My 5AM alarm presented itself slowly before I shut it off. My eyes adjusted to the moonlit forest floor. Suspended above through the cathedral-like canopy twinkled stars in the crisp night sky. I packed the gear in 10 minutes and was soon bouncing down the twisty canyon in the darkness mindful of deer, raccoon and fallen limbs on blind corners. Reaching Hwy 1, I turned south toward Santa Cruz and followed the coast. Headlights illuminated the ocean spray flying over the dunes to land on my slowly rusting bike and dirty windshield. Traffic was light as I rolled on into the darkness by the light of my two 35w headlights and LED's illuminating the sides of the road. Ahead, the eerie glow of Pigeon Point Lighthouse flashed through the darkness on a rocky promontory. I prepared coffee, gave my pops a call and watched the sunrise over the eastern ridge. Pelicans skimmed the water, hunting for fish on a cushion of air above the waves. So graceful is their grouped flight pattern, so ancient are their courses.
My body and bike were ready for a change of pace. It has been nearly a month now along the Pacific Ocean's foggy and damp shores. I am ready for a change of scenery and pace of life. I plug in my cousin's house in Lemoore, CA, some 230 miles away, and hit "GO". The GPS leads the way...