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Bah! This beautiful sunny weather is going to be my ruination.
So many distractions. It was a beautiful day on Tuesday so I figured it was time for a ride. I had been meaning to go out to Elk and visit Nature (the person, not the phenomenon) so I gave him a call.
Seventy-five degrees and sunny! Can you believe it? The roads were almost entirely empty. The only really bad part was on Philo-Greenwood road, where there was an abundance of gravel, placed conveniently in all the shady spots where you couldn't see it. That was horrible. But everything else was extremely pleasant.
Rural navigation is always a little exciting. Just because you have someone's address doesn't mean you're going to actually find them. His mailbox, in particular, was out of sequence, about a quarter mile from where you'd expect it. And then there was a twisty little maze of unmarked dirt roads to find my way through. I finally came to the parking area of a large and wealthy-looking home, beyond which the road was flooded. There was no cell phone signal and no address visible. I parked, and hastily removed my overlay (I REALLY didn't want to rile up the natives) and was preparing to turn around and go back to somewhere I might make a call when Nature appeared and informed me that yes, this was the right place.
A few pictures. Here's Nature's home, a true "walk up" accessed only by a steep trail through the woods.
I have a real affinity for one-room cabins, and Mendocino County has lots of them. I find them to be very personable, relaxing spaces, very human and inviting. The smaller the better.
He took a few pictures of me as well. Photos are funny things, sort of like playing darts. You might get the right number, but miss the triple score. You might get a triple score but miss the number. And, every now and then, all the planets are in alignment and you get a bullseye. Almost every photo gets something right, the trick is to get everything right at the same time. Portraits of myself - about which I am especially judgmental - have never quite hit the target. I figure it will take another thousand snaps to get one that is perfect.
Here's Nature himself. He wanted some pictures of himself on my bike, and they turned out rather well. He's saving up to buy one of his own someday, so we chatted quite a bit about how to go about it.
Also, he loaned me a CD with scans of the first five issues of Hippy Dick, which was GREAT! I had heard about this publication "back in the day" - late 80s and early 90s - but at the time I had no idea that I'd be spending so much time with these people fifteen years down the road. Seeing all those familiar faces and names in its pages is painfully nostalgic. I remember seeing this and feeling completely outclassed, that these were heroic, unattainable men of whom I was entirely unworthy. Of course in retrospect I'm sure they would have LOVED to have a twentysomething cocksucker like me around, but it would take another decade before I got myself tuned into the right frequency.
( Here's a NSFW clip )
Despite the nice weather, the days now are short and I couldn't hang around too long. A downside of rural living is that it is no longer safe to ride at night - too many suicidal animals. And it gets cold REALLY fast once the sun goes down.
There was a mowing crew out on the road, and somewhat distracted, I fixated on the mower and very nearly blew past the big STOP sign, which the flagman wasn't paying any attention to either. I screeched to a stop, and he turned around and gave me a little grin. Gods, was he handsome. I can still see his big teeth, framed by his bristly red moustache; our entire life together flashed before my eyes. I'm such a hopeless romantic. I ended up passing him three times, not by design, just by being lost and confused, and he smiled at me each time. Not wishful thinking - I'm pretty sure he got the memo. The third time, he was alone, apparently walking back to the origin of the mowing operation, and for the life of me I don't know why I didn't offer him a ride. Stupid stupid stupid. I will never again pass that spot without thinking of this, yet another lost opportunity.
At long last, I reached the sea. Northern California is different from most places in that much of the coast is remote, and can only be reached by a long trek from the more highly developed inland areas. This gives it a very different feeling. Truly, it is the end of the Earth. The water was calm and glassy, more like some vast alpine lake than the ocean. So beautiful. I wished so badly I had a wetsuit, it would have been wonderful to drift in the kelp for a while.
It's strange, being in this time with so much to do, yet so little urgency. Beautiful weather, empty roads, money in the bank, and a Harley between my legs - on days like this, it's a miracle I can get anything done at all. My former boss at Perlegen once told me how much he valued "stolen" time, those sweet moments when he's supposed to be doing something else. I've lost entire weeks to this trance-like state, and I wonder if I will ever snap out of it. Is it time to fight, or to surrender? Perhaps it is that ambivalence which makes these days so delicious.
