Cycling together: San Francisco to Santa Barbara

How do I capture such a moment of ecstasy. The meeting of minds, merging of bodies, surrender to emotions and passions epic in proportion, primal in depth. I capture this moment awkwardly, with words. With images, with innuendo, with discretion. Few words, too many.

Eight days we have together, meeting along the road, cycling from San Francisco to Santa Barbara. I’ve planned an itinerary, at once interrupted by rains, which makes for an extra day cuddled in our tent, huddled in the local coffee lounge in Half Moon Bay.

At first, apprehension, how to spend this much time, still getting to know each other, learning the rhythms and desires, preferences and presumptions. What will we eat, when will be get up in the morning, how will we find enough time to cycle and make camp and make love.

Oh, making love, how hot the flame is burning between these new lovers. So much heat and lust and love. The flame rages. Will it burn us, like the moth, drawn inexorably to the flame. And if it does, will it temper the soul, make the lover stronger.

We ride over landscapes, grandiose in scale and meaning. Familiar to one, brand new to the other. I’m delighted to introduce Jennifer to the Big Sur cycle route. She has longed to visit the Henry Miller museum for years. We find an opening in the Esalen night bathing, staying a ridiculously long time in the hot waters, soothed by crashing surf below.

A last night in Big Sur, Plaskett Creek campground. To the beach, long enough to capture sweet sunlit selfies and a bit of poison oak that won’t show for another few days, on the train home. We hop the Amtrak to spend a last day in Carpinteria, on a beautiful sunny beach. Knowing we’re headed north, to chilly wet Oregon soon. Too soon.

Swimsuits, sand, sunset, sweet cuddling and kissing. Such passion. How do I capture this moment of ecstasy. With words, so few, too many, best I have to offer. Such love cannot be described, only experienced.


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