I must admit, Christmas burnt me out a little bit. Food, people, food, people. I needed some decompression time. I allowed this is the perfect time for me to go on that bicycle tour of the Santa Ynez Valley. I was later told that the places I traversed are an envy of the world for bicyclists and that roadies fly here to experience the ride which I, ultimately all the way from South Carolina, enjoyed.
First destination was Gaviota. Goodness, I had passed this section of America literally dozens of times during the mission and there were times that it called to me so strongly. It is an odd part of the US 101 that changes from sand hills to stoic rocky soil in nearly an instant. Two land masses seemingly smashed up together, resulting in dramatic sheer rock faces and mountains on both sides of the road. In a small dell between these formations, where the cold north winds find contest with the tropical sea winds than make Santa Barbara 5 to 10 degrees warmer and which swirl through the wind caves that overlook the Pacific. I arrived in Gaviota State Park but before getting into the actual park stopped at a rest stop. I watched a man playing Jingle Bells with a rabbit sitting on top of his head and gave him 5 dollars before he got in his van and drove off to Ojai. I love California because there are such a high "population of people who is what they is per square mile". I went to the beach and walked around. I eventually found a place to lay my blanket. All I brought with my bicycle was warm gear and a plastic bag with Ezekiel 3:7 cereal, honey, and dried cherries. I dropped all of my things except the food and practically leapt my way up to the summit where the wind caves are. Pockmarks and holes covered the entire rock faces, often having divots within divots. Some sections formed as if the rock was fluid. Caves often opened on opposing sides. I got to a point where my entire existence became climbing. The deformities and cubbyholes in the rocks served only as functional to me to grab hold of. At times I would hug the entire rock face to hold on while moving one knee then that same leg to get to the next grab point. Getting trapped was a grave possibility at many points, with my inexperience (climbing up or down, only to realize that you can neither go up nor down from that next spot). I came closer and closer to the peak, the sun shining on the last tip of the summit. I had to see that sunset over the ocean (it was just blocked by the last ridge)!! As the adrenaline levels rose with my altitude, fear left me and I skittered up the last bit like it was a race. When I reached to the top, in all honesty the first thing I did was not stand up and shout, nor did I look to catch that last bit of sunlight. I prayed. I prayed not to fall off and die. Any slip gave no reticence or chance for a redeeming correction or grab. I can see why people get into rock climbing. It is intimate, it is raw. I felt like an animal and invincible.
I stayed up on that summit and the hollow section below it for a good hour. It was so lovely. The hills offered slivers of the ocean and horizon, now set in fuchsia and bright reds and oranges. Looking more east the road made its elegant curve from south-going to east-going, the car lights going by casually. I took a rest in the cave, fitting my body to the curves and holes, almost as comfortable as a good bed. With night fall it was surprisingly charming, the lights from the cars in the distance and oil rigs at sea with the last-light ambient purple sky as a backdrop. The caves sounded beautiful, albeit quiet. I mused that the same winds that play on these also shaped them, like a master artisan, crafting ocarinas and steel drums. Sleep did not come easy that night. Dehydration played on my ability to get sleep and keep warm. The next day, the first place I headed was Nojoqui Falls, the only fresh water for dozens of miles. It was wonderful. One of the tourists (I there primarily to live, though it was pleasant to look at too!) suggested that perhaps there were animals urinating at higher elevations and that the water was unclean. I suggested that she wasn't thirsty enough! Either way, it was exactly what I needed. The ride to Solvang was surprisingly fast, and the view (again, looking behind) at the Santa Rita hills was just stunning. The final test was Santa Rosa Road. As you can imagine, what really attracted me to this road was the mention that it was shadier than the straighter route back to Lompoc! I felt my legs getting stronger as I passed the 10% grade, and felt my eyes getting purer as I finished out that wonderful road. The hills looked soft and caressed in the half sunlight, the banks of the road were green and lovely even in this exceptional drought. As I neared the end, a thought kept coming to my mind: "end with strength, not with weakness!". That was my way out of that road, not merely my legs. The last bit of it was an appreciable rise which ended with a scream at the top of my lungs. As I got home and showered and applied my sombra cream, I felt clean! I have to use this strenuous experience as a launching point to become a real roadie once I get to Utah!
