Information Blues.

I woke up this morning craving a long bike ride. But where to? I needed adventure, solitude and beauty. I knew Morgan Territory met my requirements, but maybe it was too well qualified? Too adventurous, too lonely and too beautiful? So I contemplated it and drank coffee until I had enough courage to ask it out.

I took BART to Concord. Concord feels like purgatory, it’s only worth passing through quickly, so I pushed hard up Clayton Road for four miles without a bike lane. Nobody yelled at me to get out of the lane or called me a fag, which was surprising, but a lifted monster truck raced by that definitely sounded supercharged.

I asked my dad if he wanted to check out my ride. If I were him, I’d be into it. If I were him I’d be spending my time following the sunset as it rolled around the world, or looking over my mom, sister and me, or finding all of the peaceful places where I might feel satisfied. You know, places like Morgan Territory Road.

MTR starts as a narrow way through farmland behind Mount Diablo. They are mostly horse farms, but you can also buy fresh eggs and apples. The farms are placed in a scenic California style valley planted with oaks. The road rolls and rambles until the valley narrows and it begins to follow a creek. The forest closes in and the road goes single lane into a tunnel of bays and sycamore.

Yellow leaves fluttered into the creek; it looked like a good John Fahey song sounds. The road was cracked and damp, the air infused by bays. It’s a gradual climb up to the ridge. It’s a confusing climb; I can never remember exactly when it starts or where it ends. It rolls up and down for what seems like forever before revealing its hand.

When the real climb started I was startled by how steep it was. The road was so steep and damp I couldn’t stand to pedal or the rear wheel would slip. Take your time, I told myself, take it easy. That’s what Furry Lewis told me, then I re-told it to myself. I did not see anybody, I was alone, climbing through a tunnel of trees.