We can’t always ride all the roads we want to. How a long climb set my imagination free.
Jen See is a writer in Santa Barbara, Californias. A long-time bike media denizen, Jen recently published a coffee table book called “Stylish Life: Surfing” and is working on her first novel about a vampire film director. All her bikes are blue and she currently owns more surfboards than vegetables.
Jen See
I’m sitting in the car, and looking out the front window, I can see the road unwind ahead of us. From the view that’s available to me, it looks to be a long climb, sometimes gentle, sometimes cruel, in the way that long climbs often are.
I wish I had my bike, so I can ride up this road. Out there, I could feel the wind and the sun, and the pavement’s grit under my wheels. Instead, I’m trapped in here like a bug in a jar, an observer rather than a participant in the passing landscape.
I feel stupid that I do not have a bike, but there was a whole thing with airplanes and luggage fees and also, this is not that kind of trip, but a different thing altogether.
So, no bike.
But what if I did have my bike? What would it feel like, I wonder, to ride this road? Staring out the window, I let my mind conjure up the sweat-soaked exhilaration of it.
The climb begins at sea level, not far from the coast. The mountains cast a long rain shadow over the surrounding terrain, which spreads out in gradients of green and tan. This is the dry side of the mountain range, but as with everything, it’s relative. There’s still plenty of water spilling out through the canyons, running to the sea.
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