Heights Trail, but only so far before turning around. I rode across the basin, but only as far as the sloped verge. The slope keeping John Deere and his reaper at bay, allowing the hemlock towers to grow thick and tall. I rode up wash, to the the boulder field and the Great Wall of San Antonio knowing that, unless I wanted to hike, that way was a dead end. It was more seeking, nothing in particular, nothing specific, just seeing what there was see.

The world is big

and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark.

(John Muir)