Genius that I am, I decided the best cure for a hangover was to ride a 12 mile course twice down near San Jose without having eaten anything. Well, I scarfed down a Power Bar right before and, as one might imagine, resulted in stomach pains for the first six miles while my stomach acids figured out what to do with it. I almost biffed it on a Volvo on a tight downhill turn. I ride pretty conservatively to compensate for not wearing a helmet (also because I'm kinda chicken), but all it takes is one lapse of concentration from fatigue or pain, and hello Volvo! I was feeling better after the first time around, so I pushed more on the second.

This 51 Bay Area rides book is great for finding new places. Today's ride started in what looked like typical peninsula winding, rolling hills backroads, but then it went through a wealthy suburban area that looked like the kind of area where my parents would choose to live. Bizarre, almost surreal. With some exception in the fauna, it could have easily been plopped down in Englewood Cliffs, NJ, and nobody would know any better. I think the town was Saratoga. I bet the trees even change color in the fall.

Driving home, I gasped. Rte. 280 was bearing northwest and the sun was deep in the afternoon sky, above the thick cottony fog that was crawling over the Santa Cruz Mts. like it was alive, and seeping into the valleys. The fringes were backlit, other parts looked like the tops of clouds, and the rest of it was dark and gloomy. For some reason it made me wish I had some family in the area.

current soundtrack - Tara Jane O'Neill - "Peregrine"