First destination was Gaviota. Goodness, I had passed this section of America literally dozens of times during the mission and there were times that it called to me so strongly. It is an odd part of the US 101 that changes from sand hills to stoic rocky soil in nearly an instant. Two land masses seemingly smashed up together, resulting in dramatic sheer rock faces and mountains on both sides of the road. In a small dell between these formations, where the cold north winds find contest with the tropical sea winds than make Santa Barbara 5 to 10 degrees warmer and which swirl through the wind caves that overlook the Pacific. I arrived in Gaviota State Park but before getting into the actual park stopped at a rest stop. I watched a man playing Jingle Bells with a rabbit sitting on top of his head and gave him 5 dollars before he got in his van and drove off to Ojai. I love California because there are such a high "population of people who is what they is per square mile". I went to the beach and walked around. I eventually found a place to lay my blanket. All I brought with my bicycle was warm gear and a plastic bag with Ezekiel 3:7 cereal, honey, and dried cherries. I dropped all of my things except the food and practically leapt my way up to the summit where the wind caves are. Pockmarks and holes covered the entire rock faces, often having divots within divots. Some sections formed as if the rock was fluid. Caves often opened on opposing sides. I got to a point where my entire existence became climbing. The deformities and cubbyholes in the rocks served only as functional to me to grab hold of. At times I would hug the entire rock face to hold on while moving one knee then that same leg to get to the next grab point. Getting trapped was a grave possibility at many points, with my inexperience (climbing up or down, only to realize that you can neither go up nor down from that next spot). I came closer and closer to the peak, the sun shining on the last tip of the summit. I had to see that sunset over the ocean (it was just blocked by the last ridge)!! As the adrenaline levels rose with my altitude, fear left me and I skittered up the last bit like it was a race. When I reached to the top, in all honesty the first thing I did was not stand up and shout, nor did I look to catch that last bit of sunlight. I prayed. I prayed not to fall off and die. Any slip gave no reticence or chance for a redeeming correction or grab. I can see why people get into rock climbing. It is intimate, it is raw. I felt like an animal and invincible.
I stayed up on that summit and the hollow section below it for a good hour. It was so lovely. The hills offered slivers of the ocean and horizon, now set in fuchsia and bright reds and oranges. Looking more east the road made its elegant curve from south-going to east-going, the car lights going by casually. I took a rest in the cave, fitting my body to the curves and holes, almost as comfortable as a good bed. With night fall it was surprisingly charming, the lights from the cars in the distance and oil rigs at sea with the last-light ambient purple sky as a backdrop. The caves sounded beautiful, albeit quiet. I mused that the same winds that play on these also shaped them, like a master artisan, crafting ocarinas and steel drums. Sleep did not come easy that night. Dehydration played on my ability to get sleep and keep warm. The next day, the first place I headed was Nojoqui Falls, the only fresh water for dozens of miles. It was wonderful. One of the tourists (I there primarily to live, though it was pleasant to look at too!) suggested that perhaps there were animals urinating at higher elevations and that the water was unclean. I suggested that she wasn't thirsty enough! Either way, it was exactly what I needed. The ride to Solvang was surprisingly fast, and the view (again, looking behind) at the Santa Rita hills was just stunning. The final test was Santa Rosa Road. As you can imagine, what really attracted me to this road was the mention that it was shadier than the straighter route back to Lompoc! I felt my legs getting stronger as I passed the 10% grade, and felt my eyes getting purer as I finished out that wonderful road. The hills looked soft and caressed in the half sunlight, the banks of the road were green and lovely even in this exceptional drought. As I neared the end, a thought kept coming to my mind: "end with strength, not with weakness!". That was my way out of that road, not merely my legs. The last bit of it was an appreciable rise which ended with a scream at the top of my lungs. As I got home and showered and applied my sombra cream, I felt clean! I have to use this strenuous experience as a launching point to become a real roadie once I get to Utah!
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