Well, I celebrated another banner year yesterday, the 20th anniversary of my ____birthday. (fill in the blank with whatever you feel is appropriate) I’ll never tell.

I had plenty of work piled up, but felt compelled to put it all on hold, play hooky and go riding. After all, the weather begins her change and the days are growing shorter as the light so easily succumbs to the strong arm of evening. The air flows briskly and the trees, which have lost their glistening green to a somber orange line the hillside. Except for the occasional glowing red maple tree planted on private property in the lower Sierra Nevada’s. Nigel, sitting quietly in the garage hears the call…come for a ride, girl, squeeze my saddle.

So, who was I to ignore nature?? I geared up in full regalia and headed up the main road between Folsom and Auburn. Preferring the back door to Foresthill Rd. I headed south from Auburn toward the American River. The road snakes down steeply over tight turns, through afternoon traffic where each curve presents another commuting fool overtaking the DY, seemingly frantic to get home, or wherever, cutting time by a minute or two. The Sprint is an aggressive machine, with a non-aggressive operator, meaning me. I am just getting my feet wet on this motorbike and discovering the power I wield is amazing, and that the bike can double as a contortionist trainer. He falls into the curves, just short of playing dead, and ferociously moves to the next oncoming corner. This section of road is tight, but the great pavement and banked corners make it no less than exciting. I pass the bridge, crossing the river where Hwy 49 continues on to Cool and points south. First up Old Foresthill Rd., then onto Foresthill Rd., I ride the amazing sweepers for 20 miles, gaining more confidence and smoother transitions with each corner.

Foresthill is quiet today. A few log trucks absorb the roadway and teen-aged school kids linger along the roadside kicking dirt and laughing, moving slowly toward unclear futures. I stop for a coffee milkshake and chat with the locals who are always fully amazed that; number one, I don’t ride a Harley, and number two, I experience the road solo, a concept that seems as completely foreign as my Sprint. I exchange some laughter and birthday congrats as I tell them I am playing hooky from work to go and ride.

“So where are you going?”
“Hell, I don’t know…”

Now that idea is just too weird to make out and they wish me a safe journey and bid a farewell.

I consider riding Mosquito Ridge Road, but since I have only ridden it once before and the road seems so empty, I think twice about riding it alone. Experiencing a Thelma and Louise introduction to flying does not seem an apt birth celebration so instead I head back to the bridge and up to Georgetown.

In Georgetown I stoped for a sparkling water and sit in front of the Georgetown Hotel where all the local characters parade. One woman exits the bar to tell me what size syringe I need to use to administer an antibiotic to a horse and how that differs from one used for a dog or a cat. I am puzzled why she thought it important that I recieve this information yet bittersweet that she is in the fall of her years in the orange glow of an afternoon spend in the local bar, reminiscing syringes. She parts with a “goodbye girl, ride that thing safely”.

I travel down 193. Before entering Placerville the road takes on the façade of Hwy 49, riding through Chili Bar and more tight corners, steep cliffs and gorgeous views.

The road has more commuters but the traffic is quick and the terrain gorgeous. The sun low in the sky casts a warm glow on the new fall colours. What a glorious day to celebrate my birth and what better way to celebrate.

I didn’t stop for many pictures, but here are my offerings…

Georgetown area

Cool Tree

I loved this field and the tree in it…this was worth stopping for…