The One-The California Coast![]()
I park the car in the rental lot, rigging my bike for riding. Forcing myself to move away from the car, I push my bike into the airport, where I drop off the keys at the Hertz counter. After changing from my driving clothes to my riding clothes in the men’s room, I drop the old t-shirt and jeans into a trash can, giving the trash can one last glance over my shoulder as I make my way toward the doors that will take me out of the airport.
That simple gesture—dropping those clothes in the trash can—lifts a weight from my shoulders. It releases the last re- maining connection to the security of the rental car. Behind me is the journey that brought me to this point. I turn back toward the doors that will take me out of the airport, forward, toward the journey in front of me.
Hope, it seems, is the bridge that spans the gap between the unbearable today and the dreamed tomorrow. So long as we have that bridge of hope to stand on, the misery of the past drifts off into the fog behind us. Look- ing back, we tend not to see what’s shrouded in the fog, and instead see the peaks and high points we’ve come through.
At about twenty miles south of Carmel, the highway dips back into the forest, pulling me through a magical transforma- tion from a breezy open seafront ride to a quiet and still ride through massive redwoods that are hundreds of years old. The road weaves through lush forest studded with redwood giants for about ten miles, a mixture of state park lands and private property with a gentle and hushed quality.
There’s a mystique to the place. It feels wild and untamed. Towering redwoods line the road. The unique coastal climate creates a tropical lushness in the forest. My mood and mind- set have changed as I’ve moved into and through the forest. I feel more relaxed, less scattered, more basic. I stop a couple of times next to large redwoods, lean against them, press my hand to the bark. Ancient trees have a wonderful energy. Their time horizon is beyond what we can imagine. Closing my eyes, I can imagine Ents talking in deep and slow voices . . .
Deserts of the Southwest
I park the car in the rental lot, rigging my bike for riding. Forcing myself to move away from the car, I push my bike into the airport, where I drop off the keys at the Hertz counter. After changing from my driving clothes to my riding clothes in the men’s room, I drop the old t-shirt and jeans into a trash can, giving the trash can one last glance over my shoulder as I make my way toward the doors that will take me out of the airport.
That simple gesture—dropping those clothes in the trash can—lifts a weight from my shoulders. It releases the last re- maining connection to the security of the rental car. Behind me is the journey that brought me to this point. I turn back toward the doors that will take me out of the airport, forward, toward the journey in front of me.
Hope, it seems, is the bridge that spans the gap between the unbearable today and the dreamed tomorrow. So long as we have that bridge of hope to stand on, the misery of the past drifts off into the fog behind us. Look- ing back, we tend not to see what’s shrouded in the fog, and instead see the peaks and high points we’ve come through.
At about twenty miles south of Carmel, the highway dips back into the forest, pulling me through a magical transforma- tion from a breezy open seafront ride to a quiet and still ride through massive redwoods that are hundreds of years old. The road weaves through lush forest studded with redwood giants for about ten miles, a mixture of state park lands and private property with a gentle and hushed quality.
There’s a mystique to the place. It feels wild and untamed. Towering redwoods line the road. The unique coastal climate creates a tropical lushness in the forest. My mood and mind- set have changed as I’ve moved into and through the forest. I feel more relaxed, less scattered, more basic. I stop a couple of times next to large redwoods, lean against them, press my hand to the bark. Ancient trees have a wonderful energy. Their time horizon is beyond what we can imagine. Closing my eyes, I can imagine Ents talking in deep and slow voices . . .