Monday, January 17, 2011

Mt Diablo, with fog sans water bottles

tricia in fog
"Where are the water bottles?"
"I left the bag on the table so you could add the Cilff bars you wanted."
"I thought you had them."
"Well, I thought you had them."

tricia gets rteady for coldAnd that's how it was when we started setting up the bikes in Walnut Creek's Los Lomas High School parking lot. We'd bailed on a 10 a.m. start due to amazingly thick and cold fog, and went to Barnes and Noble instead (if you know Druple, call me, mail me, save me.) Our 11 a.m. start wasn't much warmer, and we had one old ride freebie bottle we'd left in the car. I bought another when we got to Danville.

The ride up started in pretty cold fog, but around 1000 feet the day because glorious. It was downright warm. We shed jackets, arm warmers, gloves, and we're still almost too hot as the sun warmed our thawing selves. What a difference. And what a delight to look down on a Diablo Valley full of cotton-candy fog.

From the junction we zoomed down until we hit a wall of that dark, cold stuff again. Our decent went from rocket like to cautious as the visibility dropped to not-so-much.

By the time we got to Walnut Creek again the sky was blue and beautiful, and stayed that way until we drove into the gray curtain of East County. A cold, and warm, then hot, then cold, then really cold, then just right time was had by all.


  1. All of that - in our own back yard.
    I love the Bay Area - For that.

  2. In my mind I kept hearing Van Morrison on my descents into the fog on my Diablo Saturday:

    "Hark, now hear the sailors cry
    Smell the sea and feel the sky
    Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic

    And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home
    And when the fog horn blows I want to hear it
    I don't have to fear it"


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