It was dark at 5:30 am. Super dark. Like wearing a blindfold dark. I set out from the house with what I thought was a fully charged battery for my head lamp, but alas it was not the case. A short distance up the fire road, the little patch of light in front of my wheel became dimmer and dimmer. It's a strange thing to navigate with sight only a few feet ahead. . . .none to the sides or behind. A perfect exercise in being in the present moment.
Thankfully, Courtney had another head light -- which she had to hold in her hand, since the clamp was too small to fit her handlebars. The moving target of light jumped around, and we joked about "The Blair Witch Project." We hit the incline, and it was still too dark to see anything. After years of riding the fire road in Nisene, many of the lumps and bumps are familiar enough to not have to see them.
The sky began to lighten ever so slightly. This still didn't cast any light onto the trail, but it was heartening to know that yes, the sun does always come up each day, and soon all would be clear. Keeping up momentum on the climb was difficult, as I couldn't pick the best line or see far enough ahead. We pressed on.
And then, almost without knowing when we passed from blindness to sight, we were nearly to Sand Point. It was a foggy morning, which was part of the reason for the darkness for so long below. The Sand Point view was glorious, as the peachy orange rays of the sun began to illuminate the top of the sea of fog below. Not much time to relax and enjoy it, though, as the prospect loomed of making it home in time to shower and get to work on time.
Charge your light well and hit that trail at 5:30 am sometime soon. What a way to start the day!