So many distractions. It was a beautiful day on Tuesday so I figured it was time for a ride. I had been meaning to go out to Elk and visit Nature (the person, not the phenomenon) so I gave him a call.
Seventy-five degrees and sunny! Can you believe it? The roads were almost entirely empty. The only really bad part was on Philo-Greenwood road, where there was an abundance of gravel, placed conveniently in all the shady spots where you couldn't see it. That was horrible. But everything else was extremely pleasant.
Rural navigation is always a little exciting. Just because you have someone's address doesn't mean you're going to actually find them. His mailbox, in particular, was out of sequence, about a quarter mile from where you'd expect it. And then there was a twisty little maze of unmarked dirt roads to find my way through. I finally came to the parking area of a large and wealthy-looking home, beyond which the road was flooded. There was no cell phone signal and no address visible. I parked, and hastily removed my overlay (I REALLY didn't want to rile up the natives) and was preparing to turn around and go back to somewhere I might make a call when Nature appeared and informed me that yes, this was the right place.
A few pictures. Here's Nature's home, a true "walk up" accessed only by a steep trail through the woods.
I have a real affinity for one-room cabins, and Mendocino County has lots of them. I find them to be very personable, relaxing spaces, very human and inviting. The smaller the better.
He took a few pictures of me as well. Photos are funny things, sort of like playing darts. You might get the right number, but miss the triple score. You might get a triple score but miss the number. And, every now and then, all the planets are in alignment and you get a bullseye. Almost every photo gets something right, the trick is to get everything right at the same time. Portraits of myself - about which I am especially judgmental - have never quite hit the target. I figure it will take another thousand snaps to get one that is perfect.
Here's Nature himself. He wanted some pictures of himself on my bike, and they turned out rather well. He's saving up to buy one of his own someday, so we chatted quite a bit about how to go about it.
Also, he loaned me a CD with scans of the first five issues of Hippy Dick, which was GREAT! I had heard about this publication "back in the day" - late 80s and early 90s - but at the time I had no idea that I'd be spending so much time with these people fifteen years down the road. Seeing all those familiar faces and names in its pages is painfully nostalgic. I remember seeing this and feeling completely outclassed, that these were heroic, unattainable men of whom I was entirely unworthy. Of course in retrospect I'm sure they would have LOVED to have a twentysomething cocksucker like me around, but it would take another decade before I got myself tuned into the right frequency.
( Here's a NSFW clip )
Despite the nice weather, the days now are short and I couldn't hang around too long. A downside of rural living is that it is no longer safe to ride at night - too many suicidal animals. And it gets cold REALLY fast once the sun goes down.
There was a mowing crew out on the road, and somewhat distracted, I fixated on the mower and very nearly blew past the big STOP sign, which the flagman wasn't paying any attention to either. I screeched to a stop, and he turned around and gave me a little grin. Gods, was he handsome. I can still see his big teeth, framed by his bristly red moustache; our entire life together flashed before my eyes. I'm such a hopeless romantic. I ended up passing him three times, not by design, just by being lost and confused, and he smiled at me each time. Not wishful thinking - I'm pretty sure he got the memo. The third time, he was alone, apparently walking back to the origin of the mowing operation, and for the life of me I don't know why I didn't offer him a ride. Stupid stupid stupid. I will never again pass that spot without thinking of this, yet another lost opportunity.
At long last, I reached the sea. Northern California is different from most places in that much of the coast is remote, and can only be reached by a long trek from the more highly developed inland areas. This gives it a very different feeling. Truly, it is the end of the Earth. The water was calm and glassy, more like some vast alpine lake than the ocean. So beautiful. I wished so badly I had a wetsuit, it would have been wonderful to drift in the kelp for a while.
It's strange, being in this time with so much to do, yet so little urgency. Beautiful weather, empty roads, money in the bank, and a Harley between my legs - on days like this, it's a miracle I can get anything done at all. My former boss at Perlegen once told me how much he valued "stolen" time, those sweet moments when he's supposed to be doing something else. I've lost entire weeks to this trance-like state, and I wonder if I will ever snap out of it. Is it time to fight, or to surrender? Perhaps it is that ambivalence which makes these days so delicious.
