I think that I shall never see...

Trees have been my fascination of the summer, and California offers a grand variety. The Sequoia are the reigning monarchs: their trunks towering to majestic heights, topped with foliage that forms the roof of the forest. Though some impudent evergreens even send spires above the canopy and dare challenge the authority of the Sequoia, none can approach their stature or magnificence. It is awe inspiring to lean back against the spongy, foliate bark and consider the centuries which have passed as it stands, unperturbed by their passing. The lonely, gnarled oaks on the Golden Hills have not aged so gracefully; time has left them hunched and twisted, with trunks disheveled. However, they are much more approachable than the imposing redwoods and welcome even the least competent climber to explore their branches. Still, they too maintain an aura of timelessness, and though time and weather have left their mark, still they endure.
The lean, quick growing Eucalyptus is the urchin of the lot, with tattered bark, sparse branches, and drab colors. Introduced to form living windbreaks and now invasive, they lean into the coastal gales, windward branches stunted or splintered. The fragrant leaves provide little shade but imbue the groves (and hands which crush them) with an unmistakable odor. Their meager canopy fosters an understory of Manzanita with sanguine, plastic trunks and Madrone whose outer layer of bark peels in papery sheets. These also thrive in the coastal shrub which cower below the wind to the brink of cliffs fringed by shouting waves. Holly's dense foliage provides welcome shelter on the sunburned hills, and her spreading boughs furnish plentiful seating. Sycamore, Alder, and Cottonwood populate streambeds, tracing green veins through the brown of drought. The Jacaranda, Palm, and Citrus offer flamboyant reminder of the tropical climate, despite the dearth of precipitation. On higher slopes Pine, Incense Cedar, and Fir erect sylvan cathedrals, with stately columns and flying buttresses. Needles above soften the sun and create mosaics of light, while those below deaden footfall to preserve the due solemnity. The evergreens even provide the incense - perpetually burning to perfume the forest with the pungent scent of Wilderness.

The Recent Past

As it's been over two years since my last post, let me offer this recap: I'm still alive, still in college, and I still have no idea what to do with my life. Oh, and I'm at Stanford currently as a undergraduate research intern, working in the Materials Science department on a project testing polymer based solar cells.

Thursday night I had Ethiopian food for the first time since Habesha in Nairobi. It was a small place in Mountain View, and the five of us interns went down to check it out. Though it wasn't quite as fantastic as Habesha (indoor seating, no Stoney Tangawizi) tibs, shuro, and injera were still delicious. As a bonus, they gave us free sambussa and it's possibly the first time I've been surprised by a low price in California.

As we walked back to our rooms, some dancers in the commons roped us into joining them. The frenetic dance was vaguely reminiscent of English Country Dancing, but done to what sounded like French pop with some bizarre time signature (several steps were done to a count of seven). It was entertaining though, and warmed us up for the ice-cream that was waiting in the freezer. At 0030, I had not yet fallen asleep, and realized that I wanted to go biking in the morning. After a brief search I found a 75 mile ride over the mountain and up the coast that looked quite pleasant.
After five hours of sleep I woke breakfasted, and set out. My ride started with a 2050 foot climb over the coastal range and similar drop to the ocean. Halfway to the top I passed a cyclist going the same way and commented on the beautiful day and the steepness of the climb. He responded that this was just a warm up compared to the "California Ride of Death" and proceeded to regale me with stories of his biking feats. It was amusing, and I did find out about some rides that I am going to have to try. When we reached the top we relaxed for a bit, and he recommended that I find a brighter biking jersey than my shirt, who's sleeves I had removed with a razor before beginning the ride. Fortunately he also told me of a thrift store that usually has very cheap biking gear. He introduced himself, asked me of my Nordic heritage, and we parted ways.
The ride down the other side of the mountain was extremely twisty, and I had to ride my brakes to keep from dying. But the downhill was welcome, and the moss covered boulders, majestic redwoods, and morning sun filtering through the needles made lovely ambiance.

I took a right at random and suddenly left the forest for grassy, misty, rolling hills. Cows lounged in the golden fields, and the air smelled of sea, farm, and eucalyptus, and the light drizzle was pleasantly cool.
Eventually I found my way to the coast, as well as a six foot piece of romex that will work grandly to fix the loose heat-shields on my car. Biking on Hwy 1 wasn't much fun, so I found some back roads, which eventually evaporated and left me biking across the headlands among the ice plant. Rolling cross country on 110 PSI in road tires is a bit rough on the bum, so I was glad when I found a trail again.

This particular trail led through the golf course of the Ritz-Carlton, continuing a long tradition of infiltrating resorts by feigned confidence.

After I left the Ritz, a bridge was closed, and people were watching, so I carried my bike under the bridge, across a creek, and through some undergrowth to rejoin the trail. I continued north, past secluded beaches edged by cliffs, through small towns with less secluded beaches. I rolled north with a slight tailwind to a soundtrack of Monsters and Men.

 
Biking up the coast was so much fun that I didn't want to leave it and turn inland to follow the return route. I was still feeling good after 45 miles, so I kept biking. I got back on 1 and headed up over a headland called Devils Slide. It may have been named for a rockfall, but the steepness of the road would have made a great slide had it a lower coefficient of friction. The view of the Pacific and fog shrouded headlands was well worth the climb though.

I followed the coast north until the roads ran out and I was forced to turn inland. You know how San Francisco is supposed to be really hilly? It is. I gained six hundred feet in half a mile (nothing to our Black Canyon of the Gunnison "hike", with 1800 ft in the same distance. But that's a story for another time, and this was on a bike.). I should have guessed, the road at the top as called Skyline, and had a water tower next to the intersection. If you are looking for a workout, a tour-de-water towers is certainly a challenge.
I followed 1 into SF past the zoo, some beaches, through Golden Gate Park to the bridge itself.

The traffic going to the bridge was awful, and I passed about two miles of stationary congestion. (I marveled that the cars-width shoulder and bike lane was still open. I guess that's a perk of living in the US.) It's very satisfying to be faster than cars, especially uphill. I almost didn't cross the bridge, because there were so many people, but I figured I may as well. It turned out to be worth it because the fog was cleared on the far side offering a fantastic view of the headlands on the north side of the bay. I also noticed a small, uninhabited beach on the ocean side of the bridge that looked lovely. My phone showed that it was in a park accessible by trail, so I may have to investigate at some point. Also there are some bizarre wind patterns around the towers; can anyone explain those?
I turned back across the bridge and rode along the bay, past the piers, through the associated crowds, and into traffic. Though bike lanes were reasonably well respected, sometimes there were none, and some drivers seemed bent on cycle-cide. Around this time my phone died as well, and with it my only maps, but the sun and the bay provided reasonable navigation references.

I passed a Public House, and though it has a palm tree in front
of it, Rolla's version with the spreading oak is so much better.

A view of the bay bridge from where I stopped
 for a snack and reread a Sterling Heyden quote

The 45 miles back to Palo Alto were not nearly as fun as the first. Biking into a headwind is not much fun, and traffic does not improve matters. But I made it back to Stanford in one piece, exhausted, hungry, and happy to be alive: with a bit over 100 miles added to my bike.