Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Yesterday I rode my first 50 miler for the summer. I'd planned on doing at least 30, but once I got out and realized how good I was feeling, I just kept going. I ended up having to deal with a short detour, about three miles or so, because county workers were tarring and chipping a road I wanted to take. I was forced to hang a left, going further west than I'd planned. I thought all was just fine when I reached a road that went north, but I soon ran into a real gravel road. Sweetness and I don't do gravel. We tried that once. Things didn't go well. But the only other choice was to backtrack, adding on more miles. I assured Sweetness this gravel road would be fine. We'd go slow, which we did. About a mile in, we found a paved road we could turn onto. From there, we were back on track. The rest of the ride went without a hitch. Well, unless you factor in the guy driving the convertible at the four-way stop, who didn't see me (that's what I'm going with)...

111 degrees. Not kidding. And hills with 9% grade. The combination acted like a one-two punch. The heat came from above then hit me again after bouncing up from the pavement. I felt like I was in an oven, slow roasting for nearly six hours. Not exactly what I call fun. Because of the landslide at Big Sur, we were rerouted inland, to the valley running between the ranges. Yesterday was quite wonderful. I thoroughly enjoyed the ride through the valley, seeing the farmland. I never quite grasped just how much food is grown in California. Now I know. Tons. And so many migrant workers in the fields before dawn, bending over to pick, hoe, and take care of the fields. Grueling work, no doubt. I have a much higher appreciation for all that they do to make sure we in other parts of the country have fresh veggies and fruits. I have vowed to think much more of those who work in the fields each and every time I buy veggies and fruits. Today, the morning started out at 60 degrees. Foggy, mist...