I parked at East Mesa and went on up East Side to West Side, taking in the splendid glory of the Cuyamacas in late Spring. Across the “new” trail and up the fire road, the tires rolled.
I went around the “top” on CA R&H, taking in the still-snowed view of Gorgonio…in June! Out Lucky 5, and I still hadn’t seen any humans.
Cruising on the Sunrise Highway, I said Hello! to the Stegosaurus spine:
I then took the short cut to take in the view, and was reminded:
Pine Mountain is a mountain biking trail, if you know what I mean.
I was in heaven riding across to Champagne Pass and then on down Indian Creek.
Then up on Deer Park, I went. The flying insects buzzed my ears and mouth and nose and eyes. That “trail,” though an old two-track, deflated me. Well, until I got to the left turn where the possibility of pedaling it increased. Oh, I forgot to mention the ticks. Ticks. Ticks. Ticks. I picked 7-8 off my legs. More flying bugs in my face, happened.
I grunted and cussed my way up to the pines after the left turn. “What is the point of this?”
Of course, there is no point. It’s a bike ride.
Then I got here, and peacefulness entered the picture:
Down and out into the meadows, was/is the only way.
And then, I saw the meadows in the most beautiful display of wildflowers I’ve seen up there. 6 years of MTBing here, and this moment in time stopped me in my tracks. The air temp was in the mid-70s. Flowers and grasses swayin’ in the breeze. Still no humans, other than me, were present.
I felt like I was in an impressionist painting, or a setting for a 1970s soft rock video: