Terri Guillemets once said: "Clouds are the sky’s imagination. And their different shapes and colors are a fodder for our power of imagination. They are what we want them to be. Their gathering to cover the sun, and dispersing to uncover it again, is splendid to watch. There can’t be anything bad or sad about them. Watching them float by is a beautiful experience; and…watching the clouds float across the sky is by no means a waste of time.”
Weather in the Bay Area the past few days has been unpredictable. Sunny, and bright blue skies one moment, and in the next moment increasing dark rain cloud formations seemingly about to burst with much needed rain.
There was a pretty steady flow of cool air as I rode the protected Los Gatos Creek Trail to get my bike tuned-up in San Jose. Just looking at the snow-capped mountains made me shiver. Considering we are quickly approaching spring, this was unexpected. In contrast, on the way back home nature was offering up a full palette of colors. The sunset was bursting with so much color and intensity, I was in awe. Yesterday, my biking buddy Bill Rothenberg and I rode to the boat launch area on the lower end of Lexington Reservoir in the foggy Santa Cruz Mountains. The rowing team were carrying their boats above their heads as they walked on the dock ready to launch their boats for practice.
A helicopter was flying around the reservoir and then landed near the waters edge. The contrast between the varying weather patterns was like watching a split screen TV weather channel showing what was going on in the different parts of the state. All of this was a reminder of the versatility and majesty of mother Nature.
Sometimes, I feel like I am riding my bike in the clouds, and becoming one with them. It reminds me of a quote by Leonard Louis Levenson: “A pessimist sees only the dark side of clouds, and mopes.” I used to feel that way. He then added, “A philosopher sees both sides, and shrugs; an optimist doesn’t see the clouds at all, he’s walking [or riding] on them."
When I don’t have my head in the clouds, I take note of what’s happening on the ground around me. As I ride the underpass tunnel on the paved trail below a city street, I see a large mural of rainbow trout to the right of me (photo). I note a family feeding the ducks in one of the percolation ponds; A father and young son riding the underpass of another city street.
A father in a low-riding tricycle reaching over with his right hand and tenderly tapping the low back of his boy who is attempting to navigate a steep incline, in front of him as I trailed behind. He made to the top, not an easy task. The father is proud for him. Heck, I was proud of the young boy.
There is no way to feel totally isolated, even in the midst of a pandemic when you go out there and see people living in the moment. They are walking their dogs or letting them run free in the dog parks, people are hiking, fishing, running, rowing, skateboarding, riding their unicycles, and physically challenged individuals on their motorized wheel chairs, even when its cold or damp outside. Almost everyone wearing masks, doing their part to keep safe and others safe.